Page 8 of The King's Pawn
There are dangerous men, like Killian. Men who will pull a trigger without blinking.
Then there are men like this guy, whose vibe was way off and into crazy town. Who the fuck had Killian brought me to?
“Just let me go, and nobody has to mention this to anyone.”
“Icoulddo that.”
But he wasn’t going to. Not with the way he was drooling over at me as though I was his next meal. His bottom lip wobbled, like his hands did. Trembling from age, or something else. I preferred staring down Killian’s gun to whatever this was.
He started over, and if he so much as touched me, he’d soon realize I was not gift wrapped forhim. Fuck.
He knelt, knees popping, and leered. “You look familiar.”
“That’s nice.” He looked as though he’d climbed out of the window of a high-security mental hospital.
“I know you.”
“No.” I smiled, trying to be polite. “I don’t think so.”
“Your Val King’s son. Neil… Nolan?”
“No.” This guy was going to be a problem.
He reached out and touched my leg. I kicked him off. “The fuck?—”
“Feisty, aren’t you,” he said with a laugh.
“Touch me again, old man, and find out how feisty I can be.”
He lunged, and this was one of those times where growing up as a mob boss’s son and being exposed to casual murder paid off. I looped the rope around his neck and cinched it tight, choking off his air. He wasn’t big, not like Killian. He struggled, mouth gaping, his bent, sticklike fingers trying to grab at the rope. I held on, even tightened it. Fuck this guy. Nobody touched me like I was meat. As his bucking slowed, I eased off, untangled the rope, and shoved his limp, unconscious body away. He sprawled on the floor—not moving.
I shuddered. “Fuck.” And gave him a kick for good measure. He wasn’t awake, but I couldn’t tell if he was dead and didn’t much feel like touching him to find out. With a ragged sigh, I slumped against the couch.
I hadn’t meant to kill him, just choke him out. Maybe he’d had a heart attack? If he was dead, hopefully he wasn’t someone important to Killian.
Not the best start to the day, but at least he’d put some logs on the fire.
More hours went by, and the logs had burned down again, until finally, the sound of another car engine hummed outside.If it was another fucking rapist so help me God, I’d scream the whole fucking cabin down.
Footsteps stomped up the steps and Killian flew through the door, gun out.
His eyes widened at the dead/unconscious guy on the floor beside me. “What the fuck happened?”
“You brought me to a pervert’s murder cabin is what happened.”
Rage swallowed the shock on Killian’s face. I’d only seen that look on him once before, when he’d dragged me out of a brawl—a murderous look that left no room for doubt. That ruthless glare fluttered my heart, stealing my breath.“Did he touch you?”Killian growled.
“He didn’t get that far.”
Killian strode over, aimed the gun at the man’s chest, and fired. Blood splatters dashed my chest. I flinched. And he fired again, this time in the man’s head. The first shot had probably been enough, but the second one left no room for argument. He was for sure dead now.
“Jesus, there’s blood on my shirt.” A few splatters dribbled down my chest.
“Nobodytouches you,” Killian growled, then turned on his heel and left the cabin. I stared after him, blinking. What the fuck was that?
He reappeared with a bag of groceries tucked under one arm. All right, color me confused, but what was happening here? He brings me out to the woods to kill me, then gets all macho-protective when someone else tries to have a go?
And now he was unpacking groceries in the kitchen as if he hadn’t just shot a man I’d strangled?