Page 12 of Knights Game

I put my arms through the sleeves as Roman lifts it over my shoulders, the staples pulling against my skin.

My blood is all over this small room. Someone will pay for this.

Blood for blood.

I take a few steps and stand in front of her.

“Remove the evidence,” I instruct Rome, knowing that he’s already in the process of pulling out a Ziplock bag.

Layla. She’s a little thing, her blonde hair piled on her head, her face makeup free, tendrils falling over her forehead onto her high cheekbones. I place my fingers under her chin and tilt her head giving her no choice but to meet my gaze.

Her body stiffens, and her breathing becomes erratic.

Those eyes.

Those fucking beautiful eyes.

I’ve seen beautiful women, wined them, dined them, fucked them. But Layla, there’s something so pure about her, something that calls to me.

I turn my head to the side as I search her face: is she affected by me? I’m most women’s wet dream; they’re called to the darkness, all desperate to tame the beast that lurks within.

I won’t let beautiful blue eyes get in my way. I’ve got shit to do, London is mine.

“Thank you, Layla,” I say, leaning in and kissing the side of her mouth. I reach for one of those loose bits of hair and tuck it gently behind her ear. In the next breath I’m gripping her throat and pushing her into the sink, adding pressure against her as she fights me with wide eyes.

“I think it goes without saying to keep your sweet little mouth shut. Roman here, he has some very unique skills. He can find out anything about anyone, all those secrets you bury deep, all those people you care about, he will find your weakness and he will exploit it.”

She stares at me. “Fuck you.” I grip her tighter, my heart beating wildly as she thrashes against me, my body tensing against her pathetic effort. “You’re a piece of shit,” she rasps.

I can’t help but grin and lean in closer.

“Now are you going to be a good girl?”

“A friendly piece of advice…” Roman adds, the tension in the room palpable. She lifts her chin, and I already know that this woman is going to become a problem. “Listen to his words.”

I let go, and she falls forward as I walk toward the door, looking back over my shoulder as Layla regains her balance, and her eyes meet mine.

Her face devoid of emotion, no tears, and I’m momentarily perplexed. Either this woman has an amazing poker face, or this hasn’t been the worst thing she has seen in her life.

And that right there has me intrigued.

“No,” Roman says as we leave the doctor’s surgery, and he pulls out his phone.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Then don’t fucking say it.”

“I need you to follow her.” I lean against the wall of the health centre, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

“I said don’t say it.”

“Who are you calling?” I ask, taking a long drag, puffing it out, the street around us quiet and still, the complete opposite to my brain, which is replaying the evening over and over in my head. Roman passes me the pain pills and I take them.

“An Uber.”

“An Uber?”

“Until we know more, we’re going to lay low.”

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