Page 13 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

T he week started with a new resolve. The plan? Avoid the object of my fixation while driving her from the city. Being near Annaliese fucked with my head. My iron control slipped around her. But I wasn’t going to let the shiver of weakness sway the bigger picture.

As the days went by without a collision, the determination was easier to follow. I kept busy, filling every minute with work. The nights were hardest. But that was what my good friends from Scotland were for.

Which reminded me. My liquor cabinet was bare. I’ll swing by the store after this is over.

“—and the press will have a field day when we tell them. But I’m bringing the information to you first.”

This little fucker.

Peter Midget was short. With an iconic name like that, nature should have made him seven feet tall, not five-one. What he lacked in height, he made up for in idiocy.

I drug my club along the ground as I traipsed after the lost ball—leading my prey deeper into the trees. Peter padded after me, spewing threats with no sense of, caution what manner of beast he’d enraged.

“Let me get this straight.” I stopped short, sweeping a look around the trees. “You think you can steal vital information on your company, then come to me and hold it over my head?”

The glint in Peter’s beady eyes told me he hadn’t yet sensed the darkness encroaching. “I want five large.”

For a few thousand measly dollars, he was willing to risk life and limb.

I’d heard enough. In a deadly arc, the club cut through the air. The driver cracked into Peter’s cheek with a loud thwack .

The weasel howled.

The backstroke was deadly with such a big target. I couldn’t hit the damn tiny white balls for shit. I hadn’t been trying to send the ball into the woods! But it proved effective, letting Peter trail after me and spill the beans.

I surged forward, gripping his golf shirt and shoving him against the tree trunk. The length of my club pressed against his throat, cutting off his air.

“Shut up, you scumbag,” I growled.

He couldn’t scream if he wanted.

“What happens to your precious position when I tell Mrs. Lawson that you’re a traitor? Hmm? You think she’ll reprimand me for this?” I pushed harder.

Those beady eyes nearly popped out of his purple face.

“The thing about informants,” I continued, “is that you’re as useful as your own ambitions. You don’t have those, do you, Peter? You’re looking to make a quick buck from a company that’s in merger talks. But what then? Hmm? Who’s going to hire a snitch?”

Blood leaked from the cut on his cheek. The crimson tendrils looked like tears.

“You’re done.” I pressed the iron harder, bruising his throat, before releasing him.

Gasping for breath and clawing at his throat, Peter had the good sense to scramble back.

But I wasn’t finished.

I grabbed the little shit by the scruff and hauled him from the trees. The sick, twisted part deep in my chest—the one I so rarely indulged in given my public image—sighed with contentment. Who knew golf could be so fun?

Mrs. Lawson peered over her slim cat sunglasses at us as we emerged onto the fairway. “Goodness!”

“Couldn’t find the ball,” I responded. “But I found something better.”

Adjusting her gloves, she hopped from the back of the cart where she’d been sitting as the caddies stood at a respectful distance.

“Mr. Midget here was telling me how he had something from Lawson Oil for sale before tripping over a branch.” I shoved Peter toward the window.

He sprawled over the short, bright green grass.

I was fairly confident that the roach wouldn’t lash out at the late founder’s wife. But my fingers itched to grab him once more. The club in my hand seemed to sing with its desire to strike again.

“You shouldn’t have gone in the woods, Peter. Those branches are deadly,” she said coolly.

Appreciation flickered through me. The old bitty had no remorse for the man who’d just tried to sell her out. A pity. If I’d known that, I would have roughed him up more.

My inner beast paced in frustration at the tight leash I kept on him.

“Why don’t you sit this hole out and have a think on what your explanation is,” she continued.

“I want to leave,” the traitor whimpered. He shot a pleading look to the caddies, who were busy adjusting the clubs in their bags.

The widow’s voice dripped with ice. “We’re not done.”

“Actually, ma’am, I was thinking of walking the rest of the holes, since it’s clear from the scorecard who’s the winner of this game.” I gave her a saccharine smile. “Why don’t you take Peter back, have a talk, and then call him a cab?”

Mrs. Lawson stuck out her bottom lip, painted the same shade of bubblegum pink as her tank top and skirt.

“He’s spoilt my mood for the game,” I added before she could argue against the plan.

“Oh, well, if that’s where things stand,” she sighed. “But I’m going to demand a rematch, Leonard.”

Cazzo! No….

“I’ll bid you good day, then,” I insisted.

Peter scrambled into the cart, but a sharp word from the widow had him joining the caddies on their cart. In a cloud of gas, they whizzed off, and I drew a deep breath.

I would have to be careful when I returned to the club house, sneaking through the service lots so I wouldn’t stumble upon the widow, who would no doubt be waiting like a spider to suggest luncheon at the main lodge. The old battleaxe was a hard one to shake.

As I walked down the paved path, I plucked a piece of turf to wipe the blood from my club. I doubted the little fucker was smart enough to press charges, but years of being careful ingrained the habit of hiding evidence.

Engrossed with my own relief at ending the terrible round early and the tangle of thoughts as to the state of the company I was buying, I didn’t see where I was going.

I planned to buy Lawson Oil. Which meant I already suspected what Peter confirmed.

It wouldn’t change the outcome, but now I would adjust my strategy.

Move faster, strike harder, and soon, the company would fall into my hands.

A yelp, and then a shout broke my attention.

Just as I looked across the green, my heart jumping double in my chest, a whizzing in the air had me ducking.

“Che cazzo fai!” I hissed, my native tongue resisting the strict restraint I usually kept over it. That was how it was around her . Always slipping up.

Damn her!

The white missile landed over me, rolling down into the sand trap. It nearly clocked me in the skull!

Annaliese sprinted down the slope, charging after her ball. Sunlight made her tanned skin glow gold. Framed in the halo of light, hair fluttering around her face, she looked fresh and beautiful.

The beast in my chest growled approvingly.

I fisted my own club, beyond angry at the instinctual reactions I seemed to keep having whenever she was near. Dio! I had to get a grip!