Page 10 of King of Ruin

“The police?” But I already know the answer and it was a potentially dangerous question to ask. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest. He was prepared to be shot, which means he…

“No police.”

I sit down on the pavement, my hand still threaded in his hair. I thought Vigo seemedlikea gangster but now I’m pretty sure that heactuallyis one. What does that make this man? “You want me to just leave you here?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “For all I know, the Vendettis are coming back.”

The proof that it was my date and his brother who did the shooting sits like a dead weight in my stomach. “What then?”

“We need to go inside.”

My brows lift at the absurdity. “You want me to bring you into my house?”

He lets out a long breath of air. “Did you see what happened?”

“No,” which is the truth, but I’m beginning to understand his line of questioning.

“Hear it?”

“I…”

He reaches for my hand. “What’s your name?”

“Maddie,” I whisper, not sure I should give more detail than that.

“You live here?” he asks.

“I do.”

He lets out a long sigh. “Did I hear birds in your yard?”

My lips part as I try to marry that question with all events of the evening. My birds seem of no consequence… “I run a sanctuary.” A topic that has been increasingly notable of late.

I’ve recently had several offers on the property. Kincaid Enterprises alone has made me three offers in the last three weeks. Not that I’d ever sell.

“Maddie, can we please go inside? I can assure you, that I am no danger to you, but I may be a great help. Vigo and Vincent are not men to trifle with.”

He’s not wrong.

I nip at my lip for another second, though. I’ve already figured out that I never want to see Vigo again. The question now is… is the man in front of me more or less dangerous than the one I was just with?

Why did I come out here? I shake my head, listening to him moan, how could I not?

Then again, some people would have just called 911.

But… I hear him try to push up and then slump back down, I sigh, reaching for his hand again. “Let me help you.”

His arm slides around my shoulders as I bend down, and using every ounce of my strength, I get him up on his feet.

Slowly, we shuffle toward my door.

I see the vague outline of a car parked in front of my house. “Whose car is that?”

“My cousin’s,” he grits out.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” he answers, glancing back. “He’s gone. I blacked out for a second and when I came to…”