Page 55 of Slay King

“LIKE FUCK,” I roared, turning to stalk in the opposite direction.

I had to find her. How was she gone? Who could have gotten to her? I hadn’t been there. I should have fucking been there! Goddamn Blaise fucking Hughes!

The sound of the gun was muffled with a silencer just before the sharp burn of stabbing pain tore through me.

“Goddammit, Gage!” Huck’s voice shouted behind me.

I hissed, trying to manage the pain as my vision blurred.

“You weren’t supposed to fucking shoot him.”

• Twenty-Three •

That normally only happens when the Mafia takes someone.

Rumor

Sebastian was enjoying the celebration inside, and I hated to tell him I’d had all of tonight I could take. The cameras loved Scotlin May, and I’d been forced to see her with King so many times that I felt like my heart was slowly shattering. I knew King had said this was a job, and I kept telling myself that, but it was hard to watch nonetheless.

In the back of my head, I was being tortured with the thought that he could fall for her. He would see how good they looked together. They belonged together. Sure, they had a scarred past, but they’d been kids. What if the woman she had become was someone he could love? If he was going to fall in love with me, wouldn’t he have by now?

I didn’t want this baby—our baby—to be a shackle for him. I wanted him to choose me because he loved me. I’d already been married to a man who didn’t love me. I knew how horribly wrong that could go. As much as I loved King, I wasn’t willing to do it again.

Closing my eyes, I tried to block out the images of them together and just breathe. The evening air was cool, but I didn’t mind it. Perhaps it could chill the fears running through my head. Giving me some kind of relief from it all.

It didn’t help. Nothing was making this easier. Not even being outside. Peace and quiet might not have been the answer after all. I wasn’t sure there was an answer. When King returned Monday, I’d know. I would be able to see it in his face. If he was done with me, then I’d be able to tell.

But how would I survive it?

The cloth that covered my mouth startled me, and it took me a second to react. Strong arms wrapped around my body as I shook my head, the little his hold allowed me to. I struggled to get air, shaking my head and trying to scream.

“Easy,” a familiar voice said near my ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I blinked, continuing to fight as panic began to build inside me. What was he doing? Did he want to smother me? Why? He just met me. I had barely spoken to him inside. My body started to feel heavy, and I struggled as things got slower, and darkness began to sink in around me. I was being taken under.

My arms fell limply at my sides, and I heard him whisper, “It’s all gonna be okay,” before the world went black.

A sharp, thudding pain in my head greeted me as I blinked, then closed my eyes again. My mouth felt as if I’d eaten cotton, and swallowing was almost impossible. I gagged slightly, then moaned from the ache it’d caused behind my eyes.

What was wrong with me? Was I sick? I needed to call out for Maeme. This wasn’t right. The baby … would my being sick hurt the baby?

Maeme would never hear me like this. The house was too big. She would be downstairs. I had to get up. Even if it seemed as if movement might possibly kill me at the moment. Slowly, I opened my eyes again, hoping my phone was in sight. I could call her. Talking would be hard until I had some water.

God, why was my mouth so dry?

I stared straight ahead at a wall I didn’t recognize. I hadn’t been in all of the bedrooms in Maeme’s house, but she would never put black-and-gold wallpaper on her walls, no matter how expensive it might look.

Where was I?

I tried to swallow again, and I couldn’t manage it. The lamp on the bedside table was made of glass with golden patterns etched in it. Again, not Maeme’s style.

This was bad, I thought. Or was it? Where had I gone to sleep?

Wincing, I forced myself to sit up and look around the room.

I tried to think. Remember what had happened last night. Pressing my temples, I pushed past the pain in my head. Had I drunk too much? My hand flew to my stomach. No. I hadn’t drunk anything. I couldn’t.

Had someone given me something? Had I been sick?

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