Ravenous Kingpin (Kingpins of the Syndicate #4)

32. Killian

CHAPTER 32

Killian

I t was one in the morning, but I found it impossible to rest, watching Emory sleep. There was something soothing—peaceful—about it and I didn’t want a moment of it to slip away from me.

I stroked a silky strand of her hair away, relishing in the way it looked spread across my sheets. Our sheets. The line of her soft curves had marks from our impromptu session last night.

I’d like to say I fucked her raw, but it might have been the other way around. She wasn’t normally shy in her desires, but the way she’d taken charge was different. It was somehow more. She chose this—me—willingly.

I traced her cheek and her lips parted, a soft moan spilling free as she leaned into my touch. I rubbed a hand against my sternum. It was always this way whether she was near or far. All I had to do was think about her and I was forced to hold my breath.

It was terrifying and thrilling at the same time what just the thought of her could do to me. And fuck, I didn’t mind it one bit.

Because for the rest of my days, I’d be by her side, holding her torch and leveling the earth in her name.

Emory might delude herself into thinking that she could solve all her problems on her own, but I wouldn’t allow it. I would come up with solutions and be right there with her, helping her beat anyone and everything standing in her way.

The memory of learning of her death still terrorized me even after six years. There was nothing and nobody more important to me than her, and life without her was inconceivable.

I was still staring at her like some lovesick puppy when her phone vibrated on the nightstand. I looked at the screen and paused. A text from an anonymous number.

I’m done playing games. Get your ass downstairs or I’ll burn this house to ashes.

I briefly closed my eyes, trying to calm the rush in my ears and red rage in my vision.

Whoever dared talk to her like that was a dead man.

Or woman , I added silently.

I slid out of bed and made my way into my closet, put on a bulletproof vest, then a black T-shirt over it. I was prepared to handle this threat on my own. My wife needed rest, and there was no fucking way I’d wake her up.

Just as I exited the walk-in closet, a loud thud shook the house.

Emory instantly jolted upright, rubbing her eyes.

“What was that?”

“We’re under attack.”

I grabbed her phone and showed her the message.

Her eyes darted over the letters on the screen and she jumped out of bed. “Have your guards alerted you?”

“No.” Which in itself was odd. I went back into the closet and grabbed one of my dress shirts and a pair of her leggings, and then returned to her.

As she was getting dressed, she whispered, “It’s too fucking quiet.”

“You read my mind,” I muttered begrudgingly.

The woman had an uncanny ability to think on her feet, and I was grateful for it. Instincts like that made her an excellent kingpin. Instincts like that would keep her alive.

I turned around, about to go grab her a bulletproof vest, when as if on cue, a gunshot echoed, and soon more followed. It sounded like an automatic weapon. Fuck . Without hesitating, I plowed into my wife and tackled her onto the floor. I twisted us around so my back would hit the floor and cradled her into me.

My vision tunneled around us despite the dark room, and I reached for the gun in the nightstand.

“Here.” I handed her my Glock before reaching for another one. “Magazine is full.”

We shared a glance, a terse nod, and then army-crawled through the bedroom, avoiding the flying bullets. From the sound of it, there had to be at least a dozen armed men shooting at the house, and I internally cursed myself for not hiring more security when Emory first came to live here.

The sound of boots thudded through the house, and as we reached the hallway, I shot two men coming up the stairs.

“Any idea who it could be?” I hissed as I opened fire.

“The list is too long,” she gritted, taking aim and shooting.

Taking out target after target, I realized we were outnumbered, and soon, I was out of bullets and so was Emory. A man appeared in the doorway and shoved us out of the room. We both slipped and lost our balance, tumbling down the hard steps—I internally cursed the marble floors and my housekeeper for keeping them gleaming.

I reached for the knife at the fucker’s belt, and before his back hit the last step, I plunged it repeatedly into the side of his neck.

I darted to my feet as his blood spurted on my hands, then motioned for Emory to join me.

“Here.” She threw me a new gun with a loaded magazine. “We’ll need better hiding spots if you insist on keeping bigger guns.”

The woman was a fucking warrior, and I thanked God I’d told her about my weapon stash or this would have been over way too soon. Going room to room, we worked in tandem, eliminating the enemy—whoever it was—while I pondered where in the fuck my guards were.

Just as I thought we were ahead, two red dots appeared on my wife’s chest.

“Drop the weapons, or she’s dead.”

I froze, my movements paused midair, and my eyes connected with Emory’s.

“Do as I say, Killian, or the next bullet goes into your wife.” I dropped it instantly. There was no need to think on that one. “Now tell your wife to do the same.”

She was about to shoot, and I hissed, “Don’t you dare get yourself killed.”

“I won’t,” she breathed, scanning the room.

I attempted to distract the intruder. “How did you find a way in?”

He chuckled and the sound was like nails on the chalkboard.

“Remember who you fired recently?” My brows furrowed, my mind working furiously and just as the conclusion set in, he stated, “The poor Casanova you fired for having candles.” I should have killed the fucking guy and set his candles on fire. That motherfucker. “Now, tell your wife to drop the weapon or we’ll shoot you.”

Giving up her weapon would get Emory killed for sure, so locking my eyes with her, I shook my head, mouthing, Keep your weapon.

A gasp tore from her soft red lips and my wife’s eyes lowered to my chest. Her gun instantly slipped from her grip as I followed her line of vision to my chest and saw it. A red dot marking my heart.

Before I could assure Emory I’d be fine with the bulletproof vest, the door opened and a familiar figure strolled in like he owned this place.

Atticus Popov.

That fucking?—

His hands tucked into his pants, he kicked two guns out the door, and I heard footsteps behind them. I assumed they grabbed the weapons and watched Atticus’s back.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Atticus?”My voice hardened with each syllable spoken. My jaw clenched so hard, I was surprised a tendon didn’t snap.

This fucker just made a terrible mistake.

“Emory and I have business to discuss,” he drawled.

“Whatever you have to say, now is not the time. And you’re trespassing,” I warned. “Tell me why I shouldn’t have my guards shoot you right now.”

“Because this business…” Atticus started, glancing at Emory, and I had to fight the urge to lunge at him and claw his eyes out. The only thing that was stopping me was that red dot trained on my wife. “…is the only thing standing between life and death.” Where in the fuck were they? “Besides, your guards now work for me, and the ones who refused are dead.”

Fucking traitors. I vowed to find out exactly who had betrayed us and kill them myself.

“My wife’s business is my business, so spit it out and be on your way.”

“Atticus, this isn’t a good time,” Emory gritted, shifting slightly on her feet. There was a glimpse of panic she was desperate to hide.

“My beautiful Emory. Time is of the essence if you want your answers.”

“What fucking answers?” I demanded, agitated that they were speaking in riddles. The timing was most unfortunate because slowly but surely, I felt like I’d been gaining Emory’s trust. What the fuck were we fighting for or against here?

Atticus ignored me. “Let me remind you of our deal: you give me a name, and I’ll give you yours along with the location. Two for one. See? Don’t ever say I’m not generous.”

“What the fuck is he talking about, Em?” I repeated.

This time Emory waved her hand nonchalantly, her face ghostly pale. “This guy’s lost his mind.”

Atticus chuckled as if she’d uttered the funniest joke, but there was little humor in his eyes as he watched my wife.

“Stop looking at her that way, or I’ll dig your eyeballs out of your skull,” I said, glowering at him.

“This doesn’t concern you, Irishman. Emory DiLustro should be grateful for my patience.”

“Her name is Emory Cullen, and you better learn to use it,” I hissed. It took everything I had not to grab Atticus and use him as a punching bag. “My wife owes you nothing, and if you don’t get out of here, I’ll secure you a trip six feet under.”

I noticed Emory shifting away, taking a small step back, and Atticus pulled out two guns, aiming one at each one of us. Why in the fuck he needed them with red dots aimed at us, I had no fucking idea.

“Don’t move, Emory,” Atticus demanded, his eyes on her while I fought the urge to dig his eyeballs out of his skull. “Or you’ll be planning your husband’s funeral.” When she stopped, he purred in that disgusting voice that made me want to choke the life out of him, “Good girl. Now get back to your husband.”

The fury swimming through my veins began to suffocate me. “Don’t fucking move. Stay exactly where you are, Em.”

“Let’s make this quick”—Atticus seemed to be having way too much fun as he stared at us with a twisted smirk—“so you two lovebirds can get back to professing your love for one another. Unless you want to talk about…” Atticus trailed off, and suddenly it felt as if the world had stopped breathing. Or maybe it was just my wife who stared at Atticus wide-eyed. “Do you want to talk about Amara? You could see her by this time tomorrow.”

Her face contorted and her body tensed as a visible kind of shock rocked through Emory, pain slashing through her expression.

“Who in the fuck is Amara?”My eyes darted to my wife in confusion. Em Amara. It was Emory’s middle name, but Atticus couldn’t be talking about that.

“It’s now or never, Emory,” Atticus stated matter-of-factly. “Who matters more? Who do you love more? Your husband or…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but something about his words brought my heart to a screeching halt. Did Emory love someone else? This… Amara person? I gave my head a shake. No, it couldn’t be. Amara was clearly a woman’s name. I couldn’t let my jealousy blind me.

I met my wife’s gaze with so many questions lingering in my own eyes.

Atticus’s laugh pulled my attention away. “This is priceless. You didn’t even know.”

I had no idea whether he was laughing at me or my wife. It didn’t matter, because Danil’s father was bound to die.

Emory blinked. “Know what?”

“That you’re in love with him.”

A sharp inhale of breath vibrated through the eerie silence. Was it mine? Was it my wife’s?

“Whether I love him or not is irrelevant,” she said coldly.

“And to make matters worse—or better—this man is obsessed with you. And now…”

Atticus was seriously getting on my last nerve, smiling smugly like a cat. Like he knew something I didn’t. His gun still trained on us, he smiled like he had just won a fucking lottery.

God, I couldn’t fucking wait to kill him.

“And now?” Emory rasped, fear evident on her face.

“And now it’s too late,” Atticus drawled. “There’s nobody left to protect you. Not unless you give me the name.”

Two heartbeats passed before I lunged for Atticus. A gunshot went off. A bullet slammed into my bulletproof vest, and I staggered with a grunt. More gunshots rang out as I positioned myself in front of Emory, bullets zipping past my head.

One hit my shoulder and I pressed a firm hand against it, my efforts to stop the bleeding made in vain as warm liquid soaked my fingers.

“Killian.” Emory’s scream pierced the air along with the gunshots.

Another bullet hit my abdomen, right below my bulletproof vest, knocking the breath out of me, and I clutched my stomach, blood coating my hands. All that mattered to me was shielding my wife, but I could feel my strength slowly draining out of me.

Her screams continued to fill the air when another bullet pierced into my leg and my breath exploded from my lips. I lost my balance and fell to the ground, that familiar metallic taste filling my mouth. I blinked, determined to fight and save my wife, when I felt her small hands on my stomach.

“How could you?” she whispered, tears smearing her beautiful face.

“Silly woman.” I shook my head gently, moving my lips with difficulty. The wound wasn’t deadly, but I was losing blood fast. Too fast. “You think a world exists where I wouldn’t die for you?”

“Kill—” she sobbed, and her voice broke. I could feel blood trickling down my nose. I was becoming lightheaded and cursed my body as dark dots swam in my vision. “Please, don’t leave me.” I could feel her forehead against mine, and I blinked desperately to look at her. I needed her to know the gunshots were just surface wounds. “Why? Why did you do this?”

“Because I… love you.” Didn’t she know how much I loved her? I was fucking crazy about her. I had been since the first moment I saw her.

“Hang on,” she whispered. Fuck, why did this shit hurt so much? “Please… please… plea?—”

Atticus yanked my wife away from me and I wheezed, attempting to stand, but my body refused to listen. Instead, it slumped back weakly, failing to protect the only woman I ever loved. I wished I’d protected her better and harder, away from everyone who meant her harm.

Emory fought him, screaming and cursing, and I tried to tell her wordlessly that I’d be all right… but then the fucker punched her in the ribs.

“Leave her,” I breathed out, scrambling to stand before slumping back onto the floor.

My vision dimmed and soon darkness pulled me under.