Page 16 of Resisting Royal

CHAPTER 9

ROYAL

After eating dinner as a family, with Troy joining us, and giving Bianca a tour of the house, I had to leave. Okay, maybe I didn’t have to leave, but I sure as hell couldn’t stay. Not when her huge, green eyes kept looking at me suspiciously, just waiting for me to jump in for the kill.

Some would argue I was a monster, but I wasn’t. I was just an ordinary man living a little more than an ordinary life, but . . . just a man. Having Bianca look at me like she was waiting for a bomb to explode, stung. She was my wife, after all, and as my wife, I should only see affection and praise in her eyes. Understandably, our situation and circumstances weren’t like most, but her apprehension of me still soured my mood. I needed her to come around, and soon.

I swung my fist into the jaw of the man sitting in front of me, blood spraying across the room, covering the wall. Then I swung again, and before I knew it, Troy was standing behind me, pulling my body away from the man’s nearly limp one. “That’s enough.”

I sure as hell didn’t feel like it was enough, but my split and bleeding knuckles told me that maybe Troy was right. “He’s a thief.”

I was justifying my behavior, which I didn’t need to do, but the justification made me feel better about my actions. “That may be so, but are you planning to just beat him to death? That really isn’t your style.”

He was right, it wasn’t my style. He looked at me knowingly, and for once, I hated that we were so close. I hated that he knew that girl lying in my bed without me had gotten under my skin. I had a weakness, the first-ever genuine crack in my armor, and it wouldn’t be long before others noticed it too. What was I fucking thinking?

I flipped open my knife and walked behind the man. He was already as good as dead. He knew it, I knew it, every fucking person who saw him come into this office knew he wasn’t leaving alive. Only, it was usually Troy who took pride in the torture, who revved from the kill.

Troy made sure I met his eye. “You sure you don’t want me to do it?”

He was making me feel weak when I was the strongest one. But, maybe that’s why he questioned me. I was strong enough to not go through with it, when a weaker man crumbled to the cravings. But tonight, I wanted it. I wanted to feel the blade slice through his flesh and not feel remorse.

I didn’t answer him with words, but my actions were all he needed. I grabbed the man’s hair . . . Michael. His name was Michael. Sometimes it was better to remember that he was a person. Without taking my eye off Troy, I tilted Michael’s head back with a hard yank, he limply obeyed. Then, without a second thought to my actions, my blade sliced horizontally across his neck, cutting him so deep that his head fell back upon my release, leaving a gaping hole in his body.

I used the man’s own shirt to clean my blade, then snapped it shut, and pocketed it. “Feel better?”

I looked at the body, now dripping blood on my floor. “Marginally.”

“Are you going to slit someone’s throat every time you and the Mrs. have any sort of falling out? Because if so, I’m going to need a new job.”

“If you don’t stop thinking you’re clever, you won’t live long enough to search for one,” I retorted.

This only made that damn grin of his appear. It was infuriating. “You never would off me, Mama Russo loves me too much.”

“I think it’s more pity she feels,” I clarified.

“Call it what you want, it doesn’t matter, it has been keeping me alive for years now.” One day, his cocky demeanor really would get him killed.

“That can’t sustain you for much longer.” I looked at the pool of blood. “Get someone to clean this up.”

I walked out of the room and was immediately assaulted by the sounds of men grunting and groaning. Each man sparing and prepping for their next fight, or maybe if they were lucky, the next battle in my ring. I walked past a group of men working solo on the punching bags, and a row of guys lifting weights before I was able to burst through the back exit and into the night air.

I tried gulping down air without looking frantic. But I needed it. I suddenly felt stifled, completely unsure of my decisions in the last twenty-four hours. It wasn’t just the marriage contract or the girl—although as much as I keep trying to regret it, I didn’t regret owning her. But, I probably let my emotions grip me too much, and I let myself take them out on that poor bastard inside. He deserved it, don’t get me wrong. But, Troy would have given him a cleaner death.

I glanced down at my watch, the time flashing two nineteen. Fuck. Where had the time gone? I left Bianca a little before ten, and I swore I had only been here an hour, maybe two. But my watch didn’t lie. Guilt pulled at me because subconsciously, I knew the distance was intentional. It wasn’t fair to Bianca to be at an unfamiliar home alone, but I wasn’t strong enough to be there with her.

Strong in the sense that I wouldn’t be able to stay away. I wanted to know what her hair smelled like, freshly showered, or how soft her skin felt under my palms. I wanted to lie next to her, sleep with her, be in her, and the commitment of it all scared the fuck out of me.

“You’re freaking out.” I turned to see Troy propped against the door.

“God, a man can’t even get air without you hovering,” I grumbled.

“You didn’t need air, you needed peace to have a mini, mental freak out.” He pushed off the frame and came to my side.

“I am not freaking out.” I was past that stage.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out some gum, and popped a piece in his mouth before offering me some. I declined. “You should go home.”

I shuffled my feet. “Why? It’s still early.”

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