Page 1 of Slay King

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Craving a man wasn’t smart. Ever.

Rumor

When one made rules, drew boundaries, protected themselves from situations that could cause damage, it must be something they stood firm on. That they demanded others respect. Showing weakness made those rules and boundaries seem like suggestions instead of guidelines.

King Salazar made it very difficult to remember why I had set the rules. He was the cause of them, yet every time he tried to push too far, I found myself unable to stop drawing closer to the flame. Craving a man wasn’t smart. Ever.

Especially a man who had lied to you and manipulated you. Yet that was where I stood at the moment. Wanting what I shouldn’t have. Wishing it were something it would never be.

I sat on the bed in the cottage that was located on the back of Maeme’s property and listened to the silence around me. I’d been back in this house and out of King’s bed for two weeks. Every night, King showed up with dinner. Talked to me as if we were friends, and we often watched television. Then, when I went to bed, he slept on the sofa. He refused to let me stay here at night alone. He didn’t believe it was safe yet.

I didn’t know who or what to believe.

What I did know was that I was a widow and I wasn’t sad about it. My husband had been hell-bent on eventually beating me to death. King had made it possible for me to escape that life. It was one of the reasons I struggled with my feelings for him. Part of me felt as if I owed him. Another part held a slight worshipful reverence for him. It was messed up, but it was my truth. If he and the others hadn’t come after Hill, the man I had made the mistake of marrying, then I’d still be there, being beaten. Or dead.

I also knew that I was willingly living under the protection of the Southern Mafia family. The sweet grandmother who had brought me in, given me a roof over my head, a sanctuary, was also part of the Mafia, just like King, her grandson.

Lastly, I was aware that there was a gang who wanted me for information on my dead husband. Which I did not have. Hill had never told me anything about his life. I knew nothing of his work or illegal activities.

So, I was here. This was the only safe place for me. Living in a storybook cottage with no bills. I’d stopped feeling guilty for being here. I no longer thought I was taking advantage of a nice lady’s hospitality. They’d brought me here. I lived in this house because of their manipulation and planning. It shed a new light on the situation.

The door to the cottage opened, and I heard the screen slam shut. Standing up quickly, I stood there, frozen, listening. The only person who walked in without knocking was King, and he’d been gone when I woke up this morning. His pillow and blanket in a neat, folded pile on the end of the sofa.

“It’s me,” his familiar voice called out.

Sighing in relief, I made my way to the door that led into the living room just as he walked into it from the kitchen. My eyes locked on him, and the way my stomach fluttered at the sight of him frustrated me to no end. I didn’t want to feel these things for him. I needed to protect my heart. But he made that so incredibly difficult.

The sexy smile that spread across his face didn’t help matters. My chest joined my stomach at its fluttery mess of feelings.

“Morning, sweets,” he drawled. “Sleep good?”

Yes, and no. Once I’d finally gotten to sleep and stopped fantasizing about him, then, yes, I’d slept well. It’d just taken me two hours for that to happen. Knowing he was asleep on my sofa, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, had been a distraction.

I simply nodded.

“Good,” he replied, closing the space between us. He reached out and wrapped one of my curls around his fingers. “Damn, I like the way you look when you get up in the morning.”

Hello, area between my legs. It was now wide awake with my stomach and chest. On high alert that the traitorous, lying man in front of me was close. Touching me. Making me want things.

“What are you doing back?” I asked, wishing I hadn’t sounded breathless.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he continued to play with my hair. I should move away. I had rules, and this was breaking one of those rules.

“I came to get you. Take you to breakfast at Maeme’s,” he replied finally.

Do not react. Do not melt. Stand firm.

“We had Sunday breakfast there three days ago,” I replied.

The first time I had been back for Sunday breakfast after knowing the truth was interesting. Finding a way to associate the Mafia and these people I had come to care for was easier than I had thought it would be.

Having morals and realizing that your loyalty could shake the ground on which you’d thought you stood firm wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. It was a reevaluation of yourself. What you had become. What made you who you were. Your core.

“This isn’t a family event,” he said as my curl slid from his fingers.

“Then, what is it?”

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