Page 24 of Brazen King

“That damn Irishman, that’s who!”

Heat blossoms in my belly as Killian’s devilish grin rises in my mind’s eye. Those dimples that threaten mischief around every corner. Of course he had to go and rile my father up. It isn’t enough that he spent the entire night fucking my brains out.

Does the trickster god even sleep? Or is that only necessary for us mere mortals?

“What happened?” Tatiana asks cooly, always the voice of reason—no matter the topic in a heated conversation.

“He and his crew of miscreants broke into Depravity tonight and stole our product. All of it! Hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth. And he had the audacity to remind me of his ludicrous marriage proposal before waltzing out the door.” My father’s beard quivers with fury, his lips pressing into a pale line.

“He’s toying with us,” Tatiana observes.

“He’s going to destroy our reputation if he continues to succeed with these antics. Natasha, that Irish devil can’t live to see another day.”

His fierce gray eyes find mine with an intensity that brooks no questions. And my heart flutters nervously as I realize the consequences of failing my mission a second time.

“Yes, Papa,” I say, rising from my chair.

I need to get my head in the game.

And this time, I can’t stop until I’ve killed Killian King.

10

KILLIAN

Iknow she’s coming for me.

And the anticipation of her arrival leaves me humming with energy well past the time when I would normally have turned in for the night. In truth, I’ve been waiting for the alluring and seductively beautiful Natasha for hours. But as the clock strikes midnight, she’s still not here.

The thought hits me then that perhaps she’s waiting for me to go to bed.

After all, she slipped in while I was out of my room last night.

My pulse quickens as I picture her outside, watching me, waiting for the right moment to come in.

A smile curls my lips, and I comb my fingers through my hair before shaking my head.

Alright, Natasha, you win.

Dressed in my typical nightwear of boxers and nothing else, I flick off the lights and turn down the sheets. Then I flop onto my mattress and pretend to fall asleep.

But my senses are sharp, my ears attuned to every subtle sound, even though I keep my eyes nearly closed. Slowing mybreathing, I deepen it intentionally to a rhythm that would indicate I’m unconscious.

And I wait.

My skin alerts me to her presence before my ears. And that tells me just how quiet she is. But the hair rises along my bare arms and up the back of my neck as a second presence joins me in the dark.

She didn’t come through the balcony door, like I anticipated. I didn’t even hear the door to the hallway open or detect a shift in light. But I sense her creeping toward me from the left. Steps impressively silent, she covers ground with the stealth of a large cat stalking its prey.

All my instincts sound the alarm, my muscles screaming to prepare for an imminent attack. But I remain still, relaxed, determined to show no signs that I know she’s here with me.

Because she’s not the only one waiting to pounce.

And I’m about to turn the hunter intomyprey.

She rounds the bed, coming to the side I sleep on—the side nearest the balcony. And I catch the glint of cold steel in the moonlight through my slitted eyelids.

This tigress and her claws. She really is the deadliest creature in the jungle.

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