Page 18 of Brutal King

When she’s through and past me, I shut the door. The sound of the lock setting echoes throughout the foyer. She jumps and turns to look at it with horror-filled eyes.

Then, she shifts those eyes on me and they’re daggers of accusation.You’re caging me.

“It’s an old house. Everything makes loud sounds,” I tell her, tamping down the guilt rising in my gut. Because I never feel guilt. I feel nothing but desire. I want things, I take them. It’s what I was taught to do.

I didn’t know how true Father’s words were when I heard them. How well it would serve me to heed them. I’ve had everything taken from me by those who stand on moral high grounds. They felt no guilt leaving a child without his mother. Even less when they murdered my father and set out to kill me too.

So, no. I don’t feel guilt taking what I want.

And I wantedhermore than any other treasure I’ve collected over the years.

Fuck me, she’s exquisite. A prize. Even now, as she looks at me with fury, maybe more so because of it.

I’ve been accused of having ice in my veins. It’s probably true and that’s why I’m attracted to the fire in her eyes.

Some wayward thought enters her mind and her lips suddenly curve up in a way that’s familiar to me because I do it all the time. My Little Bird has an evil side and it intrigues me. More than that, I like it.

I reward her with a charming grin.

That is, until she voices that fucking thought. “You’re old. Do you make sounds too?”

Laughter erupts from me at her unexpected remark, but I recover quickly. In two strides, I’m standing in front of her, towering over her. She wants to run again, I can tell. Instead, she stands her ground and lifts her chin.

Ah, Little Bird. You can be brave all you want. Rattle the cage. It’s more fun this way.

“The better question is, what sounds can I get out of you?” I lift a hand to touch her, but before my fingers make contact, she’s racing up the stairs.

My long legs make it easy to keep up with her, or at least where I’m able to keep her within sight. When I reach the third-floor landing that separates the north and south wings of the manor, she’s just disappearing into one of the rooms.

“That’s the wrong—” the door slams before I can finish my sentence. “Room.”

Calmly, I walk to it and knock. “Sofia.”

“Go away!” she screams and the lock is set into place.

“As you wish,” I say. However, I remain there for a moment, imagining her on the other side, her palms pressed against the wood in an effort to stop me should I try to enter. If I wanted to, neither the lock nor any barrier she put between us would keep me from her.

Fuck me. I want to break in just to show her I can.

I press my hands to the spot hers might be. I hold them there until I hear her slide down the door to the floor.

That part of me that wants to feel guilt tightens and I let out a breath to dislodge it from my chest. She needs time to adjust and I’m a patient man. Usually.

I leave her there, in the wrong room. It might take her a while to discover that, when she returned to the hall she came from, she didn’t go far enough. Her suite, the one I carefully chose for her because of the delicate feminine décor, is two doors down.

A smile paints across my lips as I envision her when she realizes her mistake. It remains as I make my way to the study downstairs.

“Sir.” My majordomo, Henry, is poking his head out of the hall that leads to the kitchen. “May I?”

“Coast is clear.”

The rest of his body appears. “I’ve sorted out the staff, as you asked. Housekeeping will be done overnight, and only by Jenny. I will stock the pantry, but are you sure you don’t want Derek to cook? He’s accustomed to working strange hours and can be trusted.”

“Of course Derek can be trusted. I wouldn’t have hired him as chef otherwise. But for now, I want to keep Sofia…” I search for the right word. Sequestered? Captive? All to my fucking self? I opt for, “Calm.”

Henry’s already thin lips tighten more. “Very well, sir. If there is nothing else, I shall return in a few days.”

“Have a goodnight, Henry.”

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