Page 16 of King of Obsession (Kings of the Underworld #1)

I’ve never slept so deeply that I have no memory of any dreams. Not even a recollection of falling asleep. I was just out of function, but it doesn’t surprise me after the night I had, filled with an overload of sensations, countless orgasms, and intense emotions.

I hate how he can reach inside me and uncover parts I kept locked, even from myself.

I hate how he can turn my violence against me and into a fuck fest.

And most of all, I hate that I can’t hate him at all.

Peeling my eyes open, the sun’s rays stream through the windows, the light catching in the chandelier’s crystals, dancing in a rainbow of colors.

Not wanting to wake him, I roll to my side, groaning under my breath. I am so deliciously sore; every step reminds me that he obliterated my hymen and fucked me so deep and intensely I still feel his cock inside me.

The smell of soap and sex permeates the air. Inhaling it, a shiver trickles along my skin, making my thighs clench in response.

Naked, I tiptoe outside the bedroom. I walk toward the bar in the living room and pick out a bottle of water, downing it in one go.

The cool liquid glides past my chin, rolling down my neck.

With the back of my hand, I wipe the water from my skin, staying rooted in place for several minutes.

Placing the bottle down, I palm the counter, closing my eyes. What the fuck am I doing here?

When I open them, I see the guns discarded on the carpet, bullets scattered around, just like my rationality. They paint a clear image of failure, tempting me to pick one and be done with this game I will lose otherwise.

Walking toward them, I grab both Glocks, then return to the bedroom. Standing by the foot of the bed, I wait for him to wake up, but his chest rises and falls with deep sleep.

Poking his feet with the muzzle of one, I graze his calf with the other.

It’s the smirk that gives him away. He turns on his back and opens his eyes, his expression stoic.

Scooting up in bed without a care and purposefully ignoring the guns in my hands, he leans against the hardboard.

He jerks his chin toward me as he says in his deep voice, scratchy with sleep, “Morning, amore.”

I lift both my hands and aim the guns at his chest. If only I could pull the triggers. No lockdown could keep me from escaping. I could flee unscathed out of here long before he would draw his final breath.

He arches an arrogant brow, waiting. His self-assuredness is unnerving.

Seconds pass while I play with the triggers, pressing them slightly, but I stop myself from firing every time.

“I see you chose violence on this lovely day.”

I roll my eyes. He doesn’t care that I am pointing two freaking guns at him. He crosses his arms behind his neck, inhaling deeply just as his cock springs to attention.

At half-mast it’s impressive, but now fully hard, it’s something else entirely, reminding me that if I stayed in bed, I would now writhe and moan under him as he had his way with me. I sigh, not believing that I am frustrated at my choice of action.

“Come to bed and let me put that violence of yours to better use.”

Right then, as he inhales the heavy smell of sex, we both look at the irrefutable proof of what happened last night. Some pink spots and dried cum dot the sheets. He observes them with nostalgia and a heap of satisfaction.

“Will never forget how it felt breaking you in.”

He’s so crass, but I guess I don’t mind as much as I’d like. My huff of indignation is more for show. His dirty mouth puts me in the mood like nothing else.

“Can we reschedule you planning to kill me? I have things to do today, like finding the answers for you. I will pick you up for dinner.”

My jaw drops. “There’s definitely something wrong with you. What do you think we’re doing here? Dating? What comes next, marriage?”

“I would love to make an honest woman out of you, but we’re not there yet.”

I pull the trigger on both guns, two bullets implant into the headboard one inch from the sides of his neck. I have excellent aim.

He appears almost bored as he sees the first bullet, then turns his head to the second one.

“I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Are you deaf?” In my frustration, at him but mostly at me, I lock the safety in place before throwing his gun at him. He catches it with ease as I toss mine onto my pillow.

“Come on, do it.” I tremble in anger. I am such a failure I deserve to die.

His demeanor quickly shifts, as if he doesn’t like what he sees. His jaw clenches and his body tightens with suppressed fury.

In three strides, he eradicates the distance between us and grips my chin, tipping my head up. “Never say that bullshit. I forbid you to even think that.”

Wrapping me in his strong arms, he kisses the top of my head and whispers, “I don’t understand this thing between us either… Be the brave woman you are and let’s figure things out. Together.”

It’s like the blind trying to instruct the deaf. We’re both so out of our zone we might as well communicate in two different languages.

As he gets dressed, I move toward the window, lost in my own thoughts. Not even the soft click of the door pulls me out of my trance.

One week left of my vacation before I turn back into a woman who doesn’t feel—a killer, a cold-blooded assassin.

If my vacation ends with Enzo dead or alive, it’s up to him. I don’t care who offers me the information. The only certain fact is that I will return and be Augustus’s trusted right hand.

No feelings will get in my way, and Enzo’s mistaken if he thinks differently.

Pulling on a robe, I look around at the mess we’ve made, and my belly grumbles. I should place an order for breakfast while thinking that the clean-up will be a bitch—a clear sign I am not on top of my game.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. Opening it, I see the concierge behind a cart carrying an assortment of breakfast items. From the fruit salad to the pancakes, salami and cheese plate, and an omelet, it looks scrumptious. There’s also an orange juice and a cappuccino.

I don’t even have to ask who ordered it.

He tries to wheel the cart in, but I hurriedly move to stand before him.

“Thank you, but I have it.” Then I quickly return to tip him.

“As you wish, miss.” He nods my way and leaves.

Closing the door, I wheel the cart to the dining table. As I dig into the fluffy omelet, I send Enzo a message.

Who’s cleaning up this mess?

Don’t worry. I’ll send someone over when we’re having dinner.

I wasn’t worried.

No, you just missed me.

I roll my eyes at his text when another one comes through.

Is your breakfast to your liking?

Yes. Thank you.

Anything for my woman.

And he has to ruin it again.

Another knock interrupts my breakfast. My stomach growls in rebellion, and my patience is thinner than a piece of paper, yet I plaster on a fake smile. I’ve learned quickly that a woman’s smile can disarm any man.

But when I open the door, my smile quickly vanishes at who’s standing on the other side. Mikail Morozov, the Pakhan of the Russian Bratva and Enzo’s best friend and business partner.

He has such cold features I half expect winter to blow a frosty storm my way.

Silver eyes clash in a battle of wills. He can’t intimidate me, yet he brushes past me hard enough to cause me to stumble. I catch my feet in time and steady myself.

Neither of us speaks as he enters like he owns the place.

Cocking his head, he stares at the bullets.

“Enzo’s still alive. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be breathing either,” he says in a detached, neutral voice, but the threat is clear.

Unbuttoning his jacket, he takes a seat and gestures for me to continue eating. Do they spoon feed these men arrogance at breakfast, lunch, and dinner?

I sit in my chair, facing him, patting the gun strapped under the table. “I guess this is not a social visit.”

“Hands where I can see them. I shoot first and ask later.”

Scoffing, I place both my palms on the table, returning to eat my omelet. I must have consumed a lot of energy because I devour everything on the plate.

“He fucked you,” he says, almost disappointed.

“What gave me away?” I ask in a sweet voice laced with sarcasm.

“And he spent the night. He’s never done that before… which begs the question? Is it his dick or his charming personality that, despite all the opportunities you’ve had, he’s still breathing and so are you?”

“None of your business.”

He clicks his tongue. “Now, that is where you’re wrong. It is my business when my partner has apparently lost his fucking mind, and the Council’s killer is in my damn city.”

He stands up and strides toward me. Slamming both palms on the table, he bends over, leaning into me. In response, I grip my knife, and his sharp eyes move from where I have my hand back to my face.

“Try it. Give me the excuse I need to fucking end your life.” He doesn’t need to raise his voice for it to drip with authority.

“If Enzo dies, I will leave a trail of blood behind you. You won’t be able to count the bodies.

I will dismantle the Council and everything you hold dear. Don’t mess with me, Luciana.”

I realize the difference between Enzo and him. No wonder they complement each other so well. The former is more charming and more subtle in his violence. Mikail loves and embraces it, waiting to strike and feed his empty soul. I believe him.

“You can try.” I have my poker face on and don’t let him see that his words affect me. What if the worst-case scenario happens? Am I willing to sacrifice my world for a piece of information? I’ll be known for the rest of time as the one who failed and brought the Council’s demise.

“Then help your friend give me what I want, and I’ll be gone. I’ll never even set foot in Reno again.”

He walks away and at the door he stops, not even bothering to look back.

“If Enzo said he’ll find it, he will, but you’re the type of person who has no god, no faith. You will be your own demise.”

An arctic wind blows through my insides, freezing me instantly.