Page 5 of Hostile King

Uncertainty claws up from the inside of my chest making it impossible to catch a breath. For all I know she’s dead and this is a trap to lure me into the jungle to join her. Maybe Paco dumped her exquisite body in the undergrowth, her youthful life ended too soon all because of me.

Nausea squeezes my stomach until I feel like vomiting. If she’s gone, I honestly don't know how I’d react. My brain might malfunction into the worst possible glitch I’ve ever experienced. Or my mind would break completely, welcoming an overflowing bloodbath in my vengeful wake.

Heavy footsteps follow me. “I’m not your enemy, she is,” he calls out the second I see a dreamlike silhouette lit up like a sublime angel.

A goddess wrapped in hydrous gold.

A powerful spirit with flowing strands of hair, pouring over rigid shoulders, the color so dark it matches the black heavens, suffocated by crooked trees.

Her malefic eyes are ablaze, helplessly dragging me into the firestorm she exudes.

Before me stands a dangerous woman with unique looks to slay me and a cocked rifle, the aimed directly at my chest.

“Don’t move, Tomás,” she says breathlessly. “I know everything.”

2

CARINA

“Carina?” Tomás’ throaty growl captures me in a flaming noose.

I freeze before him, my mouth completely dry. My stomach flutters when he takes a slow step forward, his own gun pointed away from me. Brilliant white teeth gleam behind snarling lips as if he’s demented.

The blazing torches scattered along the wooden walkway cast an unlawful veil over his handsome face, darkening his expression to ferocious.

Through the pain of maimed trust, all I see is him. I notice how his eyes glint with flecks of fire and then darken to a shade more carnal than the desire he somehow emanates. He no longer wears a suit jacket, his shirt tails untucked, and his once immaculately presented tie hangs loose around his neck.

If I didn’t know better, I would say he’s tumbling from the very throne he was perched upon.

My resolve crumbles a little when his gaze settles on the rifle in my hands, his forehead furrowed like he couldn't possibly understand why I would want to hurt him. Pointing a gun at this man isn’t really what I want to do.

It’s a crime to fire a gun and an atrocity to wound the man I have destructive feelings for. But I heard it myself and Paco had dropped in the missing pieces.

“Lower the rifle, Carina. We can talk about this. Whatever he told you is bullshit. I don’t give a fuck if you were really sent here to kill me. I know you won’t go through with it.”

I exhale in a blast and shake my head. “Are you serious? Do you still think I’m your enemy? After everything we…”

I stop myself short, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much I’m dying inside from his deception.

“You know I was thrown into this world without a damn clue about cartel wars and mafia business. If I was sent to assassinate you, don’t you think I would have tried already?”

After I had heard the truth about a wedding from Tomás’ own lips, I ran from the house alone and kicked off my sandals to help me move quicker over the moist planks. Memories had drowned me in a flood of torment. I had recalled every moment we shared and how precious those times felt to me.

And that’s the problem. I honestly believed there was something palpable developing between us, something real.

I dared to believe the king actually cared about me, in his own way, in whatever way a bloodthirsty killer can embrace compassion and desire.

I’m a fool who thought she’d found the edge of Heaven, that such a place existed. We both knew a happily ever after was never on the table. It was never even implied. What I’m most devastated by is the closeness I began to treasure. The rough and the smooth. Now, I know it was only a make-believe illusion.

He’d duped me—to protect another woman.

My heart jumps against my ribs when he casually slots his golden revolver into the waistband of his trousers. Panic lifts my lungs with every quick inhalation, the shortness of my breath making me lightheaded.

“I’m not armed.” Tomás holds out his hands. “Let’s talk. Just you and me. I trust you, Cari.”

“Don’t call me that.” I shake the gun at him. “Was this your plan all along? To make me trust you…so I wouldn’t pull a gun on you?”

We stand at the periphery of a dense jungle, our eyes locked in a disconcerting standoff. He looks worn out, his corded neck misted in a sheen of salty sweat, and his thick ebony hair unusually tousled where a rightful crown should sit.

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