Page 9 of King of Sinners

When the doors open to the parking garage, I smile. “Hello, old friend,” I whisper. He gives me a curious glare but I only shrug.

On the other side of Roman’s car, the black sedan now sporting a nice new bullet hole, Mason opens the door to a limo.

He gestures for me to step in, and I do. I don’t know where we’re going…am I allowed to make requests? “I bet the desert is beautiful at night.”

“Hmmm,” he answers, not looking at me. He slides into his seat, his eyes fixed on his phone, darting over the screen before he begins to type on the screen.

I wrap my arms about myself, sliding deeper into the plush cushions of the seat. My eyes slide closed. It’s comfortable enough that I could sleep right here. I think that whisky is taking effect, my body is so heavy.

But even at that, I’m still aware. It feels like we’ve hardly left the parking garage when we’re pulling into another. I sit up, confusion making my brow crinkle.

Mason looks up at me. “I live close to work. Keeps commute times down.”

My lips part as I stare. We’re discussing commute times? But as soon as I have the thought, I realize its completely the wrong one. “Live? We’re going to your home?”

He lets out a heavy sigh as he leans forward, his elbows coming to his knees. “You, beautiful little Charlotte, are a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

I blink, trying to decide what to say. Is there really a response for that? “Sorry?”

One side of his mouth quirks, making him look almost human. Still perfectly gorgeous but more human, as he sits back in his seat. “Until I’ve decided the best course of action, I’m tucking you in the safest place I know.”

“And where is that?”

“My apartment.”

I gasp, trying to understand that one. “I’m going to live with you?”

“Temporarily. It’s probable that the goons doing the shooting have no idea who you are. It’s less likely, but still possible, that they don’t know who Roman is. If both of those are true…”

I stare at him. The last time I spoke to this man, he told me under no uncertain terms that if I breathed a word about who owned that club or my connections to the owners, I’d be face down in a gutter. Why was he not just killing me and calling it good? “So we’re going to play house for a few days?”

His mouth hardens again. “No. We’re not playing house. You are going to be a good little guest and give me a few days to make inquiries to all the necessary parties.” He leans forward again. “And the better behaved you are, the more likely I am to forget this entire thing happened.”

I can’t control my shiver. Is it fear? Something else? I shake my head, my brown hair falling about my shoulders creating a curtain for my cheeks that are growing pink. What does he mean by those words…a good little guest? “It’s not that I don’t want to please you…”

His gaze is razor sharp. “But?”

I lick my lips, maybe I have this wrong. Maybe I don’t. “It’s just that I don’t have much experience with men. Like at all…”

His gaze narrows. “Explain.”

Didn’t I just? “I don’t really date.”

“You dated Leo.”

“Three dates.”

His head cocks the side, as he assesses me. The limo has parked but we don’t move. That’s my cue to continue.

“One dinner out and then home early because I had an early-morning photography class. One family dinner which you attended. And one trip to the club.”

“That’s Leo, but there must be other men.”

I shake my head. “A date here or there. But Leo…” I don’t want to finish. Something in the way his muscles are tensing tells me I shouldn’t. Is there tension between him and Leo? “Most men irritate me.”

“How exactly?”

I’m not sure how much to say here. “I don’t know.” I do. “They are just often so…” Weak. Insecure. Obvious.

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