Page 79 of Dangerous King
She's soft where I'm all sharp edges. Quiet where I'm thunder. But when I kiss her—fuck, when I kiss her—I come alive in a way I never have before. She doesn't just stir me. She ignites something in me I didn't know existed. She's reaching into the hollow places and filling them with light.
Even now, just thinking about her, how she looked the other night on the pier, how she gasped my name when she came, makes my cock stiffen painfully against the seatbelt. I should be going to the city. The office. There are a thousand things that need my attention. But I'm not. I take the turnoff toward home.
To her.
We've grown closer over the past few days. Late-night walks. Long talks. Hands tangled together, neither willing to let go. We haven't had sex again since the night at the lake. Like a teenager, I'm forcing myself to be satisfied with kisses and handholding. She deserves this and so much more. I'm not sure why I'm prolonging the inevitable—me fucking her senseless until she screams my name, until her body is so spent she can't move a limb. But the right moment hasn't shown itself yet. It'll be her first time.Iwill be her first. It will have to be special.
I'm not sure if tonight will lead to that, but I have something planned. Something that will show her she's not a passing fascination. That she's not just another pretty face in my bed.
She'll be dressed in whatever she wants, but preferably in something I'll enjoy taking off with my teeth. I don't do dates. Never have. I don't court. I claim. But with her? It's different. She deserves more than a rough fuck in the back seat of my Hummer—though, make no mistake, she'll get that too, when she's ready.
But not tonight.
Tonight is about the build. About watching her eyes light up when she realizes this isfor her.About pulling chairs out and holding doors and letting her know exactly what kind of man she's tangled with.
Not a gentleman.
A king. A dangerous king.
And if she's still with me at the end of the night—if she looks at me the way she did in that lake, breathless and open and so fucking ready—then I'll take her to my bed and show her what it means to be worshipped by a man who doesn't believe in mercy.
I'm not letting her stay hidden in that house any longer. She belongs in the world. I need others to see us, to know that she's mine.
Tonight, I'm taking her out. On a real date. Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere worthy of the girl who saved my sister and is now stealing my goddamn soul one kiss at a time.
The road curves toward the estate, and my headlights cut through the trees like blades. I'm still thinking about where to take her. Paris? Milan? Or maybe something quieter. More private.
The ringing of my phone interrupts my planning, Stephano. I hitTalkon my souped-up steering wheel. "Yes."
"I found him." His voice is cool, a little distant as always, but this time there's something in it. Not excitement. Not apprehension. Something in between, a foreboding that makes me grip the wheel tighter.
"How the fuck did you manage to get a picture ofhim?" Stephano asks. "That man is a ghost. A phantom. A fuckingmyth, Enrico. Do you know what you just handed me?"
"No. Enlighten me," I deadpan, because I have no fucking clue what he's talking about.
He exhales, like he's been waiting to drop this bomb all day. "His name—one of his names, anyway—is Alaric Bastian. But he's gone by over fifty aliases in the last decade. The man has no fingerprints. No records. No ID. He's not on any international database. There are only five verifiable photos of him in existence—and one of them is the one you sent me. And get this—he's a freelancer. Top-tier. An invisible assassin for hire. Works for whoever pays the most, finishes the job, and disappears."
"That's not newsworthy." I scowl. "Plenty of ghosts out there."
"Sure," Stephano agrees, "but most of them don't pull off a triple kill at the King of Bahrain's private wedding with six bodyguards in the room and no witnesses left alive. He was seen walking into the reception disguised as a priest. Cameras caught him entering but not leaving. The bride's father had been blackmailing a Russian oligarch. And then the king was dead. Boom. No evidence."
I stare ahead. My mind is racing. I've heard of the wedding massacre. You'd have to live under a rock not to. It was a security nightmare. If a king could be killed… I've also heard the name Alaric Bastian before. The man whogets the job done. "Why the fuck would he be in my backyard?"
Stephano doesn't answer, probably as mystified as I am. Sure, I have plenty of enemies out there who want me dead or who wantto hurt someone I love, but Alaric Bastian is a bit more than a mafia killer. His kills are high-stakes, political. His starting bid is a billion dollars, or so I heard. Why the fuck would a man like him take a job of kidnapping my sister and planting her in Giovanni's basement?
Rage coils in my chest like a living thing. My vision narrows, and I almost miss the turnoff to the estate. I skid slightly as I take it too fast, gravel spitting under the tires. The guards were already alerted to my arrival by the Hummer's system and have the gates open for me.
"I'll dig deeper," Stephano finally says, "But Enrico, this one's different. If he's in play? You're not just dealing withfamilydrama anymore."
I don't respond. I've already realized that. This isn't about Giovanni.
Or even Kingsley. This is muchbigger. If Alaric Bastian is working for someone. They're coming for more than blood.
"Do you have any idea how to get in contact with him?" I ask, coolly, even though I'm gripping the wheel like it's the only thing keeping me from detonating.
Stephano exhales slowly, "You don't. That's the thing. Nobody contacts him. There's no number. No burner. No handler.Hefindsyou.If he takes your contract, it means one of two things: either you're rich enough to buy a small country, or someone above you vouched hard for the job."
"And the people who hire him, do they live long enough to vouch again?"
