Page 12 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

Brady brushed Annaliese’s cropped blonde hair back, her fingers smooth and practiced, only to have the strands flutter down a moment later as Annaliese swayed dangerously.

“Can you call us a rideshare?” Brady asked, looking back at me. Her eyes were glazed, her words slurring, and she was clearly nearing her own limit. “I’m too wasted to take her home.”

The thought of Annaliese, too drunk to defend herself, tumbling into the back of a stranger’s car set me on edge.

As much as I wanted to see her ruined, this wasn’t the way.

I needed her alive. I needed her broken, yes, but not in pieces, not splintered in an accident because I wasn’t there to see my plan through to the end.

One bad night, one anonymous driver, and any number of things could happen.

I wanted Annaliese out of my city—not dead. Not...hurt.

“I’ll take her,” I heard myself saying. I stepped closer, lowering my voice so my identity remained a mystery. “But don’t tell her who did it.”

I reasoned that keeping her safe ensured I would be able to accomplish my goal. There was no altruistic motive behind my actions. I wasn’t a hero when it came to this woman. She hadn’t earned it.

***

The drive to the Hertz mansion was one long mental battle. Both logic and emotion raged over my actions. It was all I could do to focus on the road.

As I pulled up, I frowned at the dark house. “Where is everyone?”

Annaliese stirred in the passenger seat. “Home, sweet home.”

I turned to her. A strand of that light blonde hair was caught in her lip. Without thinking, I reached out and tugged it away.

“I wish you didn’t hate me,” Annaliese sighed. “It would be sssoooo much easier if you didn’t.”

It was highly likely she wouldn’t remember any of this in a few hours. That had to be the reason I opened my mouth to ask her the question that tormented me.

“Why, Anna?”

She took a deep breath, as if waking up. “Huh?”

I shook my head. There was no talking to her.

Shooting from the driver’s side, I went around and carefully opened her door. She slumped out, forcing me to catch her.

“Leo,” she purred. “King of the concrete jungle. A lion in a suit—a designer suit. But still a beast of prey.”

And then her fingers caught my bummed hand.

“Poor lion.” She pressed a kiss on the stained bandage. “There. All better.”

My heart did not skip at her attention. She was drunk. This wasn’t real.

“Let’s get you inside,” I growled.

Helping Annaliese to the door was hard enough. Watching her try to push the buttons on the keypad to unlock the door was painful. The door swung open into a yawning cavern of darkness.

Where were her parents? I would have liked to be the one to deliver her to them. See the hatred in her father’s teeny, tweeny eyes. Her mother’s sneer of disgust. I was the enemy, bringing home the precious daughter. And there was no one to be upset by the action.

“Where’s your room?” I huffed.

Annaliese was falling asleep. Since I was already holding her up, I lifted her into my arms. Her slim finger lifted toward the stairs.

She weighed nothing as I moved.

No, not nothing. There was a delicate weight to her. A weight that settled deep in my chest where I refused to acknowledge it. Her body curled against mine, head nestled in the crook of my neck, her warm breath fanning across my skin with each exhale. It was torture, pure and simple.

“Second door,” she mumbled against my throat, breath brushing my pulse point.

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth might crack. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was a Hertz. She represented everything I was supposed to despise.

So why did carrying her feel natural?

I pushed the thought away violently. It was just biology—a man holding a beautiful woman. Nothing more. The tightness in my chest was probably indigestion from that shitty booze I drank hours ago.

I stepped into the room. It was stale and perfect, like no one lived here.

Fitting for a socialite with nothing to aspire toward.

I aspired to greatness. Years spent clawing my way from the back streets, while this woman had everything handed to her from birth.

She thought she could play with men’s hearts?

Not mine. I was a fighter, who’d carved a kingdom from the ashes of battles hard fought and won.

Annaliese and I were not cut from the same cloth.

I carried Annaliese to the bathroom and laid her on her side. But I couldn’t just leave her like that. I found a towel and draped it over her shoulders.

There. I’d been a gentleman. It was enough, and high time I left.

But I lingered.

Her face softened in sleep, the sharp edges of her personality blunted by unconsciousness. Moonlight slipped through the bathroom window, casting her in an ethereal glow. The sight of her punched something loose inside me.

She jerked suddenly. “Leonard! Wait.”

“Yes?” I ground out.

“You have to listen,” she slurred. “I came back for you.”

The lie gutted me.

I stood there, fuming, and with a shudder, she fell back asleep.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away. This woman—this beautiful, dangerous creature—had nearly cost me everything once before.

The memory of it burned like acid in my veins.

She wormed her way into my life with pretty lies on her lips.

Her presence threatened to expose the operation I’d spent years building.

If I’d spent any more time with her, she would have sold my story to her father and smiled while doing it!

Even now, as I watched her, I could picture the way those perfect lips would’ve curved in cruel amusement as she dangled my destruction before me like a toy.

My fingers curled into fists. The bandage on my hand pulled tight against punctured skin. Pain—a fitting reminder of what happened when you played with fire.

And yet the crazy desire swelled in response to the hate and anger. I wanted to touch her face. To trace the curve of her cheek, to feel if her skin was as soft as it looked.

I already knew it was.

That was how close I was to cracking.

Annaliese was the worst kind of monster. If I ever let her in, she would destroy me—and the famiglia! She would expose my secrets for the sheer pleasure of watching me hurt. I needed to walk away while I still could.

Turning on my heel, I forced myself to leave her.

I all but ran from the bathroom, my heart pounding a sick rhythm in my chest. I could not stay here.

It was too risky. Too wrong. And yet, as I crossed the dim room, the sight of the bare bed caught my eye.

It was stripped free of sheets or blankets, uncluttered like a guest room, as empty as my resolve to walk away.

Any other time, I would have smirked at the irony.

But I wasn’t about to stick around and hunt down her real room.

I just needed to disappear before I convinced myself to return and wrap her in my arms again.

Before I let her take over what little remained of my soul.

Already, I felt her claws sinking into my heart, raking into it in the way only she could.

The cursed organ died years ago in a haze of betrayal.

And while there was no chance of its revival after the agonizing death, I couldn’t risk an unwanted reanimation.

I couldn’t risk the past repeating itself.

How far would she go this time? Would she chew me up and spit me out? I didn’t hang around to find out.

I raced down the stairs and out into the night. Darkness swallowed me. I hoped it would devour my yearning, too.

My car waited, a haven from the pull I felt toward her. Fumbling for my keys, my hands shook. I had to get out of here. She was all I ever wanted and the last thing I needed. Even a moment longer was too dangerous.

She will leave town! The vow repeated through my mind. Just a few days, and enough pressure would force her from the city.

I sped off, tires screeching as I hit the gas.

But the farther I drove, the more my resolve slipped.

Rage and longing tangled in a vicious knot.

How had I let her get so far under my skin?

She was toxic! And still, my mind would not shut her out.

The road blurred as I sped onward. I needed to lose myself in the darkness—to reclaim some semblance of control.

But even now, miles from the mansion, she had her hold on me.

It had been the same when she was across the ocean, living half a decade in a different country. Maybe that was my curse, to always feel her presence. At least with her gone, I could exist in the ruin that was left. I’d done it before, and couldn’t wait to do it again.