Page 7 of The Kings
“Hope it was all bad,” I retort, letting my smile play at the edges of my lips. Oliver’s chuckle rumbles through the space between us.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” he says, holding my gaze with an intensity that promises secrets and sins.
“Good,” I reply, leaning forward to grip his cool fingers tightly in a silent dare. “Because I plan to live up to every word.”
My eyes flit from Oliver’s amused expression as I let go of his hand to the guy who opened the door. I’d bet my last pound he’s the Blackthorne heir. The Sterlings are second to the Carvers, with the Blackthornes close behind.
He hovers like a shadow at the periphery of the room. He’s a storm cloud in human form—dark, brooding, and utterly majestic.
“James Blackthorne,” he replies, voice low and controlled. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
Bingo!
Our gazes lock, his dark eyes a fortress of secrets. The silence stretches between us, a tightrope I’m all too willing to walk. The challenge in his stare is a puzzle to solve and damn it all if I don’t love a good mystery.
Breaking eye contact first, I inwardly smirk.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
Turning away, I feel the weight of the situation settle on my shoulders—the significance of sharing this space with the heirs to empires built on sins and blood. This isn’t just a townhouse; it’s a lion’s den where I’m both hunter and hunted.
A thrill shoots through me at the thought of being surrounded by this darkness. The dangerous dance of power and seduction.
“Looks like we’ll be spending quite a bit of time with each other,” I muse aloud, the words laced with double meaning.
“Seems so,” Raphael murmurs.
“Should be interesting,” Tarquin adds, his tone lighter but his eyes just as sharp, making me wonder which one is older. I’m betting it’s Raphael.
“Interesting is one word for it,” Oliver says, shifting on the sofa.
James remains silent.
“Well, gentlemen, let’s keep this entertaining.”
As they offer nods and murmurs of agreement, I know the game has already begun. It’s a deadly board we’re playing on, and I intend to checkmate them all. Rising, I stalk over to pick upmy bags, their gazes following my every move, some calculating, some intrigued.
I stride through the vast hallway, the high heels of my black boots clicking on the marble floor, my head held high. Tarquin falls into place beside me, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he guides me to my room.
“Quite the entrance back there,” he says, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey.
“First impressions matter,” I shoot back, my lips twitching into a smirk. I can tell he’s trying to get a read on me, but I’m not some open book for him to thumb through. He’s going to have to work a fuckload harder than that. I’m guessing he’s used to the easy road, so the rude awakening is going to make this even more fun.
He leads me to the second floor and down the corridor past three doors before he stops outside a closed one and pushes it open. Stepping inside with him watching me, I take it in. It’s spacious, with a king-sized bed and windows that offer a view of the manicured campus. Tarquin leans against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, those shrewd eyes tracing my movements.
“Comfortable?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
“Looks like it’ll do,” I reply, dropping my bags on the bed with a soft thud. “Thanks for the escort.”
“Anytime.” His voice carries a hint of something darker, a promise or a threat—I can’t quite decide.
“I’ll leave you to it.”
I wave him off, already turning away from him. As the door clicks shut behind him, my mind dances with thoughts of the men outside these walls.
I’m alone now, but not for long. These guys, they’re all pieces on the board, and I need to know every move they might make.Dad’s right—this year’s the crucible. It’s about more than grades and diplomas; it’s about power plays and survival.
I unzip my bag, my fingers brushing against cold metal—the reassuring feel of the compact pistol nestled among silk and lace. A girl’s got to have her secrets, after all.
