His Redemption

Chapter Ten

Eva's pov

The door creaked softly as Eva stepped inside, closing it shut behind her with careful precision.

The house was quite.

She stood still for a moment waiting for Celeste to yell at her for returning late but nothing came.

She moved slowly toward the living room and there she was.

Celeste lay sprawled across the couch, one arm hanging limply over the edge. A half-empty bottle of whiskey rested on the floor, tilted slightly, as if it had slipped from her grasp moments ago.

Relief hit her.

Carefully, she walked out of the living room, her steps were light, almost soundless, as if the floor itself might betray her. The grocery bag rustled faintly in her grip, and she immediately stilled, glancing back.

Celeste didn't move only the low, uneven sound of her breathing filled the space.

Evangeline exhaled quietly and walked toward the kitchen.

The kitchen light flickered as she switched it on.

She moved quickly but gently, placing each item away with practiced precision. Cans aligned. Produce tucked neatly into their place. Every movement controlled.

When she finished, she lingered for a moment, her fingers resting lightly against the counter.

Tonight she was going to bed hungry but that didn't matter to her. It wasn't the first time she was going to go hungry to bed. Many times Celeste deprived her of food.

What mattered was that she had gotten away from getting beaten up by Celeste for being late.

Before leaving the kitchen she walked to the sink and poured herself a glass of water. The cold liquid did little to quiet the hollow ache in her stomach but she drunk it anyway.

The basement door creaked softly as she opened it, the familiar chill greeted her instantly.

She stepped inside and shut the door behind her before finally allowing herself to breathe.

Her hands moved to the coat draped over her shoulders.

Killian's coat.

She paused. Her fingers tightened slightly around the material. She had forgotten to give it back.

A flicker of unease passed through her.

Would he be angry?

she would call him and return it tomorrow.

Slowly, she slipped it off.

The fabric was heavy, expensive nothing like anything she had ever worn. It still carried a faint scent of cedar and pine.

Carefully, she folded it and placed it on the chair, her movements were gentle it was as if it were something fragile.

Later that night, she lay curled beneath her thin blanket, her body still slightly damp, her glasses resting carefully on the crate beside her bed.

The darkness wrapped around her but tonight… it felt different.

Her thoughts didn’t drift to her mother and what she was going to do to her tomorrow. Her thoughts drifted to him, to Killian.

The man who had saved her. Her fingers curled slightly beneath the blanket.

She could still feel it. The way he looked at her and spoke to her. No one had ever treated her that way before except for Soren.

Everyone always mocked her for being mute or criticized the way she looked or dressed.

But Killian. He was different, he was kind, gentle and sweet. He didn't look at her with disgust or pity. He looked at her with respect.

Her chest rose and fell slowly as she remembered his face and the way he smiled at her.

_____________________________________________________

Killian’s pov

The city's nightlife buzzed with energy, a stark contrast to the serene, star-filled sky above.

The thud of bass and faint cheers from the crowd could be heard even before stepping into the club.

Killian parked his car into the parking lot and got out. As he stepped out into the night, the cool air hit him, sharp and bracing. The rain had stopped a while ago.

His mind was a whirlwind, he couldn't stop thinking about Evangeline.

The entrance glowed beneath the canopy of flashing lights, beckoning the party-goers with promises of music and abandon.

Bouncers kept a watchful eye on the line, allowing groups to trickle in as the energy inside reached a fever pitch.

Strobe lights flashed in time with the bass, casting the dance floor in bursts of bright white and shadow.

Women draped over velvet couches. Men drunk on power and alcohol. Laughter that meant nothing.

Killian adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, his expression unreadable as he walked through the crowd. Heads turned instinctively and conversations quieted.

Fear followed him wherever he went.

Killian strode toward the stairs, leading to his office, which was situated at the top of the club, and looked out over both the vip section and the dance floor. Upon entering the room he was greeted by Tristan.

"Where have you been?" Tristan asked, concern etching his voice.

"I tried calling you but the call went straight to voice mail. I thought of sending a search party for you."

Killian fished out his phone from his pocket, opening it he saw only one missed call.

"You exagerate too much. I only received one missed call."

"yeah I do but anyway where were you?"

"Oh I'll tell you," Colton smirked, standing in the doorway.

Killian’s eyes narrowed, daring him to speak further.

Colton shook his head, stepping inside the office.

"Where was he?" Tristan asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you this." he said as he snagged a bottle of bourbon, tossed the metal cap over his shoulder somewhere and lifted the bottle to his lips taking a long swig of the drink.

"I rescued a girl in an alley."

Tristan chuckled. "You're kidding right?"

"No, he isn't," Colton replied.

Tristan raised a brow, his gaze flickered from his brother to Killian.

"But you hate women why would you want to save one?"

Killian smirked, taking another swig from the bottle.

"Because she's different."

"How is she different?" Colton probed.

"She's innocent, naive and she's mute."

"Mute?" Tristan snickered.

"Out of all the women in the city you found yourself a mute."

Killian’s jaw clenched, his gaze narrowed at Tristan.

He didn't like his tone and the way he spoke of Evangeline.

"Watch it," he said, his voice low but sharp. "Speak ill of her one more time and you will lose your tongue."