“That’swork, Kieran. Where doyoudraw the line?”
I swallow, the knot in my throat smarting as saliva glides over it. In all the years I’ve known Kal Anderson—which, admittedly, aren’t actually that many—I’ve never seen him get this worked up over anything. He’s a stoic, unfeeling man, and his sudden moral compass is giving me whiplash.
“You’re the one who gave me the Ketamine.”
His brown eyes narrow. “And you know exactly why I did that. Try again.”
Setting my beer between my thighs, I hold up my hands, palms out. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I wasn’t fucking thinking. Juliet Harrison gets under my fucking skin, and it’s impossible for me to be rational around her.”
“Let her go, then.”
I blink, gripping the neck of my bottle until my knuckles whiten in protest. “What? Why?”
“If she messes with your head, you need to stay away from her.” He glances away, his throat bobbing as he stares out over the horizon; the sun sets slowly over Lake Koselomal, a watercolor of pinks, oranges, and blues, stealing his attention for several beats.
Kal isn’t the kind of guy to stop and admire the sunset. I can’t help wondering what North Carolina did to him.
This is a man employed by the Montalto family and their parent outfit in Boston, based solely on his rumored body count. He volunteers at clinics around the country, but his main source of income is the mafia. His medical knowledge and background makes him a fantastic fixer, as does his notorious reputation for being calculated and swift in getting results.
He’s broken glass, all cut edges and a smooth top surface; a man born without a soul, unbothered by the fact that I sold mine. The only non-relative that doesn’t fear me.
Except Juliet.
After Murphy’s death, Kal took me under his wing and taught me nearly everything he knows, with one exception—how to deal with our actions. The weight of my sins, my grisly actions, is a constant burden, changing me physically and deteriorating my mind, but Kal seems to be in perfect condition, despite also being seven years older than me.
A pang of jealousy bubbles up inside me, but I tamp it down, scaling back. Just because I can’t see his demons doesn’t mean they aren’t there, waiting for him to slip up so they can take over.
Just like mine.
“I’m not letting her leave here.”
“You’re gonna kidnap acapo’ssister-in-law? This isn’t New York; we’re in King’s Trace, Maine, and you’re gonna reignite this war because she broke into a houseyoudidn’t bother decking out with your own security system?”
“I’ll just let Elia know what I’m doing.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, turning to give me an incredulous look. “Do that, and everything you’ve done over the last two years is for nothing. Your brother’s death is in vain, because you insist on a pissing match with yourself. Newsflash, Kieran, she’s already fucking terrified of you.”
His words shouldn’t warm my chest, shouldn’t send a perverse shock of satisfaction down my spine, but they do.
Because God help me, I want her afraid.
Need her to be.
Fear mixed with anger makes for a volatile emotional cocktail, driving people to do things they normally wouldn’t.
That’ll be the only way I get to have her. A temporary fix for the obsession taking over me, but maybe it’ll be enough to satiate my thirst for her blood.
He shoves his hands in his coat pockets, the collar straining tight against his neck. “You’ll probably want to check on her in half an hour. She’s probably starting to crash, depending on how much you actually gave her.”
“Are you leaving?”
“I have shit to do, shit I wasdoingwhen you demanded I come here. Which, by the way, I don’t know when you started giving me orders, but I don’t fucking like it.”
Scrambling to my feet, I let the beer bottle drop to the ground; its warm, brown liquid spills out, spraying my shoes, but I ignore it. “I needed help.”
“I told you what I think you should do.”
“And you’re gonna leave, thinking I’ll listen?”