Page 12 of Rise of the King

“Put the gun down.”Okay, so it might not have been the best move to scare the Disney princess with the crack-shot aim. But in my defense, I’m fucking tired. It’s been a long two days, and I want another one of her cookies. Or possibly to find out if she tastes as good as her cookies. I could easily come up with something equally delicious to do with a bit of chocolate syrup.

Amelia takes another step forward. “Oh yes, let me put my gun down because the scary bad guy tells me to trust him. Sounds like a great idea.”

I don’t think anyone has ever spoken to me the way she does.

She’s not scared of me as much as I think she’s scared of what I said.

With both hands raised, I take a small step toward her. “I didn’t say trust me. I said put the gun down. I’m not here to hurt you.” I know this woman is a perfect shot, but her dark eyes are shaky. She’s scared, and for the first time possibly ever, I don’t like that I put that fear in someone’s eyes.

One more small step forward and I disarm her.

It’s risky, but I slap the gun away from the aim it has on my body, angling it toward the wall. Then I grab her wrist with my left hand and break her grip with my right before I spin the gun toward her face.

Her shoulders shake, and tears gather in her onyx eyes.

Once I pull the gun away, the magazine gets ejected, the chamber racked, and the bullet resting inside popped out.

After the weapon is cleared, I pass it back to her and pocket the ammo. “Never let someone walk close to you when you’re holding a gun. You’ve got to know that with the way you can shoot.” Then, putting space between us, I move to the other side of the counter and pick up another cookie. “I meant what I said. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“How?” Her confidence from earlier is gone, betrayed by the quiver in her voice. “How do you know that name?”

I stay put on my side of the counter, giving her space. “I have a few guys on my payroll. After your impressive shot earlier, I asked them to let me know what happened at the station. They ran your prints.”

“I didn’t give them my prints. I wouldn’t have been here baking if I had. I would have been packing.” Her skin turns ashen. “Oh, God. I have to pack. I have to get out of here.” She’s no longer talking to me.

Killing a woman earlier didn’t send Snow White into shock, but knowing they ran her prints does.

“Amelia. Why did you change your name? Who is Anastasia Rivell?” It’s time to start pushing. Time for the answers I need.

“She’s someone I left in Washington. I left her there and started a new life.” Amelia starts moving around the apartment, checking the locks on the windows and closing the curtains. I watch her grab another gun from under the table next to the sofa and check to see if it’s loaded. “It’s not safe here, Sam. You need to leave. Tell Bash I’m fine. Tell Belle she was the first real friend I’ve ever had. Tell her, one day, I’ll come back and meet her babies.”

“Amelia,” I call out to her, not moving. Not wanting to add to her frenzy. “You don’t have to be scared of me. No one else knows who you are. The cops bought your story. They aren’t digging deeper. My guy made sure of that. You risked something today, wanting to protect the ballerina and maybe even Bash. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

Where the fuck did that come from?

I don’t protect people. That’s Sebastian’s thing.

“This is bigger than you, Sam.” She sits on the arm of the couch that appears to have come from a secondhand shop. It fits the eclectic thing she’s got going on in here and gives me a slight feel for the woman in front of me.

My guess... she likes warmth and comfort.

She may seem no-nonsense.

But I don’t think that’s the real her.

That’s just what she portrays to the world or at least to strangers like me.

She lifts her head and blows away an errant lock of her dark hair. “It doesn’t involve you, Sam.” Then, gun in one hand, she wipes her eyes with the white sleeve of the t-shirt she’s wearing under the Philadelphia Kings football jersey that’s swallowing her small frame. “I just... I didn’t...”

Very slowly, I walk toward her. “Why did you have to change your name? Did someone hurt you? Did you hurt someone? If I’m going to help you, I’ve got to know what happened.” There goes that word again. When did I decide I was helping this woman?

Wide eyes slowly rise to meet mine. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. I haven’t been called that name in years... I left it behind. I left Anastasia on the other side of the country after my mom died.”

I take another step closer, being careful not to startle her. “Why did you leave Washington?” One more step and I’m standing next to her.

“I’ve only ever told that to one person,” is whispered. As if she’s not answering me but telling herself.

Lost in her own world.

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