Page 43 of Hostile King

And then he revealed himself to me.

He kept his glitch in check.

Unknown planets aligned in an alternative cosmos; a solar system so far removed from my expectations.

You’re in my bloodstream now, and I’m in yours.

Three times fate had thrown us together. The universe had declared him the master of my heart and soul. But I must be honest with myself…can I stay with a man who doesn’t relish tenderness? Can I live without it? His molecular makeup breeds cold-heartedness as a primary trait.

As time passes, will I yearn for more than the all-powerful king who churns out orders and commands? Or would he eventually show me the other side of his personality, the rare paradigm of a monster practicing compassion. A hidden gentleness I’ve merely glimpsed upon.

I rotate on the balls of my feet and pad across the heated tiles underfoot, the lifelong haze of empty nothingness no longer haunting me like it used to. Even though Tomás had shunned me at the plantation, I couldn’t escape the feeling his words were deeply sincere—if a guy of his prime caliber and callous breeding knows such a concept.

Hissing through clenched teeth, I step into the deep tub positioned in the middle of a picture window bringing the twinkly city view into the stately bathroom. Warm water laps at my tense muscles. It soothes my stiff spine and overused pussy, quickly turning muddy brown as dried blood mingles with the smokey sandalwood-scented suds.

Is this the life I want to live?

Time passes, submerged up to my chin, alone in a five-star hotel where cartel men guard the door, waiting for Tomás to find me again. My skin prickles at the thought of it. The toxic rush I get from his presence is my kryptonite. Isn’t that love? A crazy, foolish, heart stopping rush that grows every time we’re together.

Even enveloped in soothing liquid, I can feel him under my skin, feel the cells of his blood mutate with mine to create a beast so eternally damned I’d never be able to refuse him.

Yet he threw an ultimatum at my feet. A heavy choice to make on my own—to either escape the country with my life or take up residence with him in the underworld where he rules with guns and violence.

Is that what I truly want—to be by his side as a permanent target for his enemies, or would freedom taste sweeter than his undivided attention?

I think about my big brother and his loyalty toel Fantasma, how he’s found a satisfying place in the world. Then there’s my parents who are devoted to each other, not needing riches to embrace happiness or love. They have each other and their love.

Where does that leave me? The teenage girl afloat in her obsession with a kingpin who prioritizes business. A breathtaking man who’s protected me from the day and hour we first met.

After washing my hair under a handheld shower head, I crawl from the tub and slip on a soft bathrobe. Finally clean, I rough dry the sodden lengths with a towel, use the comb that’s squarely placed beside a bottle of Creed cologne, scrape my hair into a topknot, and wander into the bedroom where a full moon strikes the carpet, declaring the end of a tiresome evening.

Bedside lamps brighten the rich cotton bed linen and muted gold furnishings only to cast shadows into the unlit edges of the room.

Flashes of him come and go. The thrust of his commanding hips, the unforgiving pressure of his hot mouth, and the gravelly tone of his declarations, so broken and harsh that the words cut his throat.

Your body is my therapy.

You’re the woman I’d start a war for.

Are those the ramblings of a man lost in lust, consumed by the power of sex?

Exhausted, I clamber onto the feather-filled duvet, roll to my side, and draw my knees in tight. The silence created by double glazed balcony doors and soft furnishings, drowns me under the influence of my desires. My heart thrums.

Is he bailing on the wedding?

For us.

For me.

I don’t realize my weary limbs sinking into the pillowy mattress or how it coaxes me to sleep, but the jolt of my awakening pounds right through me like horses’ hooves on a racetrack. I breathe furiously and blink at the doorway where Tomás locks the door behind him.

A charcoal garment bag is draped over one arm. I fist the bathrobe at my chest and suck in a breath, frozen on the bed by the sight of him.

Although dressed like a handsome devil in all black, subtle crescents crease his under eyes, fatigue paling his usual sunny complexion. Rebellious scruff is now darker, coarser—untrimmed from too many hours spent awake.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, not waiting for my reply as he comes closer.

“I’m fine.”

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