real intentions behind those icy blue eyes. She let herself relax a little, but didn't fully drop her guard.
"Keep talking," she said, a little bit of the ice still in her tone of voice.
Killian kept his eyes on her, watching her reactions closely, but he did as she said. "The Zerellis, that was the family in particular that approached me," he went on. They were expanding their operations, but things were getting bloody. They needed a surgeon, someone with real skill at taking out bullets and stitching up wounds, to be on the take, willing to work for them under table so that the cops wouldn't catch on to what they were doing. Of course, no surgeon would usually risk his career like that, no matter how much money the Mob offered.
"But for a guy in trouble, like me, I couldn't say no - and they knew it."
As he paused to consider the next chapter in his story, Killian pulled himself a little more upright into a sitting position, leaning back against the pillows and headboard of the big bed. He looked down at Alicia, sorrow evident on his face.
"What else could I do?" he asked rhetorically. "I needed the money to pay my debts, and I was young. I convinced myself that I was still doing good, that I was still helping to keep people alive by working on the Mob's bruisers and enforcers that got shot up. And before long, I was hooked on that new flow of money, hooked too deep to ever cut off that string tied around my neck."
He lapsed into silence. Alicia waited for a minute, and then spoke up.
"But you're not working for them now," she said, the statement a half question.
He shook his head. "No, I'm not."
For another minute, the two of them sat silently, and then Killian cleared his throat again. "There's no real story to my getting free of their hold on me, as great as one could be," he revealed. "I realized that I was trapped, forced myself to start cutting out my bad habits, putting that money away and saving it instead. I kept on working for the Mob, never fully severed ties, didn't do anything too dramatic. I didn't want them seeing me as an enemy. But bit by bit, I took on less work for them, faded myself out, until eventually they barely ever called on me. I was their best surgeon, but they had new kids, now, men and women more desperate than me, willing to work for less money, with more strings tied to them.
"Eventually, the Mob just let me go. And I took the chance I was offered to run, to get the hell away from them before they decided to try and pull me back in - or erase me completely, so there'd be one last stooge to rat out the atrocities they'd performed in the past."
Now, Killian finally looked back up at Alicia, and she could see the pain in his eyes. That pain looked too real, too genuine and raw, to ever be faked, she knew. "I ran away, hid, decided to devote myself to other pursuits," he went on. "I started writing, wanted to try and put out a book. Everyone wants to be a writer, don't they? Crichton did it as a doctor. And that's about when I first met you, once I started going out to eat and try and get past my writer's block."
Sighing, Killian dropped his gaze back down from Alicia's face. A few feet away from her, she could feel him slipping back towards depression. She pulled herself up into a sitting position beside him, reaching out and picking up one of his hands before he could start anxiously twisting his fingers together again.
"I'm proud that you got out," she said softly to him, leaning in against him a little as his eyes moved over to her. She tried to smile, to show him that she believed him, that she trusted him. "And now I know why you want to help me - and I'm so grateful for it."
He nodded, but she couldn't stop, now, feeling tears start to well up in her eyes. Did his look a little misty as well? "If it wasn't for you, I would have already fallen apart, would have been stuck," she half-said, half-sobbed, leaning in against him. She clung to the hard shapes of his muscles, his
"Keep talking," she said, a little bit of the ice still in her tone of voice.
Killian kept his eyes on her, watching her reactions closely, but he did as she said. "The Zerellis, that was the family in particular that approached me," he went on. They were expanding their operations, but things were getting bloody. They needed a surgeon, someone with real skill at taking out bullets and stitching up wounds, to be on the take, willing to work for them under table so that the cops wouldn't catch on to what they were doing. Of course, no surgeon would usually risk his career like that, no matter how much money the Mob offered.
"But for a guy in trouble, like me, I couldn't say no - and they knew it."
As he paused to consider the next chapter in his story, Killian pulled himself a little more upright into a sitting position, leaning back against the pillows and headboard of the big bed. He looked down at Alicia, sorrow evident on his face.
"What else could I do?" he asked rhetorically. "I needed the money to pay my debts, and I was young. I convinced myself that I was still doing good, that I was still helping to keep people alive by working on the Mob's bruisers and enforcers that got shot up. And before long, I was hooked on that new flow of money, hooked too deep to ever cut off that string tied around my neck."
He lapsed into silence. Alicia waited for a minute, and then spoke up.
"But you're not working for them now," she said, the statement a half question.
He shook his head. "No, I'm not."
For another minute, the two of them sat silently, and then Killian cleared his throat again. "There's no real story to my getting free of their hold on me, as great as one could be," he revealed. "I realized that I was trapped, forced myself to start cutting out my bad habits, putting that money away and saving it instead. I kept on working for the Mob, never fully severed ties, didn't do anything too dramatic. I didn't want them seeing me as an enemy. But bit by bit, I took on less work for them, faded myself out, until eventually they barely ever called on me. I was their best surgeon, but they had new kids, now, men and women more desperate than me, willing to work for less money, with more strings tied to them.
"Eventually, the Mob just let me go. And I took the chance I was offered to run, to get the hell away from them before they decided to try and pull me back in - or erase me completely, so there'd be one last stooge to rat out the atrocities they'd performed in the past."
Now, Killian finally looked back up at Alicia, and she could see the pain in his eyes. That pain looked too real, too genuine and raw, to ever be faked, she knew. "I ran away, hid, decided to devote myself to other pursuits," he went on. "I started writing, wanted to try and put out a book. Everyone wants to be a writer, don't they? Crichton did it as a doctor. And that's about when I first met you, once I started going out to eat and try and get past my writer's block."
Sighing, Killian dropped his gaze back down from Alicia's face. A few feet away from her, she could feel him slipping back towards depression. She pulled herself up into a sitting position beside him, reaching out and picking up one of his hands before he could start anxiously twisting his fingers together again.
"I'm proud that you got out," she said softly to him, leaning in against him a little as his eyes moved over to her. She tried to smile, to show him that she believed him, that she trusted him. "And now I know why you want to help me - and I'm so grateful for it."
He nodded, but she couldn't stop, now, feeling tears start to well up in her eyes. Did his look a little misty as well? "If it wasn't for you, I would have already fallen apart, would have been stuck," she half-said, half-sobbed, leaning in against him. She clung to the hard shapes of his muscles, his
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