Kiss, Kiss Killian Read online

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  Kiss, Kiss Killian

  Copyright © 2018 by Anna Antonia

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  MORE ANNA ANTONIA

  ABOUT ANNA ANTONIA

  Kiss, Kiss Killian

  ANNA ANTONIA

  DelSin Publishing, LLC 2018

  Love billionaires, second-chance love, and romances about surrender? Then sign-up for my newsletter: http://anna-antonia.com/newsletter

  Copyright © 2018 by Anna Antonia

  All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from DelSin Publishing, LLC. DelSin Publishing, LLC and the author assume no liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  DelSin Publishing, LLC

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  Table of Contents

  Kiss, Kiss Killian

  Copyright © 2018 by Anna Antonia

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  MORE ANNA ANTONIA

  ABOUT ANNA ANTONIA

  Why be a prince when you can be a king? – Killian King

  The Devil was once the brightest of all the angels. – Lucy Martin

  1

  KILLIAN

  “You’ve finally done it, Killian! You’ve pushed my last button!”

  “Of course I did, Grandfather,” I drawled while scrolling through my phone. His rants typically lasted fifteen minutes. I just had to hold on for…twelve minutes and thirty-two seconds. Piece of cake.

  “Do you even care?”

  “Not really.”

  He slammed his hand against the desk. A Victorian 19th century mahogany pedestal kneehole writing desk. Full of history. Just not our family history.

  “You’re an ungrateful child! Everything I’ve worked for is for you and your brother and you don’t even care!”

  True—at least for me. I couldn’t help it. I was blessed, or cursed, with a superior intellect and a nasty personality. Which meant I got bored or mean.

  Easily.

  There wasn’t enough to do here because my grandfather was a control freak. Which did little to make me nice.

  Honestly, wasn’t it really partly his fault I turned out to be such a rotten man? If he wanted me to sit in a concrete box all day then the least he could do was look away when I diddled an adventurous sorority girl or two.

  I shared that particular insight with him and, not surprisingly, Grandfather hit the roof.

  “My fault! My fault that you get pulled over speeding with two naked coeds? My fault I had to have Romano pull every string to get you out without being processed much less charged?”

  Tilting my head from one side to the other, I answered simply, “Yes.”

  This really got him going. Ten minutes and twenty-seven seconds…

  “You arrogant little shit! I’ll tell you what’s my fault! I should’ve never let you get away with murder. I spared the rod and spoiled the child! If your mother could see you now…”

  Time to tune him out.

  I simply had no patience for his yammering when he got like this. Besides, what did he expect me to do?

  There was no point in asking because I knew, had known since I earned my useless education.

  I was expected to come to work every day like a good boy. (Which I did. Usually. Most of the time. When I felt like it and if nothing else was going on.)

  I had no access to the part of the company that truly interested me. (Why else did I get a degree in Chemical Engineering if I was never going to use it?)

  I wasn’t allowed to make suggestions at the interminably boring board meetings. (I did anyways but they were either shot down or met with contempt. Idiots.) Those very same suggestions would increase profits by 20% easily.

  Did Gramps appreciate my vision? No.

  I got patted on the head and sent to my office while the other grownups got to do the real work.

  He was lucky I found sex to pass the time. What else was there to do when life was this boring?

  “Killian? Killian!”

  “Yes, Grandfather.”

  “What did I say?”

  I suppressed a sigh and recited his ranting. The words varied from day to day, but the gist remained the same.

  I didn’t appreciate a thing I’d been given.

  True.

  I was a terrible example to my little brother.

  Doubly true. That’s why I made sure he was a little angel. Whenever Gramps let me see him.

  I didn’t know what it was like to work for a living.

  I’d like to work—freely—but you won’t let me.

  I didn’t care about anyone but myself.

  Well…I couldn’t exactly argue that point. My actions made me a liar.

  “You’re going to regret this, Killian. One day you’ll see the life you’ve wasted and I pray for you that it’s not too late.”

  “Of course, Grandfather.”

  “Your mother would be turning over in her grave right now to see how you’re behaving—”

  I stood up. “Are we done here?” Staring into the same blue eyes I saw reflected in the mirror every day of my life, I saw the disappointment there. Just like I saw every day of my adult life.

  “Madre de Dios, Killian. I pray you don’t go so far you can’t ever come back.”

  Keep your prayers for someone who wants them, Gramps.

  It was too late for me. I had zero interest in changing. Not for Rafael King, not for King Cosmetics, not for anybody.

  My name was Killian King and I’d be a shameless sinner until the day I died.

  2

  LUCY

  “Hey! Stop right there, kid!”

  I vaulted across the counter, dark braid swishing against my back as I pumped my legs to catch up to the little would-be thief.


  Bursting out the door, the bell jangled almost as violently as I yanked the boy by the back of his shirt. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Nothing! Get off me!”

  “Nothing, huh? Then what’s this?” I fished the sandwich out of his jacket and carefully slipped it into my apron’s front pocket.

  “I don’t know how that got there!” He squirmed hard, but I held on. Something I’d developed with lots of practice.

  “Yeah, yeah. Look—you know stealing is wrong.”

  “I didn’t steal shit!”

  I popped him on the back. Not too hard but enough to show I meant business. “Watch your mouth! When you talk to me you keep it clean.”

  “Let me go then you won’t have to hear me say shit.”

  He got another pop. “Dirty mouth! How old are you? Nine? Ten?”

  “Thirteen!”

  “Dude, I’ve got socks older than you.”

  “Ugh! And you proud of that?”

  “Yeah. You know why? I didn’t steal them.”

  “Bully for you. You deserve a fuc—”

  I held up my hand in warning. He settled down, sullen but quiet.

  Sneaking a look around us, I was grateful to see the sidewalk was mostly empty. I didn’t want to deal with him and hecklers. Because if that happened? Nothing I said would sink in.

  “You know stealing is wrong, but you do it anyways because you think it doesn’t matter. Nobody helps anybody so why not go for yours? Am I close?”

  The kid scowled but stayed quiet. Good. Maybe I’d be able to get through to him. Even if just a little bit.

  “But you didn’t steal from thin air. You stole from a sixty-eight-year-old man who’s supporting his wife, who’s in an expensive nursing home by the way, and their three grandkids. You know why he’s supporting them? Because their father ran out on them and their mom, his daughter, died. He works seven days a week just to make ends meet. You steal from him, you steal from his wife and those kids.”

  Guilt stamped his face before defiance chased it.

  “So? Nobody takes care of me. I gotta do for myself.”

  “I respect that.” This took him by surprise. Good. He’d had too much hardness in the world. He deserved some softness too. “But there’s a way to be proud of doing for yourself and then there’s this.”

  I had him. I felt it like a sixth sense.

  “All this talking is worse than lockup. Just call the cops already. Damn!”

  “Boy…” I gave him a hard shake. He didn’t mean that. I knew he didn’t. “Let me tell you something you might not have heard yet. You are worth more than this. You came into this world knowing that. You just forgot because of the people around you forgot too, but that’s okay. You know why?”

  I still had his attention. Just a little bit more…

  “Why?”

  “Because we were meant to meet right here, right now, so you could hear this. We make choices. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. The point is we always have a chance to make it right. Now here’s yours. That sandwich you took cost $2.99. Minimum wage is $10.50. Which means you can work to pay this off in about 17 minutes.”

  “Work? What you do mean work?”

  Suspicion mixed with hope. Good.

  “You heard me. Work. I’m unloading the truck and today you get to help me. But only if you make that choice. I won’t force you into it.”

  “Sure. I don’t do it and then you call the cops.”

  I released his collar. “Nope. You make a choice to turn this down? Then you go on your way.”

  His face was too young to have this much suspicion, but I understood. I once looked like him ten years ago. Angry at the world for hurting me and wishing I could be better but not knowing how. Feeling damned.

  “Unloading the truck. What do I gotta do?”

  He crossed his arms and so did I. “You carry boxes and put them in the back. That’s it. Better than that though is you get to earn your food honest and be proud of yourself.”

  “Yeah?” He kicked at the ground. We both knew his answer but he needed to feel like it was his choice. I respected that too.

  He blew out a breath and squinted up at me. “I help you and you give me the sandwich, right?”

  “You help me by doing your work and you’ll earn the sandwich. Deal?” I held out my hand. “Now if you shake you’re giving me your word. Your words are you. It’s worth more than money. More than gold. When you give someone your word you do everything in your power to keep it.”

  His wary gaze flicked up and away. “And what happens when people break their word to you even if you keep yours?”

  This poor guy. I know how you feel. I do.

  “You forgive them and hope they keep trying to be better. But that doesn’t mean your word didn’t matter. It did.”

  The kid raised his head and whistled, “Girl, I feel like you just took me to church.” He shook my hand hard. “All right. Where do I go?”

  Happiness jumped up and down in my heart. I reached him. It didn’t always work out that way but today it did.

  “Head straight to the back of the store. Tell Mr. Victor that Lucy sent you.”

  Uncertainty made his face look about six years old. “Are you coming?”

  “In just a minute. I’ll be right behind you…”

  “Mario.”

  I held out my hand again. “It’s good to work with you, Mario. My name is Lucy.”

  “I figured that.” This time his shake was more confident. Mario walked into the store, head held high, and yelled out, “Mr. Victor! Lucy told me to come back there so don’t get mad!”

  My boss came out seconds later. “Oye, Lucy! Another one? At this rate, you’ll be working to pay off the food for every kid in a two-block radius!”

  “That’s okay, Mr. Luis. They need it more than me.”

  “What got taken this time?”

  “A sandwich.”

  I handed it to Mr. Luis, watching as his heavily-veined hands trembled. Worry, always there, reared up. My boss worked too much for a young man, much less one with his health conditions.

  “I’ll put this in the cooler.” He then shook his head and shuffled back in the store muttering, “One day these kids are going to be the death of me.”

  Maybe I was a lunatic because I kept trying, but that was me. Lucy Martin. Always wanting to save a sinner.

  Besides, I learned from the best because Mr. Luis was just as soft as me. I owed him everything. Without his compassion, his faith…I didn’t want to think where I’d be now.

  “Miss Lucy?”

  I turned around, shoulders tense and halfway expecting it to be a cop.

  Instead, it was a well-dressed old man standing in front of a Bentley. What was he doing here in this neighborhood with that car? The wealthy didn’t make it a point to come to this side of town unless they got lost or were making a big tax write-off and wanted something showy to prove it.

  “I saw what you did there with that young boy. Good work. Some of the finest I’d seen in years. I’d like to talk to you about a job.”

  3

  KILLIAN

  “Killian? Aren’t you coming back to bed?”

  Meghan. Voracious. Pleasing. Beautiful.

  Boring.

  “No.” I squinted at the acrylic piece in my hand. It was from my latest board burr puzzle. 2483 false assemblies but only one way to solve it.

  She got up. Her slim arms came over my shoulders. “Isn’t there something I can tempt you with?” She pressed her surgically-enhanced tits against my back and cooed in my ear, going on and on about how she couldn’t wait to suck my big fat cock again. How it made her so wet.

  Sure.

  I shrugged her off me. “I said no.”

  She rounded the coffee table, swinging her blond hair, full pink pout on display. “Killian, you’re this close to hurting my feelings.”

  “I don’t care.” Taking the piece and sliding it into another, I took a bit of pleasure knowin
g it was the right move.

  “Fine then. How about you don’t call me the next time your dick gets hard?”

  “Consider it set in stone.” Studying the puzzle, I ran through my next options. It was difficult to concentrate. Not because of Meghan’s irritating presence, but because I kept thinking about Grandfather and worse—Mom.

  I hated it when he brought her up. I knew Grandfather thought I was a fuck up. I agreed with him considering it was a purposeful action on my part. But no way would Mom think badly of me. She’d understand.

  “You’re one of the sweetest boys I’ve ever seen, Killian. Don’t ever forget that. Promise me.”

  I leaned back and closed my eyes.

  Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to break my promise to you.

  Mom loved me and Timmy more than she loved herself. She loved us both so much she delayed getting chemo just so we wouldn’t know how bad off she was. Just so we wouldn’t worry over Christmas.

  Fuck. This was why I hated Grandfather bringing her up.

  “Good then. That’s more like it,” Meghan shoved her way onto my lap, scattering my thoughts as well as several puzzle pieces on the floor with her foot.

  Instantly tossing her off me, I yelled, “Idiot! I wasn’t telling you my dick was stone. I was telling you it was set in stone that I’d never call you again. Now get the fuck out, you clumsy bitch!”

  She scrambled off the couch, screaming how much of an asshole I was and that I was fucked in the head and everyone knew it. The only reason anyone would ever want to be with me past a night was because I was loaded.

  Surprise me. Tell me something I didn’t already know.

  “I don’t care how hot you are, Killian! You’re a fucking prick!”

  “Yeah, yeah. Get your shit and see your way out. The concierge will have a cab ready.”

  She stood there, mouth open as if she couldn’t quite believe what I said.

  Believe it. I’ve said worse and will prove it if you keep pushing me.

  Meghan stomped around, yanking her clothes off the floor and throwing them on her body. She was dressed in a minute flat. “Don’t you ever call me again, Killian, I mean it!”

  “We already went over this. It’s done.”

  “You’re damned right it’s done. I’m breaking up with you, jerk!”