Page 182 of Enemies

I’m no better than Mischa Ivanov, only different.

Raegan’s lips part in disbelief. Her eyes work over mine, emotion spilling over, but beneath, she’s resolute. “In Denver, you gave me this, and you told me it meant you’d never go.” She reaches for the bracelet on her wrist, waiting for me to tell her I meant it. That I love her, and that our love matters more than anything else in this world.

“I was wrong.”

The words rip from my chest, and saying them is itself an act of destruction.

I see it on her face, in the way her shoulders tighten.

I’m hurting her. The person I love most is sitting in front of me and I’m destroying her.

The pain in my chest is so sharp, so sudden, I wonder if this is what a heart attack feels like.

Fucking stop this, a voice demands. But I close it in an iron fist.

Something lands on the bed next to me. With a last look, Raegan rises from her chair and speaks to the nurse before starting down the hall.

I can’t breathe again, but there’s nothing the machines can do for me.

My gaze lowers to the shimmering circle next to me on the bed.

The inscription stands in relief against the gold.

My Queen.

This is wrong. All wrong.

One at a time, I pry off the leads attached to my chest, tossing them aside. The machine they belong to emits a single beep of complaint. Next, I shove myself out of bed, the IV tugging itself from my hand.

“Mr. King!” the nurse says from the doorway, sounding alarmed. “You could aggravate your condition.”

“You know nothing about my condition.” I spit out the words as I stalk past her and down the hall, the tile cold on my bare feet.

I don’t care that I’m wearing next to nothing. Don’t give a shit what anyone sees. The wrongness in my gut drives me forward, past the burning in my lungs.

At the end of the hall, I’m breathing heavily.

But there’s no sight of her.

27

RAE

As I step off the plane in Ibiza, the wind catches my hair and whips it around my face.

“My bag?” I ask my driver, a kid who subtly checks me out as he holds the door.

“Already in your car, señorita. Forgive me. You’re Raegan Madani, aren’t you? The DJ Little Queen?”

I take off my sunglasses. “Sure am.”

He leans in, his handsome face eager and so young. “You were ranked seventh on Billboard’s Top 100 DJs list. No woman has ever been that high before.”

“There’ll be a lot more women that high soon.”

I shift inside the car, and moments later, the driver pulls out.

En route, we drive past a familiar venue, my gaze lingering as my stomach heats.

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