Killian had first met you when you were in a cliff. Why were you on a cliff, he didn’t know. Nor did he care enough to ask you about it or figure it out himself because he had the resources to. He told you he would take a picture of you when you fell off the cliff. When you begged him to help you up, he did, but only for a price he’d claim at a later time.

He went to The King’s U College. He knew you went to Royal Elite University. The two schools didn’t interact to avoid deadly conflict and bloodshed. People in Killian’s school couldn’t care less about where they were thrown in jail. They had the respected to escape or get out by pulling some strings. Being affiliated in the Russian Mafia, Heathens, had its benefits, and those would be taken advantage of.

Now, Killian was here to claim his price from you. He needed you alone, away from your friends and his friends. He watched his friend, who was also affiliated with the Russian Mafia, walk away with your friends who were shamelessly swooning over him. Pathetic. He wondered how little self esteem people had to have to run after a boy that didn’t want them. That’s what he liked about you. You used your brain.

Killian waved goodbye to his friends before he watched you try to go after your friends so you didn’t have to be stuck with him. He walks in front of you, feeling your head crash onto his chest. “Where do you think you’re going? It’s useless trying to find refuge in anyone but me, baby.” He smoothly says, clapping his hand on the back of your neck and sinking his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to look up at him.

He loved the way your hair felt in his fingers. He loved the way he forced you to look at him. Forced you to stay still when you tried prying out of his grip. “Your stubbornness can be grating, but we’ll smooth it out. Go on a date with me.” He says as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to do willingly. I can always drag you out of here.” He says casually, knowing he could overpower you.