“Don’t leave.”
I laugh mirthlessly. “I think you’re misunderstanding how revenge and escape work.” I press the knife into his neck. Close, but not close enough to break the skin. My other hand is on his shoulder. The same shoulder that pressed to my thigh as he made me come.
I shake the thought away. He murdered my father. Despite what he says, he probably murdered Trudy. He definitely murdered his own brother.
If he gives oral sex like a god that doesn’t make up for his less appealing qualities.
“I brought you here because you’re in danger,” King says mildly.
“You said.”
“Kill me, fine. But don’t die yourself because you’re too proud to take my advice.”
It’s a weird thing to say when you’re about to snuff it, and I consider. But I don’t move the knife. “You killed my father.”
“No.”
If this blade weren’t poisoned, I’d draw just a tiny bit of blood, so he knows I’m serious. But instead, I shift around so I can see his face. My heart skips.
It’s impassive. The hard lines of his jaw and the firm set of his generous mouth show no sign of fear.
“Are you going to spin a yarn that Henry killed him too?”
Henry seems to be the villain de jour, and although he hit me once, I’m sceptical. He lost his temper, but surely golden boy Henry wouldn’t…
Am I kidding myself?
“I think your father was trying to break off the match between you and Henry.”
“What?”
“There were rumours about Henry’s… Shall we say, lack of respect for consent.”
“I…” It was… Over me? My father died because of me?
“Trudy was concerned too. Henry was sniffing around, making himself crazy about the fact I was her second in command while she’d made him play prince in waiting. Your father was talking—quietly—about breaking off the match. Then he disappeared.”
“You don’t know what happened to him?”
King goes to shake his head and my blade presses into his neck.
“No.”
But he’s lying. I’m certain he is. I watched this man more than is healthy when I lived under his rule.
“May I remind you that I have a knife at your throat? You seem to have forgotten.”
He pauses and those poison-ivy-leaf eyes narrow.
“You’re not going to like this.”
“Tell me.”
He licks his lips, but his gaze doesn’t waver from mine. “Henry made a throw-away comment about taking your father out of town. I should have…” He swallows. “I blame myself,” he says softly.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to comfort him. I bite off the impulse.
But I look for reasons for King to dispose of my father and come up as blank as I have since he went missing. He was no threat to King.
And the worst thing is, it makes sense that my father might have been reconsidering my match with Henry. I’d seen the concern on his face as Henry became more erratic.
It’s too logical not to be true.
It doesn’t mean King doesn’t deserve to die. There is one more charge, and this one is undeniable.
“Why did you kill your brother? For power?”
The bastard laughs. “You think I killed him?”
“That’s what everyone thinks.”
He sobers.
“I know. But when I execute someone, I don’t feed them poison anonymously.” King’s lip curls with disgust. “I shoot them. That’s my way.”
I consider this. He’s not subtle, King. He doesn’t give a flying flamingo how anyone judges him.
“Remember how he was found?”
“In the garden, having had a heart attack then fallen and cracked his head open.” A so-called accident.
“He thought he had Trudy completely broken. Under his control. But he didn’t. By the time I arrived it was too late for me to do anything but take the blame.”
I don’t understand but something is ringing true in his words. I keep the knife pressed against him. Because a beautiful, dangerous man should not be underestimated. The heat of his skin has seeped from his neck to my wrist while we talk, like two trees growing and merging together over time.
“Trudy poisoned him.”
I snort. “Trudy killed her husband, then invited his brother to come and live with her. Why? They were happy and in love.”
“They seemed so. But it took a lot of makeup to conceal the bruises. Eventually, Trudy feared for her life.”
“They were the power couple. Perfect.”
“That’s what my brother wanted everyone to see. But you know better. His son is the same.”
I drag in air, my head light and dizzy with realisation.
My leaving Camden had been prompted by my father’s disappearance, yes, but also by Henry becoming increasingly volatile. Henry raving about loving me, then pushing me away. He’d been capable of changing like a gust of wind, one moment sweet, the next sneering and vibrating with fury.
“He hit me, once,” I whisper. The first time I’ve ever said the words to anyone.
“I know.” King looks like he would crush the world in his palm. Specifically, Henry’s world.
My hand would be shaking if my forearm weren’t stabilised on King’s shoulder.
“Trudy murdered her husband because he abused her.” I try it aloud, testing it. And so many things slip into place. Little words and looks. The clothes Trudy wore and her penchant for heavy makeup. It’s so obvious now King says it, I can’t believe I didn’t notice before. “And you turned up to take advantage of the chaos.”
“Trudy called me, panicking,” King replies calmly.
I dredge up memories of Trudy in the days after her husband’s death. All this makes a terrible amount of sense.
“She was scared Henry junior would blame her. The easiest way to protect her was to ensure everyone suspected someone else.”
“You.”
“Me,” he agrees.
I don’t think he’s lying.
My arm is beginning to get tired of holding the knife to King’s neck and I yearn to take it down. I wish I hadn’t started this and there’s a shiver of thought that maybe I could have just asked these questions and he’d have answered them from across the table. But then, I wouldn’t be seeing his green eyes so close again.
As I did when he tied me down and ravaged me, I remind myself. I should want retribution for that, at least. But having him near has become as essential as water.
“Why did you agree to it?”
His mouth twists with distaste. “I had an ill-conceived thought it was my responsibility. I knew what my brother was, and I should have killed him myself years ago. Instead, I turned a blind eye, living out here in the wilderness, making obscene amounts of money, and pretending I wasn’t from Camden.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Outside an animal moves. The sun set while we tussled and ate and argued.
“Henry hurt you and I blame myself for that.”
“I’m still here. Alive.”
Our gazes have been locked this whole time, but now his pupils dilate until his eyes are almost entirely black, only a slither of pine trees at midnight remaining.
“And I thank god for that every day. But Olivia, you need to kill me soon or I’ll begin to think this is something else.”
I glance down at his lap. He’s sporting a hard-on that takes my breath away. I can see the firm line of his cock like a steel rod pressing against his jeans. The sight makes me go all squirmy between the legs.
And that’s when I have to acknowledge it.
The simple truth.
I’m not going to kill King.
“I believe you. But …”
“You need to be free. And I must return to Camden.”
“Yes.” Tomorrow I have to go back to my life. Whatever he says about keeping me locked up here, I’ll need to leave. If I move on to a new city, a new life, I’ll be safe.
I’ll never see King again, and my heart twangs uncomfortably at that acknowledgement. But it was never meant to be for us. We’re on two different paths: the dead girl and the mafia boss.
He must do his dirty job.
“But tonight…” There’s one night.
We understand each other with a look.
I move my hand from his neck at the same time as he feints to the side, and in half a second I’m in his arms, and he’s kissing me like I’m air and he’s tied down under six feet of water.
“Lia,” he growls, dragging me flush to him.
The relief that he understands, and wants me, floods over my body like a waterfall. It washes me away.
The knife clatters to the floor, forgotten. Whatever he’s offering, I’m accepting. Yes, this is insanity. There’s no future for us, even with both of us alive.
I reach up and grasp the back of his neck to drag his mouth closer, to deepen the kiss. And he comes so willingly, it’s a second before I notice my hand is wet.
Jerking back, I stare at my palm, smeared with blood.
With horror, my gaze flicks to where I held my knife against his neck. In our haste, I cut him.
The poison will be seeping through his bloodstream, pulling him into death.
I’ve murdered the man I love.
