Page 42 of A King So Savage

Kingston’s glare was brimstone. It should have ignited Oliver right on the spot, but the younger man ignored him and continued.

“Kingston didn’t really know his mother, Ava, so this china isveryprecious to him. It’s one of the few things he has to remember her by,” Oliver confided with a smile. “Did you know that when he was only four years old, our father killed her? Oh, everyone said it was an accident, but still.”

Ava did not dare move, hands clutched tight in her lap. While aware Kingston’s parents died years ago, she had no knowledge of the details. That was not important back when Kingston first drifted into her life.

Stealing a glance at him now, she saw his mouth was a hard line. A subtle air of restrained violence emanated from him, and Ava wondered how easily he controlled his reactions when needled by Oliver’s taunts.

“Do you want to know how she died?” Oliver smirked. “It’s quite heartbreaking, really. And really does explain how our dear King became such a monster.”

Still, Kingston said not a word. Just sipped his coffee and listened to the tale his half-brother spewed.

“I think, if he wanted me to know, he would tell me himself,” Ava said in a low voice. How strange it was to have this morbid conversation while sitting in the warmth of the morning sun, birds trilling happily in the garden below.

Oliver nodded in approval. “A sensible way of looking at it, Miss Blue. But if you are to fully understand your kidnapper, you should be aware of his background.”

Ava slanted Oliver a suspicious glance. “What does any of this have to do with my abduction? With my brother’s debt?”

“Sins of the father, you know? Our father was a real bastard when it came to his women. Kingston and I… well, let’s just say these two apples did not fall far from that diseased tree.” Oliver grinned, shaking a finger at Ava. “Now, pay attention, Ava. This is the story of how Kingston Vaughn Winter was molded into the man who abducted you for a handful of money. You’ve already had a taste of his brutality. You might as well know how and why the seeds were planted. So, as I was saying, our father was a real bastard. Four years after Kingston was born, his mother became pregnant again. The doctors advised against a second pregnancy, but Alan Winter forced himself upon her until she finally had another baby in her belly.”

“I don’t want to hear any more…” Ava said in a shaky voice, but Oliver waved her objection aside.

“Our father was dangerously obsessed with Elena Winter. He wanted her so desperately. So much so that he raped her again and again. One day, after a particularly brutal episode, she began hemorrhaging. He didn’t care, of course, brutal man that he was. He fucked her in spite of her screams, left her lying in a pool of blood, and a few hours later, Kingston discovered his mother. She was already dead at that point, but Kingston did not realize it. He was just four years old, after all. And do you know what the really tragic part is? That afternoon, he sat and held his mother’s hand for hours before the nanny found him.”

Ava swallowed hard, fighting back nausea when it rose high in her throat. Stealing a glance at Kingston, she was frightened by the lack of emotion on his face. He still sipped his coffee, seemingly unmoved by Oliver’s tale.

“How was that an accident?” She hated herself for even asking the question, but the idea of a child holding the hand of his dead mother was something straight out of a nightmare. She imagined Kingston at that age. All big, dark blue eyes and ebony black hair. A solemn-faced little boy whose joy was stolen from him by his father’s hands.

Had his father really been that much of a monster?

“It’s what Alan Winter said it was. And so it was,” Oliver shrugged. “The same may have happened with my own mother had she not shot him first. She did us both a favor, isn’t that right, King? Although it came too late to change who we are. Andwhatwe are.” His eyes turned even harder and crueler. “I mean, we haven’t even addressed the subject of my own mother and how much she meant to Kingston.”

Dizziness swamped Ava, the contents of her stomach threatening to spill across the antique tables and the pretty, delicate plates.

Vaguely, she was aware of Oliver sliding an arm around her waist. He stood while dragging her up along with him, and she helplessly followed him.

“Aww, poor darling,” he crooned in her ear. “Do you need to lie down somewhere? Let me help you—"

One minute, Oliver was clutching her close; the next, he was forcibly ripped from her side. Kingston’s fist connected with Oliver’s mouth in a solid thud. It sent the man stumbling back until he finally landed on his backside a few feet away.

Kingston snatched Ava’s arm, jerking her to him with a snarl directed at his brother. “I warned you, didn’t I? Must I beat it into your thick skull? Keep your fucking hands off her, Oliver.” Anger rolled off him in waves, although outwardly, he was the image of composure.

Ava was shocked by the quickness of his attack. His strength. He wasn’t even breathing heavily after manhandling Oliver, who now watched them from a spot on the terrace floor.

Brushing away a spot of blood from his lip where Kingston’s fist landed, Oliver simply laughed as he got back up on his feet.

“Point taken, dear brother. Forgive me. I was overcome with emotion in telling your story and seeing how deeply it affected Ava. I was only thinking of her welfare.”

“I won’t warn you again,” Kingston growled. “A bullet between your eyes may help with your memory.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” Oliver inclined his head in a mocking show of respect, then as if remembering something important, he snapped his fingers. “Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you the news.”

Kingston glared at Oliver. “What news?”

Oliver grinned. He seemed completely unconcerned his brother had just punched him in the face and threatened his life. “There’s been word from Carson. He’s interested in negotiating a deal for the safe return of his dear sister.”

ChapterThirteen

Come to me

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