Page 14 of King of Praise
I nod against his shirt, not trusting my voice. His heart beats beneath my ear, its rhythm soothing.
“You’re stronger than you know,” he says. “You survived him. You’ll survive this too.”
“How can you be so sure?”
His arms tighten. “Because I see you, Naomi. The real you, not the scared woman Lucas tried to create. I see your strength, your resilience. You’re a survivor.”
The words sink into my chest like a balm, easing something that’s been tight and painful for so long. He sees me. Really sees me, beyond the bruises and fear. Something shifts between us in that moment, subtle but significant. A boundary crossed that we can’t uncross.
His phone rings, shattering the moment. We both freeze, his arms going rigid around me.
“I should get that,” he says.
I nod, reluctantly extracting myself from his embrace. He pushes to his feet and grabs his phone. He answers it before it stops ringing. “Give me a second,” he says into the receiver. Then he drops to the phone to his side and looks down at me.
He towers over me. All six feet four inches of strong man. He tips my chin up with a gentle finger, meeting my eyes with an intensity that steals my breath. “We’re not done talking about this. But right now, I need to take this call.”
He heads out the door and it closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and the remnants of his touch still burning on my skin. Through the door, his voice murmurs too low to make out words.
My heart pounds in my chest as I wait, wondering what new complications this call might bring. Wondering if this sanctuary we’ve found will last beyond this moment.
Wondering why my skin still tingles where Micah touched me, and what that might mean for both of us.
Chapter 4
Power Moves
Micah
Ezekiel King’s house, nestled in an exclusive Columbus neighborhood, screams success and power. It’s worlds away from his gritty beginnings on New York’s meanest streets and my middle-class upbringing in central Ohio. Expensive artwork lines the walls, each piece probably worth more than my cabin and apartment combined.
The calculated display of wealth is a reminder of just how far we’ve come from who we used to be. I may live a meager lifestyle, but I know this level of wealth. Zeke likes the life of luxury. I prefer simplicity. Give me the simple comfort of my one-room cabin and workshop any day.
I shift my weight, flexing my shoulders to ease the tension building since I left Naomi alone. Waiting only makes it worse. Zeke and the others met up for breakfast and they’re not back yet. They invited me, but since I was at the cabin, I couldn’t make it back in time.
My thoughts drift back to Naomi for the hundredth time this morning. I’ve done everything I can to ensure her safety—stocked the kitchen with groceries, left her with burner phones and emergency contacts, mapped out escape routes. But the separation feeds my worry.
Focus.She’s safe. The cabin’s secure. No one knows to look for her there.
Still, leaving her alone feels wrong. She’s still processing the trauma of killing Lucas, still jumping at sudden noises and flinching from shadows. The bruises around her throat have darkened to purple, a constant reminder of how close I came to losing her before I could—
I cut that thought off. Before I could what? Save her? Protect her? Want her in ways that make me a monster worse than my son?
She’s your daughter-in-law, I remind myself.Was your daughter-in-law. You have no right to think about her that way.
A burst of childish laughter breaks through my brooding. Leo bounds into the foyer, all gangly limbs and boundless energy. His sandy blond hair is tousled like he’s been rolling around on the floor, blue eyes bright with excitement. The sight of him loosens something in my chest. Here’s an innocence worth protecting, a reminder of why we do what we do.
“Hey, Micah.” Eve’s voice carries a gentle authority as she comes downs the stairs. Her detective’s badge glints at her hip, a silent reminder of the delicate line we walk.
I try not to notice how Eve’s sharp gaze catalogs every detail of my appearance. She’s damn good at her job. It’s one of the reasons Zeke fell for her. Also one of the reasons I need to be extremely careful around her right now.
“You look tired,” she says, voice casual but eyes keen. “Everything okay at the club?”
I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. “You know how it is. Always something needing attention.”
“Mm.” She studies me with the focused intensity that’s probably broken a hundred suspects in interrogation. “Funnything about attention. Sometimes what needs it most isn’t what’s right in front of us.”
My pulse kicks up a notch, but I maintain my calm façade. Does she suspect something? Has Lucas’s death already hit her radar? No, too soon. We were careful.Iwas careful.
