As soon as Killian heard the knock at the door, he knew it meant trouble. No one but his employer and the men he worked with knew where he lived. No one had permission to visit. No one should be stopping by.
He looked down at his little captive, sitting wide-eyed in his bed. Katherine was looking decidedly better than she had three weeks ago; her alabaster skin was barely bruised, her glossy hair hung down her back in a clean, shining coil, and her moonlit eyes were soft. She didn't look as though she was being tortured. That wasn't good.
Knowing he couldn't have more than seconds, he grabbed a length of rope and roughly tied her hands behind her back. He grabbed fistfuls of dusty ash from the hearth and rubbed them across her cheeks and into her hair. Katherine was quickly becoming panicked. "Killian, what is that? Who's here?"
He grabbed her sharp jaw in his massive hand roughly, kissed her soft lips as if they were made of tissue paper. "I'm so sorry, little one," he said. And then he hit her.
And then he opened the door. There were three men standing there. Three faces he knew well. Stark, Grey, O'Hanaghan. Three men he'd worked with for years. Three men he'd seen break girls much tougher than Katherine. Women who had been trained for combat, trained for torture; too many times he'd seen these women snap. Too many times he'd helped it happen. His fists were clenched. "Hello," he said at last, his voice a low grumble. "To what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen?"
Stark grinned. "The boss thought you might need some assistance," he offered lightly.
"I don't," Killian shot back, a bit too quickly. "I'll have his answers within the week. The help isn't necessary." His voice took on a steely hint of menace. Stark took a half-step back at the change of tone. Killian Canavan couldn't have gone soft. Those eyes were still the eyes of a murderer.
"Nevertheless," Grey intoned smoothly. "Why don't we stay until then? Give you a bit of company."
"Why don't I tear your arms from your body?" Killian countered, with a crooked smile "For trespassing on my property."
A moment passed in frigid, stilted silence. O'Hanaghan broke it with a short, barking laugh. "Very funny, Canavan. Pour us a drink?"
Killian laughed too, letting the tension fade. He had no choice. If he fought harder—sent the men away, or killed them—a pack of men would be sent from his boss before he could get five miles. He knew this. He'd been on the other end of this exchange a half-dozen times. It usually turned bloody. It had never ended well.
He stepped back and let the men into his house. "Sit." He turned his back to grab a bottle of vodka from its cupboard. He heard Katherine whimper softly. He had to force himself to turn around slowly.
The three men were gathered around his little captive. O'Hanaghan had his rough hand on the girl's milky cheek, running his thick, scarred thumb over the new bruise under her eye. "I see why you were taking your time, Canavan."
Killian shrugged. He poured vodka into four mismatched mugs and handed them out, unable to breathe until the man's hand was no longer touching his captive's soft skin. "It's been more difficult than I anticipated."
"I'm sure." O'Hanaghan laughed, his eyes tracing the curves of Katherine's body through the thin oversized shirt she wore. "Sometimes these things happen, don't they?" He drained his vodka in one long swig.
Grey, finishing his drink, dragged his chair across the floor and sat so close to Katherine that their knees were touching. "Hello, pretty," he singsonged, reaching out a hand to stroke her smooth knee.
Killian's hand was clutching his mug so hard he thought it might shatter. Stark poured him another vodka. "You look like you could use this," he said. "Stressful day?"
"Not particularly." Killian swallowed the drink in two gulps, followed it with another mug. He hadn't been drinking much. It was odd to feel the familiar buzz of alcohol through his veins. Odd to see these familiar faces. It was all so well-known to him. Except for Katherine. She wasn't the same as those other girls. She couldn't be.
He looked at her, met her silver gaze. Her eyes were full of fear, but behind that, he could see that she trusted him. She didn't believe he'd let these men hurt her.
She was wrong.
"Who's going to start?" Grey asked. He pulled a small, delicately curved knife from his pocked, and held it up to Katherine's cheek, pressing in to let her feel the razor-sharpness of the cold steel. "I wouldn't mind."
