The Return Of Killian Dante

Chapter 5: $5 Million Trash

Cassandra's jaw dropped. Her eyes went wide with something between disbelief and horror.

The five-million-dollar check sat forgotten in her hand — worthless now, though she hadn't caught up to that yet. Jack was still staring at the bloody thumbprint on the divorce papers like it might rearrange itself into something less final.

Killian had walked out and taken her pride with him. She'd braced for a fight, for him to beg or rage or grovel. His calm had been worse than any of it.

Her manicured nails dug crescents into her palm.

"After everything my family did for him," she hissed. "The ingrate."

Jack threaded his belt back through its loop, unbothered, and stepped closer. "I told you — men like him only stick around to milk you dry. Then they walk the second it stops working for them."

He buttoned his shirt without hurrying. "You sure he won't try anything?" The question came out casual, though he didn't care either way. Sounding concerned kept Cassandra pliable, kept her thinking they were in this together — which suited exactly what he was building behind her back.

"He won't." Cassandra's mouth curled with irritation as the whole scene replayed behind her eyes. "He just walked out of prison. No money, no house, no one. Except—" Her eyes lit. "My family."

She snatched her phone off the desk and barked into it.

"Don't let Killian back into the house without my say-so. Burn anything of his that's still there." She dropped the phone with a satisfied smirk. "Let's see how well he does out there without me. He'll be back on his knees inside a week."

Jack pulled his jacket on. "Typical. Guys like him talk big and fold fast." He drew her in, voice softening as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Don't waste energy on him. We've got a wedding to plan."

Cassandra exhaled and let herself sink into him.

"I'm glad he's finally gone."

"He won't be a problem," Jack said. "And if he is, I'll handle it."

Relief settled over her face. She smiled.

"You always take care of things."

"Only for you, baby."

He kissed her again, and if Cassandra noticed her eyes drifting back to the bloodstained paper on her desk, she didn't let herself dwell on it.

Killian reached St. Augustus Private Hospital — ten stories of glass and steel catching the afternoon light and throwing it back across the street. He breathed in slow, pulling his focus away from Cassandra, away from the Ashbournes, back to the two years that had made him into someone she'd never bothered to understand.

His first day in Deadmoo had been hell.

The older inmates had gone after him immediately — new blood meant easy sport. It happened every day after that. Broken bones. Split lips. He'd tried hiding, and it only made him a better target. By month six, he'd finally fought back and been beaten half to death for the trouble.

That was the day Master Chen finally spoke to him.

"You're weak, kid." Just that, the first words the old man had ever said to him. "The world doesn't make room for weak men. It breaks them, over and over, until there's nothing left to break."

"Then make me strong," Killian had said. "I don't want to die in here."

He'd meant it.