Page 69 of Brutal King

“He’s fine. I promised.”

“Thank you.” She sinks against me and lets out the breath she must have been holding for a while.

“I want you in my bed,” I say huskily, my throat tight and my soul hollow.

She winds her arms around my neck and yawns. I take her to my suite, because I need her there. Sleep overtakes her the moment I draw the covers over us and bring her close.

Next to her, I finally find that reprieve from the bitter cold that revenge couldn’t touch.

17

SOFIA

Gideon watches me. I’ve gotten accustomed to it over the last few weeks, I suppose. Gotten used to the feeling of his intense gaze on me.

Sometimes, he studies me. His eyes roam over me slowly, pausing every once in a while on something he must find interesting. At first, it made me self-conscious of every imperfection I’ve dwelled on— how my two front teeth are a little too big, or the scar on my chin that looks like a lopsided indent, and the cowlick on my forehead that makes my hair stick up at a weird angle— but now I let it go. If he doesn’t like those things, he can look away.

Other times, Gideon scrutinizes me, his brows furrowed as if he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. I’ve also let this go. If I can’t figure myself out, he certainly never will.

Thing is, I watch him too. I’m forever aware of his presence in the house. It’s become a habit of mine, always knowing where he is— the study, the kitchen, the bathroom. My bed when he comes to me in the middle of the night.

He takes up so much room, that I instantly feel his absence when he steps outside the manor. There are times where he leaves on his helicopter to enact his revenge on some poor soul.Other times, he walks to the forest and disappears into the woods, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

What’s out there? Who is he delivering those flowers to? Certainly, it’s not the men that guard the perimeter of his property.

Right now, however, he’s watching me without seeing. It’s as if he’s so accustomed to doing it, his eyes are glued on me, but his mind is somewhere far far away.

I’d been sitting on the couch in the great room, flipping through the pages of a book on black and white landscape photography. It had been in a stack of them he brought a few days ago for me to go through.

He came in, a glass full of whiskey in his hand, and sat on the other side of the couch, his back against the corner so that he was partly facing me. I pushed my feet against his leg, not so that he would move, but so that they could get warmer. Days like today are so cold that five of the cats that live here have given up the comfort of Gideon’s bed and are lying on the floor by the fire.

We sat in silence for a long time, only the sound of the crackling fire and the purring to fill the quiet. Then I turned and caught him staring blankly.

“What are you thinking?” I finally ask.

He blinks, his attention returning to the here and now. “Planning.”

“Mmm. Evil things, I’m sure.”

A chuckle escapes him, and it does more to warm me than the fire ever could. “Not everything I do is evil.”

“Pfft. That’s doubtful.” I flip the page and as nonchalant as I can.“Tell me about it.”

He narrows his eyes. “So you can judge me?”

“I’ve already judged you, so you needn’t worry about that. But maybe I can help you plan. If in fact it’s not some misdeed.”

“You’ll think it is.”

“I’m sure I will. So, what is it?”

It takes him a moment, where his lips part but nothing comes out, as if he can’t decide whether to trust me. Finally, he says, “I took out an enemy a few days ago. Clive Maxton. He was one of the men involved in my father’s death.”

“Good for you.” My words drip with sarcasm and regret that I asked.

“That’s not what I’m thinking about.”

“Oh?”

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