Page 22 of The King's Pawn

Noah could already be dead.

If Simon had killed him, I’d burn the entire fucking Back Bay operation to the ground. They didn’t get to take another piece of my heart. Ever.

I roared the Mercedes off the main road and down the snow-dusted path, slid to a sideways stop outside the cabin, and hesitated at the sight of the open door. I’d hoped Simon wouldn’t have made it this far—had hoped that Noah would be inside, barely dressed because he didn’t seem to know how to wear clothes. He’d be on the couch, all smiles and hungry eyes.

If I found him dead inside, I’d lose my fucking mind.

I snatched up my gun and left the car.

Footprints in the snow led from the trees, up the porch steps, through the front door. Melted puddles inside showed where Simon had been. I palmed the gun and scanned the interior. Whatever had happened here, it had taken place long enoughago for all the heat to have left the cabin and for the fire to die down. Papers fluttered on the kitchen table, drawing me closer. Sketches. Of me.

A horrible, gut-wrenching sob tried to boil up my throat. I buried it under a snarl. Focus. Don’t think. Don’tfeel. Hunt and kill Simon.

There didn’t appear to be any signs of a struggle…

Blood.

Splatters made for a haphazard trail toward the bathroom, where the door hung off its hinges.

Fuck.

Blood inside the bathroom too. Bloody handprints on the basin, the window. Noah was hurt. And he’d run. That was good, it meant he’d been alive… Could still be alive. I dashed back out of the cabin, darted around the side, and found two sets of messy tracks in the snow, blood sprinkled among them.

I cocked the gun’s hammer. “Hold on, Noah.”

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Noah

It wasn’t so bad. I couldn’t feel my feet anymore, but it wasn’t all that cold anyway. All I had to do was sit in this divot I’d found and wait Simon out. I’d be fine.

I hugged my knees to my chest, tucked my chin in, and trembled.

The forest was quiet. Frozen in moonlight.

I’d get out of this. I had to.

There were things I hadn’t done, places I’d never been, sunsets yet to paint.

I couldn’t fucking die here. I hadn’t even lived.

I wanted to make Killian laugh. I knew he could, he was just too stubborn. But he laughed, and when he did, it would be glorious. That big ol’ dumb face of his would light up. Was he ticklish? I’d find out, when this was over.

I wiped cold tears from my numb face.

An owl hooted.

Maybe it was safe to come out?

If—whenthis was over, I’d go someplace hot with Killian, make him run on a beach in short-shorts. God, yes. Thatneeded to happen. Fuck Boston. Fuck my father and his bullshit business. We’d be free.

Lifting my chin, I looked up through the towering pines and blinked at the stars.

It wasn’t right.

What was the whole fucking point if this was the end?