“Well I can’t refuse a direct order, can I.” A light smirk pulls at the corners of my mouth as we take a slow walk through Sienna’s home. Being locked up isn’tidealbut I’m sure Cara and I can come up with something to keep ourselves occupied.
“Sienna,” I begin as we reach the front door, “how do I make this easy for her?”
“You can’t,” Sienna answers easily, “all you can do is support her. Be there for her when she’s happy, when she’s angry, when she’s in pain. Don’t question her cravings or her indecision, don’t question when she needs to sleep in weird positions or kicks you out of bed because everything about you irritates her. Accept it, be patient and in the end, you’ll have a happy wife and a healthy baby.”
“Sounds awful,” I mutter, scrunching up my nose as I open the door.
“So is pushing a baby out of your vagina but you at least get to avoid that part. Go home, Killian.” Sienna pecks my cheek, pats my arm, and offers a warm smile as I wave goodbye and hurry down the steps two at a time.
Sure, people are trying to kill me but I have a hot as fuck wife and a baby on the way. If I focus on that, life isn’t too bad.
As I slide into the driver’s seat of my car, it hits me suddenly that through the rush of engagement, death, and marriage… I never actually bought Cara an engagement ring. Not something special and hers. I didn’t love her back then.
Throwing the car into gear, I turn into the city rather than heading home. Cara deserves something and I’ve put it off for too long.
I’m halfway there when I realize I’ve left my phone at Dante’s.
Fuck.
29
CARA
Having Blair in the house again leaves a bad taste in the back of my throat. Everything about her makes me want to crawl out of my own skin just so I can exist without her presence tainting me.
She sits, looking small and pathetic on the couch as if such a sight will pull at the pity in my heart.
It does though, a little.
As devious as she is, I can’t imagine being in her position.
Archer lingers in the kitchen, phone in hand as he tries to call Killian and fill him in on everything that’s happened while I stare Blair down. She can’t meet my gaze as much as I want her to look up and see thehatredalight in my soul.
“Did you poison Killian?” I ask finally after the silence has dragged on long enough for her sniffling to stop.
“Yes,” she answers like a mewl and the sniffling begins again.
“How?”
“When… when you told me to help myself I laced the coffee pot,” she admits.
My gaze drifts to the pot in question, remembering how we’d had tea that day.
“How did you know he’d drink it?”
“I didn’t. He used to drink coffee like it was water back in the day, because of how much he would drink so it—it was a guess. I knew one of you would drink it and by that point, any death would have been enough. Either he would die and that would be it or… or you would and it would cause him to be reckless.” Blair sniffles, finally looking up at me with tears swimming in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Pretty fucking reckless,” I mutter.
It could have been me. One different choice of drink that morning and I could have died.
Her apology means nothing and my gut clenches so sharply that I fear I’ll be sick. The tight pain remains as the nausea fades and I clear my throat, crossing my arms over my chest and gripping each elbow in turn. It’s the only thing keeping me from lashing out at her.
I’ve never experienced this before, this primal urge to attack and tear at her until she feels even afractionof the pain that she’s put us through.
She threatened me and my family, and got closer to killing one of us than any of the Russians did so the anger, I suppose, is justified. I’m better than her though, so I refrain.
“And Samuel?” His name bites out of me. The child that doesn’t exist. The ploy to hook into the one weakness in Killian’s heart.