Page 39 of Craving Sin

“I’ve been much kinder to you than I would have been to anyone else.”

“Lucky me,” I joke.

“Wow. He jokes.”

“I joke,” I argue. “Sorry if I’ve been a little preoccupied with nursing you back to health and, you know, death threats and all.”

“Keep throwing that in my face, why don’t you?” Rian kicks at a stick, which goes flying.

We don’t head toward the driveway, instead turning around the back of the house, walking through the woods. We’re far enough out that I doubt we will run into anyone. I don’t even remember how close the nearest house was when we drove in, but I don’t figure Rian would have me out here if there was danger of running into someone else’s home.

When we’re just a little ways away, the house still in the distance, what Conan said to me before flitters back in my head, and I freeze—one foot in front of the other.

“What’s wrong?” Rian asks.

“What about the invisible fence?” He frowns, and I continue. “The one that will shock me because of this stupid thing on my leg?”

The second the words are out, Rian bursts into laughter. It’s the first time I’ve heard it, and as much as I almost get distracted by the deep, rich sound, I can’t help but be frustrated.

“Conan told you that? That was a lie. He was just trying to scare you.”

“Well, it worked!” I argue. “I hate your friend.”

“You hate me, too.”

Not in the same way I hate his friend. “What an asshole,” is all I say as we continue walking again, every few seconds, Rian letting out a soft chuckle again. “I’m glad my fear amuses you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make light of it. It’s just…well, it was a good lie.”

I roll my eyes, and strangely, some of my annoyance has washed away by the lightness in his tone…and the apology.

“I haven’t done something like this in a while,” I admit.

“Walk?” he asks.

“No. Well, yes. I jog for exercise, but I don’t remember the last time I went on a walk just to go on a walk. Certainly not through the woods like this. My mom loved being outside. She was a nature artist.”

“Drawing?”

“Yes. Painting too. She was incredibly talented. She used to try to teach me to paint. I was terrible. An artist I am not.”

Rian chuckles. “That’s sweet, though. She sounds like a good mom.”

“The best,” I answer.

“Moira was too,” he says so softly it’s hard to make the words out. “She loved being a mom. She was so good with Cillian. When we first brought him home, I was afraid I would break him, but she just…knew everything. I never doubted her when it came to kids. Cillian was five when I brought Rory home and—”

“Who’s Rory?” I ask.

“Cillian’s best friend. His father was brought into our family by my brother. I hated the motherfucker. He was shit to his son, and Rory’s mom had a lot of mental health struggles. He didn’t have anyone, so I brought him home because I knew Moira would know what to do…and she did…and Cillian too. He’s a caretaker like she was.”

It’s nearly impossible for me to wrap my mind around everything he just said—not only the fact that Rian is sharing it all with me, but it’s just another layer of who this man is—bringing home a young boy whose parents couldn’t be there for him the way he deserved. Many people wouldn’t do that, and I never expected that a killer would be someone who does. But even more than that is how impossible it is to hear him speak about Cillian and Moira and not feel how much he loves them.

“I always thought they would end up together, honestly—Cillian and Rory. It’s incredible really, who they are to each other, the bond they have, and the way they read each other, but then Cillian met Ollie, and Rory met Shai.”

“Shai?” I ask.

“His boyfriend.”