Page 22 of Brazen King

But eventually, the exhaustion overtook me, so I slept for the better part of the day.

Now, as I wake from my fitful slumber, I stretch luxuriously. And a pained groan escapes my lips. I’m sore from the number of times Killian and I had sex over the span of one night. Not just because I’m unfamiliar with a man who has so much stamina. I’m actually muscle sore from how thoroughly he worked me out.

We had sex more times—and in more positions—than I imagined possible.

And damn him. The images of our entwined bodies rise to the front of my mind as soon as I wake. Now that I’ve had some time to process what happened, I can’t deny I’m attracted to the Irishman—even if he’s over a decade older than me. I know Ishouldn’t be. My family would be appalled if they knew the deal I struck with him.

Which is why I haven’t breathed a word of it to anybody.

I did tell Papa that I failed my mission, though—and that was hard enough to confess.

I never fail, and definitely not in such a massively humiliating fashion.

But no matter how many times I run last night through my mind, I can’t think of any other alternative. Not unless I was ready to die.

Which I’m not.

Not until I watch the life drain from Killian King’s eyes.

And I promised myself—and my father—that I would go back tonight to finish the job. Which I fully intend to do. It doesn’t matter how attractive I find Killian. He’s a threat to our family’s survival. So he has to die.

Fighting the feeling of lead sinking in my stomach, I roll out of bed to the obnoxious protests of my muscles. I take a moment to stretch, loosening them up one by one until the tension eases from my shoulders.

And I roll them as I make my way to my bathroom.

I didn’t bother to undo my braid before I fell into bed this morning. And I do so now, finger-combing my tangled locks as I eye my reflection. My lips are swollen from Killian’s poisonous kisses, my cheeks flushed despite the hours since I felt his lips on my skin.

My eyes drop to the thin necklace of bruises around my throat, and butterflies erupt in my stomach when I think of not his hand choking the life from me but the way he brushed his lips across the tender skin—like he wished he could wash away the damage he’d done.

A shiver runs up my spine as my mind fights to remove the dangerous thought before it can take root. Killian might havetouched me in a way that could make me believe he cared. But it would be suicide to give the Irish brute a stronger sense of humanity than he deserves.

I’ve put myself at enough risk hoping he’ll keep my identity a secret.

I’m still not sure I should trust him with something so important, which is why I need to kill him. Tonight.

Climbing into the shower, I turn the water on hot and let the steam build to relax my muscles. I wash my hair and scrub every inch of my body, washing away Killian’s strangely appealing scent.

A glance into my bedroom tells me it’s getting dark by the time I’m done in the shower. So I weave my damp hair back into a simple French braid, brush a layer of coverup over my throat to hide the bruises, and head down to dinner with my mom and sister.

Papa will be out late tonight—it’s poker night, so I won’t see him until the morning. And I know that after the past few weeks we’ve had, he needs a night off from thinking about Killian King and his antics.

Hopefully, by breakfast tomorrow morning, I’ll be able to deliver the good news that the Irish mafia boss will be out of our hair. Permanently.

Though I wouldn’t mind keeping his scent around a little longer.

The traitorous thought slips into my head, making me stop dead in my tracks on my way to the dining room, and I bite my lip as I silently scold myself.

You’re better than that, Natasha. Don’t go getting all twitterpated over a man just because he knows how to press all the right buttons…over and over and over again.

Heat radiates through my body, and I take several deep breaths as I force my thoughts to something more innocuous.Like how good it will feel to be out from under Killian King’s thumb.

Although, being under it was far more exhilarating than I ever could have imagined.

Ugh!

“Natasha.”

My sister’s sharp tone makes the heat pool in my cheeks as I wonder if I might have said that last rather lascivious thought out loud.

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