Page 114 of King of Praise
“If you planned to kill me anyway, why this elaborate setup?” I ask, buying time while I calculate odds. “Why involve Naomi and Sandra?”
Francesca’s smile turns pure evil. “Because this way is so much more entertaining.” She gestures to Tommy. “Myassociate here has such creative ideas for making examples of those who oppose me. I thought you might appreciate watching his work before your own end.”
Tommy steps closer to Naomi, his face twisting into a vicious grin that makes my blood run cold.
“Boss, before we kill him, can I have some fun with his pretty little piece of ass?” His eyes rake over her body with undisguised lust as he flips open the blade of his knife. “Been a while since I had something so sweet to play with.”
My muscles coil with barely contained rage as he continues, each word stoking the fury building inside me.
“Gonna make her scream real nice for you, old man. Bet she’s tight too. Gonna enjoy stretching her out while you watch.”
He reaches out to stroke Naomi’s cheek. She jerks away from his touch, but the chair keeps her from moving far. The sight of his fingers on her skin sends murderous impulses coursing through me.
“Always gets me hard when they fight back.” Tommy leers, adjusting himself obscenely through his pants. “More fun that way. Love it when they cry and beg. Bet she’s a screamer.”
My vision blurs red around the edges. Every fiber of my being wants to tear him apart with my bare hands. But I force myself to remain still, knowing any reaction could get Naomi killed. I meet her eyes, trying to convey reassurance even as rage threatens.
“Maybe I’ll keep her around after you’re dead,” Tommy continues, clearly enjoying the effect his words are having. “Make her my personal toy. Train her real good.” He grabs a fistful of her red curls, yanking her head back and pressing the blade to her neck. “What do you think about that, sweetheart? Ready to learn your new place?”
The whimper that escapes Naomi’s throat snaps something inside me. My hands clench into fists so tight I feel my nailscutting into my palms. Every muscle in my body screams for violence.
I’m going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully. He’s going to suffer for daring to touch her, for even thinking about hurting her.
“Your fight’s with me,” I say, my voice low and controlled.
Tommy meets my rage-filled glare and leans closer to Naomi. “I’ll be back for you, sweetheart. Gotta go take care of your daddy first.” He grins, spinning the knife with ease as he turns his attention to me. “Let’s see what you’ve got, old man.”
I fall into fighting stance, hands curling into fists as adrenaline surges through my system. One way or another, this ends now.
Chapter 31
Freedom’s Price
Naomi
The teeth of the zip ties bite into my wrists as Tommy lunges at Micah, blade glinting under the harsh warehouse lights. My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat thundering in my ears as I struggle to breathe.
Please God, not like this. Not when we’ve finally found each other.
The knife slices through empty air as Micah pivots away with unexpected grace for such a large man. His movements are measured, precise—nothing like the clumsy dodges of someone unfamiliar with violence.
“Getting slow in your old age, Hunt?” Tommy taunts even though there’s no truth to his words. His smile reveals teeth sharp and eager for blood.
Micah doesn’t respond. His focus is absolute, dark eyes tracking every subtle shift in Tommy’s posture. I recognize this version of him—the enforcer, the protector, the man who navigates violence with professional detachment. It’s a side of him I’ve glimpsed in fragments during our time together, but never witnessed in its full, terrible glory.
Tommy feints left before slashing right, the blade whistling as it cuts through air mere inches from Micah’s throat. Mybreath catches painfully in my chest, but Micah is already moving, sidestepping smoothly while delivering a punishing blow to Tommy’s kidney.
The impact makes a sickening sound—not the theatrical thwack from movies but something wetter. Tommy grunts, momentarily hunched, but recovers faster than I expect. He spins, knife extended in a wide arc that would have disemboweled Micah if it connected.
“I’m going to carve you up slow,” Tommy promises, voice dropping low. “Make sure you stay alive long enough to watch what comes next.”
His eyes flick toward me, and the naked hunger in his gaze makes bile rise in my throat. I’ve seen that look before—in Lucas’s eyes when his control slipped, revealing the monster beneath the mask of normalcy. That same proprietary lust that reduces women to flesh, to conquests, to things meant for breaking.
Micah’s expression darkens, a muscle jumping along his clenched jaw. His hands curl into massive fists that could easily crush Tommy’s windpipe, yet he holds himself in check, waiting for an opening rather than charging blindly.
They dance around each other, a deadly waltz of predators. Tommy is younger, perhaps faster, but Micah moves with the assurance from his experience. Each step is intentional. I can see his mind working behind those dark eyes, calculating angles and opportunities while he conserves energy.
When Tommy lunges again, Micah’s counterattack comes with brutal efficiency—a lightning-fast jab that connects with Tommy’s nose. Cartilage crunches, blood spraying in a fine mist. Tommy staggers back, momentarily stunned, and Micah presses his advantage. A vicious uppercut lifts Tommy partially off his feet, followed by a blow to the stomach that doubles him over.
