Page 7 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

ALARIC

I’ll kill that girl when I find her.

The maid was the one who realized Kasimira had escaped somehow.

Maria’s scream at seven in the morning could have woken the dead. I rushed to the guest wing expecting blood, violence, some catastrophe. Instead, I found an empty room and an open window.

The little brat had climbed out like some kind of cat burglar.

“Sir, I brought her breakfast and she was just gone,” Maria stammered, wringing her hands. “The window was open, and clothes were missing from the closet. I don’t understand how she…”

But I understood perfectly. The girl had survival instincts, I’d give her that. Perhaps learned them from her arms dealer father before he sold her off like livestock.

What she didn’t know was that I’d been expecting this.

The black backpack was missing from the closet, exactly as I’d planned. Hidden in the lining, so small she’d never notice it, was a GPS tracker that activated the moment the bag experienced sustained movement.

She was actually carrying her own leash.

Three days of watching that little red dot move across state lines, of letting her think she was free while I tracked her every move like a hunter stalking prey.

Now I’m seven hours into the drive to some nowhere town called Millfield, and the white-hot rage that consumed me when I found that empty room has cooled significantly.

My son got his explosive temper from me, but he never learned the most important lesson—when to unleash the beast and when to keep it caged.

Dante’s anger was a wildfire, destructive and unpredictable.

The highway stretches endlessly ahead, giving me too much time to think. About the girl who spent one night in my arms and now represents my biggest complication, and about the will that binds us together, whether we like it or not.

I could have taken the jet, been there in two hours instead of seven. But arriving angry would have been a mistake. When you’re dealing with someone who has nothing left to lose, you don’t give them a reason to do something stupid.

The GPS shows she’s been stationary for forty-three minutes. Some diner in the middle of nowhere. Good. She’s tired, possibly hungry, and in a place where everyone will notice if she tries to make a scene. Small towns like this—you can’t disappear into a crowd because there is no crowd.

I pull into the parking lot as the sun starts to set, and through the window, I can see her. Corner booth, back to the wall.

She’s dressed in what looks like a summer dress and a button-up cashmere sweater. From this distance, I can’t make out all the details, but she looks…different. Less like a prisoner, more like the woman I remember from that hotel room.

She’s eating like she hasn’t had a real meal in days.

Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail that makes her look younger and innocent. But then scenes from our night together flash through my mind. She’s anything but innocent—at least in bed.

Focus, Alaric. Dammit. It’s bad enough that you fucked your son’s ex-fiancée. You planning to make that mistake twice?

I shake my head and force myself to concentrate on why I’m here. Business first. Everything else can go to hell.

When I walk into the diner, the bell above the door chimes softly. She looks up at the sound, reasonably expecting to see another local coming in for coffee.

Instead, she sees me.

Every drop of color drains from her face. Her fork clatters against her plate as her hand goes limp.

I approach her table casually, like I’m meeting a date for dinner. Or maybe a daughter.

“Hello, Kasimira.”

She starts to stand, probably planning to run for the back exit, but I don’t need to raise my voice or make sudden movements.

“You move an inch and I’ll put a bullet in your heart.”

“You can’t keep chasing?—”

“Sit down.”

She sits.

Up close, the transformation is even more striking. The baggy clothes from the estate hid her figure, but this dress shows me exactly what I remember from that hotel room.

“How did you find me?” Her voice is steady, but I can see the pulse hammering at her throat.

“Now, why would I tell you that?”

She lifts her chin, and there’s the defiance I was expecting. “I suppose you think you’re very clever.”

“Clever enough to find you when you thought you were so smart.” I lean back in the booth, letting my eyes drift over her appearance. The dress is modest by most standards, but on her, it looks like an invitation. “You clean up nice.”

“I’m not going back with you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Just transfer the assets to someone else.” Her voice rises slightly, and I see an older man, a few tables away, glance our way. “Give them to charity, to a great cause, to anyone. Let me disappear and I’ll never bother your family again.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Why not? You hate this arrangement as much as I do.”

She’s not wrong about that. The thought of marrying my dead son’s woman, of being legally bound to someone I’ve already been intimate with under completely different circumstances, makes my skin crawl.

But that’s not the point.

“Because you’ll be dead within a week if you’re not under family protection,” I tell her. “Dante made enemies. Serious ones. They think you know where he hid their money.”

“I don’t know anything about his money.”

“Doesn’t matter what you know. Matters what they think you know.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her trying to find another angle, another argument.

“I’d rather take my chances.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” I signal the waitress for coffee, keeping my movements casual. “You’re smarter than that. You survived two years with my son, which means you know how to calculate odds.”

The waitress brings my coffee, and I wait until she’s gone before continuing.

“The odds of you staying alive without protection are zero. The odds of you staying alive as my wife are considerably better.”

“Your wife.” She says it like the words taste bitter. “Do you have any idea how fucked-up this is?”

“Language, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

I take a sip of coffee, studying her over the rim. The dress has thin straps that keep sliding off her shoulders, and she keeps pushing them back up. A nervous habit that draws my attention to the smooth line of her collarbone, where I remember placing my mouth that night.

“Time to go.”

She stares at me for a stretched pause, then slowly reaches for her purse. “I should have known I couldn’t outrun you forever.”

“You lasted longer than most.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” She stands, and I follow. Her movements are resigned but still defiant. “Two years with your son, now a lifetime with you. What did I do to deserve this family?”

“You survived. That’s more than most people can say after dealing with Dante.”

I toss money on the table for both our meals. The summer dress moves with her body in ways that make it hard to focus on anything else. When she bends to pick up the small backpack at her feet, the fabric stretches across her ass, and I have to remind myself that I’m supposed to be angry with her.

We’re almost to the door when she bolts.

I’ll give her credit for timing. She waits until we’re outside before making her move. But being on the run has taken its toll, and she’s not as fast as she thinks she is.

I catch her before she makes it ten feet, wrapping one arm around her waist and lifting her off the ground. She fights like a wildcat, kicking and clawing and cussing so foul it could wilt flowers.

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastard!”

I throw her over my shoulder, and the position puts my hands right where they need to be to keep her in place. Under her thighs, just below the curve of her ass, exactly where I held her that night when she straddled my lap in the darkness.

She’s still fighting, pounding on my back with her fists, but the struggle has pulled her dress up higher than it should be. When I look down, I can see the pale skin of her thighs, the edge of white lace that makes my mouth go dry.

Three months ago, I buried my face between these thighs and made her scream my name.

I reach my car and pull the passenger door open, depositing her in the seat with more force than necessary. She immediately tries to scramble out the other side, but I’m faster, grabbing her wrists and pinning them while I reach for the restraints in the glove compartment.

“You son of a bitch! You can’t do this!”

“Watch me.”

The handcuffs are heavy steel, with a chain that connects to ankle restraints. I start with her wrists, and she jerks against my grip, trying to twist away.

“Let me go,” she hisses, but her voice shakes.

“Not happening.”

I secure the first cuff around her right wrist, the metal clicking into place with finality. She tries to pull away, but I catch her left hand, my fingers wrapping around her wrist as I bring it to the chain.

“Please,” she whispers.

I ignore it and move to her ankles. Crouching beside the car door, I have to push her legs apart to access both feet. The summer dress rides up her thighs as she struggles, and I catch glimpses of pale skin that make my mouth go dry.

Her ankle is delicate in my hands as I fasten the first restraint. She kicks out with her free leg, catching me in the shoulder, and I grab both her ankles to hold them still.

“Keep fighting, and this gets uncomfortable for both of us,” I warn.

When I tug the chains to test they’re secure, the metal clinks softly in the evening air. She’s trapped now, completely at my mercy, and something primitive in my chest responds to that reality.

“Excuse me? Is everything okay over here?”

The voice cuts through the quiet parking lot like a blade. A woman in her thirties stands a few feet away, car keys in her hand, concern etched across her pleasant face.

She’s looking between Kasi’s restrained form and me hovering over her, and I can practically see her reaching for her phone.

“I have enough bullets in my jacket to paint this parking lot red. Everyone who tries to help you dies. Your choice,” I mutter to Kasi as I straighten slowly. Forcing my most disarming smile, I turn fully to the woman. “Everything’s perfect. Just getting my girl ready for tonight’s…activities.”

The woman’s eyebrows shoot up. “Activities?”

I see Kasi’s throat work as she swallows hard. When she speaks, her voice transforms completely.

“Oh God, yes,” she breathes, and the sultry purr in her tone makes every nerve ending in my body stand at attention. “I’ve been begging him to tie me up like this all week.”

The stranger’s mouth falls open slightly.

Kasi tilts her head back against the headrest, exposing the long line of her throat. “We’re playing cops and robbers tonight. He’s the big, bad detective…” She looks up at me through her lashes. “And I’m the naughty criminal who needs to be…interrogated.”

The way she’s looking at me, the way her voice wraps around those words, I can’t tell if she’s acting or if there’s something real underneath the performance.

I chuckle. “She’s got quite the imagination.”

“Mmm.” Kasi’s eyes never leave mine as she addresses the stranger. “You look like you could use some excitement in your life, honey. There’s definitely room for one more in our bed tonight.”

“The more the merrier,” I add.

The woman’s face goes through several shades of red before settling on horrified.

“I’m fine! Perfectly fine! You just…you carry on with whatever this is.

” She backs away rapidly, shaking her head.

“Dear Lord. The world has gone wild.” She hurries to her car, muttering about the decline of civilization and what happened to good Christian values.

When her taillights disappear, I turn to Kasi. “You sure are a good actress.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know if that was real?”

I let out a chuckle. “Nice try, Kasimira, but you can’t fool me.”

I slam the door harder than necessary, even though I do want to be fooled.

Seven hours. Seven hours alone in a car with this woman who just made me harder than I’ve been in months with nothing but her slutty words and a look.