Page 103 of Sins of a King

His mouth softened just a bit, apology tingeing his gaze, but he was silent as he guided me toward the side exit. Our limo was idling at the curb, and Flynn didn’t bother waiting for our driver to get out. He opened the door, letting me slide in first before he got in next to me. He swallowed space, invaded mine, but I found it comforting. Flynn wrapped his arm around me, and I leaned into him, wanting his support, not even ashamed I wanted him to make this go away.

But I didn’t think he could. Nowhere was safe.

“To The Dominus,” he snapped to his driver.

“What’s happening, Flynn?” I demanded.

“I need to pay Marino a visit.” He whipped his cell phone out and shot off a text—no doubt to the man we were calling on.

I didn’t know if Marino was Flynn’s ally, but the Italian mob boss had knowledge of things going on in the city. I assumed he was the one who had given Flynn the head’s up that Dolinsky was out to destroy him. Then again, Flynn edited what he shared with me, so it was all speculation on my part.

“Why is Dolinsky going after you?” I asked. I’d never considered the question before—and Flynn wasn’t one to keep me in his confidence, though he claimed it was for my protection. “Why not target Marino?”

Flynn cracked his knuckles and stared out the window. He weighed his words but finally admitted, “Dolinsky considers me his equal and a threat. If he can get rid of me, he will have a monopoly on the sex trade.”

I shook my head. “Sex trade? Does he own a brothel, too?”

“No. He sells women against their will, Barrett.”

I shivered.Evil man.

Traffic was fairly light considering it was a Friday night, and it took very little time getting from the Upper East Side all the way down to the Lower East Side. We pulled into the underground garage of The Dominus Hotel. We climbed out of the limo and Marino was waiting for us. He was a middle-aged man with a round belly and a bulbous nose, but that didn’t detract from his shrewd, calculating gaze. He never once glanced my way—he believed women were nothing more than beautiful trophies.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a set of keys and tossed them at Flynn. “Last spot on the top floor,” he said. “You owe me. For the risk of helping you.”

“You’ll get your reward.”

The promise sounded ominous. I wondered if Marino noticed it, too. He was in the middle of two powerful men vying for the title of king. At some point, he had to pick his stallion and hope it won.

Flynn and I found the black Mercedes with tinted windows, got in, and headed for who knew where.

“Barrett,” Flynn whispered. “Wake up, hen. We’re here.”

I didn’t know if it was the endearment or the gentle insistence that finally had me opening my eyes.

“Where are we?” I asked, looking at Flynn. He sat in the driver’s side of the car, looking exhausted. It was dark outside, the car was off and there was no light pollution which meant we were somewhere outside the city. I could actually see the glow of the moon.

“Quogue—the Hamptons,” he clarified.

I glanced out the window and saw the house. Cottage. Modest. Flynn got out of the car, and I fumbled with the door. My limbs were tired, my brain numb. Though my wrist and ankle were no longer outright throbbing, my entire body ached. A soak in the tub would be amazing.

“Who owns this place?” I asked as I scrambled from the car.

“I do.” He opened the front door and ushered me inside before locking up. Flynn flipped on the light switch. A soft glow bathed hardwood floors and light gray walls.

“You?” I was surprised. The house wasn’t at all imposing or decorated in stark masculine decor and colors. It wasn’t Flynn at all.

“I wanted to make it as close as possible to the house I grew up in. This is my mother’s style. Was,” he corrected.

Flynn’s parents had passed away years ago when he was a teen. I didn’t know anything more than that because he refused to talk about them.

“I’ve never brought a woman here,” he said, looking at me, cobalt eyes tired but gleaming.

I looked around and my breath caught in my throat. “It’s beautiful.”

The hard line of his mouth softened, and he reached out to touch my cheek. “There are three rooms up here,” he explained as we climbed the stairs. “Two for guests, and then the master bedroom.” He gestured for me to enter first.

The master bedroom contained a huge bed and a vase of fresh flowers sat on the oak bedside table. I turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow.