Page 36 of The High Priestess

“Do you prefer being called Knight, Lincoln, or Link?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

I pause eating so I can focus on him as I ask, “So I can call you Lincoln?”

He doesn’t look bothered as he replies, “Sure.”

I stare at him for a moment, then ask, “What ruffles your feathers, Lincoln?”

The man doesn’t break eye contact, and I quickly realize I’ll lose a staring competition against him.

“Not much,” he mutters.

So what does it mean that I ruffled his feathers earlier?

Remembering how he gripped my chin while laying down the law has my heart skipping a beat. I was angry when we werearguing. But now I think having the man who took down an army of Russian soldiers protecting me is…hot.

A slight frown forms on my forehead, but before I can overthink things, Jasmine comes into the room again.

She places a tray on the small table in the corner. “Enjoy the food.”

Knight waits for her to leave before he takes a seat at the table. His eyes flick to me while he removes the food cover, then he orders, “Eat, Cassia.”

Right.

I shove a bite of creamed spinach into my mouth and glance at the drawn blinds obstructing my view of the hallway. Remembering how Knight shut the door and blinds before holding me has me wondering about him.

I was almost asleep when I heard him talk about his sister. It shocked me and brought my own grief to the surface.

Before I can think twice about it, the question leaves my lips. “What did you do before you became a killer?”

He uses the fabric napkin to wipe his mouth, then answers, “I was a Navy Seal with the US Navy.”

His reply surprises the living hell out of me.

Jesus, what happened to his sister that turned a Navy Seal into a cold-blooded killer?

His eyes meet mine, and he must see the question on my face because he answers, “She was kidnapped while I was away on a tour. They sold her into sex slavery, and when I found her, it was too late.”

Not only do his words hit hard, but the gruffness of his voice makes goosebumps spread over my skin.

My lips part on a gasp as I stare at Knight. I take in the lines by his eyes and mouth, realizing they’ve been carved into his skin by grief.

God.

I suck in a slow breath as the curtain of mystery is drawn back, revealing the man behind the gun.

I take in his short black hair, strong features, and dark eyebrows. My eyes lock with his dark green ones, and all I see is a world of pain.

He’s broken beyond repair, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

This man loved his sister so much that losing her turned him into the angel of death, reaping the souls of those he deems evil.

“I’m a criminal,” I whisper. “I smuggle illegal goods.”

Not breaking eye contact, he asks, “Do you smuggle people against their will?”

“No.”

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