Page 4 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

I slid the shareholders report back into the manila envelope. Curiosity urged me to dig, and I now suspected my father of lying to his boards. Doctoring numbers was all too easy. It would explain how he was able to make such a generous donation to Callahan Voss’s campaign for senator.

Dad was stealing from the company. And no doubt stupid enough to think he could make up for the money once he was in politics.

I didn’t understand most of the business jargon without Googling it. Thanks to the ideas of my parents, my education was lacking on the corporate front. However, I excelled at snooping, espionage, and sleuthing.

Which helped make my books amazing.

It was fun to practice what I wrote about. Ideas for stories swirled in my head as I worked. Next year, I would treat my loyal readers with an extra novel based on my life—if it went well.

With the information safely stored on my phone, I put the manila envelope back in Dad’s briefcase. Scooting out of his office, I looked once over my shoulder to make sure everything was back in its proper place before closing the door.

The thrill of the chase was intoxicating.

And what was more, it was so much fun taking action instead of imagining and spinning the tale on a blank screen. These sneaky acts were exactly how I would write them in a book. Only now, I was living one of my stories!

However, I was at a sore disadvantage because I couldn’t wave my magic pen—my backlit keyboard—and fix things.

No, I had to type the tip-sheet in a word document.

But that was only after stealing another tip sheet so to better copy the language and style.

Before that, I had to do my research and fact check everything.

Leo would be in for the shock of his life when he discovered the information arriving by courier later today.

He once suspected me of working for my father.

Now I would prove my loyalty by sharing the information with him instead.

Dad wouldn’t know it was me who’d leaked his report to the business shark.

It was too tantalizing a piece for Leo to pass off to a lackey.

He would oversee the discovery and execution of the information himself.

It played into his ego. It would give him an edge in the power struggle that was news.

Best of all, I felt confident he wouldn’t act right away, preferring to use it as blackmail—which was exactly why I planted the anonymous suggestion.

“He’d better cool his temper when he finds out it’s me.” A sour note spread over my tongue as I opened the garage door. He’d been so angry at the Providence Club. His scathing words rattled around my mind.

I’ll show you, Leonardo Mancini.

Occupied with a thousand interwoven and scheming thoughts, I passed the drive into the heart of the city quickly.

The urban landscape blurred by in a rush of grey and glass, the prospect of history repeating itself a different flavor of thrill than the first time around.

I was more determined, and maybe slightly nervous.

What if the story I so carefully planned out failed?

I bit my lip, focused on the road, and pushed the anxiety down.

With the effort, it was barely noticeable.

Street parking was often scarce, but the gods were smiling on me.

I swooped into a spot right in front of the coffee shop.

Scooting inside, I placed my order, eager to lose myself for a while in a make-believe world I could actually control.

It was nice, the wafting aromas of dark roasts and steaming milk.

A welcome retreat from the cat-and-mouse game I’d been playing.

An hour passed with my next manuscript. I muttered under my breath at the pace. I needed to work out the smoking gun. There weren’t enough breadcrumbs to make the connection obvious enough for my readers, who loved trying to figure out the twists and turns.

They never did.

I smiled to myself. Those twists spiraled and spun and caught them by surprise. The written word was addictive; it made them come back to my stories for more.

It made me come back for more.

The sounds and smells faded away as I drug my poor heroine through hell.

She was a mess; my readers would eat it up.

It took a twisted, slightly demented mind to write the things I did.

But there was enough darkness in my past to fuel my need for release.

My warped senses were exercising themselves to the fullest extent with this book.

Just as a fist pounded on her door in the rain, and my minute in the zone stretched longer than it should, a dark voice snapped above my table.

“You have to be fucking joking.”

I sucked in a sharp breath and looked up into a pair of eyes the color of death.

“I don’t even come to this cafe,” Leo growled.

“Well, I do, so there,” I bit back, letting too much of the hurt from the other night into my voice.

“You’re unbelievable.” He made to step away.

“Hey, wait just a minute!” I shot from my seat and dashed forward a few steps to intercept him. “You can’t be mad—we both have to live in this city, Baldwin.”

His brow shot up at the use of his surname. The informality fit the context, so I decided to use it for the foreseeable future.

“Quit stalking me, little girl. It’s not going to work. You won’t trap me like last time.”

Refusing to wilt under his scathing gaze, I bristled. “Then we should decide, right here, right now, which places I’m allowed to go and which are your turf.”

He was wrong. I nearly had him last time.

I wouldn’t fail now. If stalking was what he chose to call it, I was fine with the term.

In fact, there were too many male stalkers in fiction, especially in the romance books I indulged in reading.

It was time a female took the role of stalker, owned it, and did it far better than any man could ever.

Those black eyes narrowed. “I won’t cow to a terrorist’s demands.”

“Good, then let’s say this is now my cafe. You can buy an Americano at a gas station or convenience store. Go drink your poison swill somewhere else.” I gestured to his cup.

He glanced down.

Something…something real passed through his eyes.

It was quickly swiped off. “This isn’t a fucking game, Annaliese.”

“No, it never was,” I countered planting my hands on my hips. “Now, the rest of the town. I have certain restaurants I like and if you don’t want to see me there or at the music clubs, I suggest you turn into a hermit, Mr. CEO, because I sure as hell won’t be.”

Scoffing, tired of my incessant rambling, he made to move past me.

My hand shot out of its own accord, and I grabbed his forearm. Electricity crackled under my palm.

We froze.

For a split second, it all came rushing back. The long nights wrapped in those arms, the way he’d held me…it was too much.

I dropped my hand, shaking the burn from my fingertips.

“We’re going to see each other,” I said bluntly. “How we handle that…. I can’t be your enemy in public.”

“Stay out of my way,” he growled.

“I plan to.” And I did. There was no chance of me getting in his way. I only planned to haunt him.

“But we move in the same social circles,” I added. “You go to some of the events, so when we’re in the same room, I would prefer that we don’t run into each other.”

A muscle in his jaw feathered.

That was it. The iron was hot, and it was time to strike at his ego. If he thought he couldn’t have me, if I made myself untouchable but always around, sooner or later, he would take the bait. Reverse psychology never failed, right?

It wasn’t the best plan, which was why I created the backup scheme to involve my father in his business.

“I’m just here to warn you: Leave me alone, Baldwin.” With that, I moved back to my seat.

He didn’t leave immediately. Were his thoughts as conflicted as my own? Was his blood running hot after the brief contact? I resisted the urge to look and read the verdict in his inky black eyes.

“That is exactly what I’m going to do, little girl.

I have no intention of being anywhere near you.

” He gripped the back of the opposite chair with white knuckles.

“But if you think for any second that I’m going to let you march back into my city and tell me where I can and cannot go, you have another thing coming. ”

“Another think coming,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

Leo scowled at me. “Grow up.”

That one hit hard. I had.

There was still part of me that was the fun-loving girl he met years ago. But he wasn’t ready to embrace that teasing, lighthearted side.

The moment he was gone, I slumped in my seat. This was harder than I ever imagined. The man I loved was my enemy. Recovering from those fatal missteps….

I shook my head.

From the corner of my eye, a man in a black hoodie caught my attention. The high of the chase crashed. Ice flooded my veins.

You’ve got to be shitting me. It was broad daylight, and yet the Tormentor was here, watching me from across the street. As I stared, he lifted his hand. In his fucked-up head, the Tormentor probably thought this was the most normal interaction.

I gave him the bird.

Closing my laptop, and leaving my heroine in peril, I gathered my things. A quick glance to the street showed my own stalker hadn’t moved. Good. I slipped outside and only when I was safely in traffic did I let out a snarl of frustration.

And then a darker thought popped into my head. Had he seen me with Leo?

My lip was raw from chewing on it by the time I returned home.

The Tormentor wasn’t violent to others. He enjoyed the way the world doted on him.

But he would attempt to take his displeasure out on me.

I went straight to the home gym and began to warm up.

The self-defense classes I studied in Germany were going to make sure I was never his victim again.

Over the years, his touch had been grossly inappropriate.

Fondling and forcing kisses, when he was happy with me.

And when he wasn’t? Well, the smallest mercies, and there were only two where he was concerned, were that he had never raped me because he was waiting for our wedding, which in his sick, twisted mind was happening, and he only ever struck me in a way there was no permanent damage. Physical damage that was.

One day, I promised myself, he’ll never touch me again.