Page 7 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)
T he air compressor purred with a sultry rhythm, interrupted only by the seductive pop-pop of the nail gun. Leo was irresistible in those snug jeans, which hugged his perfect ass, inviting my eyes to linger and savor every curve. One could bounce a quarter off that masterpiece.
Heat pooled within me, a sweet ache simmering against my panties. His mere presence had my mind unraveling with desire. He never graced these charity events with his presence. Donate money? Absolutely. Attend opulent galas or charity dinners? Only to mingle with other power players.
Watching him roll up his sleeves and get down to work was a delicious mystery.
I wanted to believe he was here for me, especially after he pulled me close for those photos at the event's start.
Those inappropriate photos. For a man who said he hated me with his every breath, those pictures told a thousand different words.
But as soon as the work began, his attention never wavered from the task.
Not even a glance was cast in my direction.
I paused from the strain of pushing the roller up and down the stretch of wall.
There was spackle under my nails from filling holes, while primer was splattered over my arms and legs.
The golf outfit was ruined. There hadn’t been time to change after my disastrous morning on the fairway. I barely made it here on time.
Sipping my water, I watched Leo heft a length of sheetrock as though it was feather-light.
His muscles bulged as he braced it against the framework.
His partner came behind, running nails into it.
Drywall screws worked better, and other projects I’d worked on used those.
But this company was putting up this house cheap and fast, much to my annoyance.
My partner stood waiting with quick-dry spackle to fill the holes.
In twenty minutes, I would paint the length with primer.
We were halfway done with the house.
The second crew would meet us in the middle and then—
Leo cursed with a violent explosion of words, every syllable dripping with venom and frustration.
The accent he so carefully concealed crept into his voice, bending the vowels and sharpening the consonants.
Unfamiliar and raw, it soaked the air like a threat.
My stomach lurched into a queasy spiral.
There, his hand was pinned to the wall, a nail jutting from his skin like some grotesque jewel.
“You fucking idiot,” he spat at the other worker, eyes dark with rage.
“Don’t rip it out!” I shouted, panic surging. “It will tear!”
I rushed forward, my mind a blur of terror and adrenaline. Pushing the nail gun wielder aside, I inserted myself into the heart of the chaos. The gun pop-popped a staccato rhythm as the worker stumbled back in a daze.
“Watch out!” Leo clipped, his voice edged with contempt. “He’s high as fuck.”
I spared a glance over my shoulder. That explained the helter-skelter layout of the nails, the wild, reckless patterns that made no sense. My heart thudded. Plucking a needle-nose pliers from the belt around Leo’s waist, I gulped, trying to steady my shaking hands.
The volunteer fumbled for words. “Man, I didn’t realize—”
I ignored his blithering noise.
“Okay, I’ve got you,” I murmured, my voice a soothing lie for the horror I felt.
“Anna—” Leo’s eyes bored into me, an unsaid warning in their depths.
“Trust me,” I pleaded, desperation tingeing my voice with an edge of madness.
His gaze hardened. “I don’t.”
The words were a dagger, twisting deep inside me.
And that’s my fault.
Swallowing past the knot of regret in my throat, I pinched the pliers around the nail’s broad head.
And pulled. Leo’s jaw tightened, muscles taut with silent restraint, but not a sound escaped his lips as I tugged.
The nail wasn’t in the two-by-four. It slid out of his flesh with a sickening ease, leaving the wound to weep freely.
Blood pooled with startling quickness, an ominous crimson against the pale sheetrock.
Drops fell to the floor, vivid little splatters that seemed to echo with accusation.
“Let’s go find you a bandage,” I breathed, feeling suddenly queasy. Funny how I could write garish details but seeing it in person sent a wave of nausea through me.
Next to the water station was the red box with the white cross. The lid crashed into the table, and my fingers fumbled through the mess.
“Anna. Breathe.” Leo’s good hand pressed on mine. “You’re turning green.”
I closed my eyes. Air filled my lungs, rushing out rapidly.
“Slower,” he insisted.
Get over it! I had to help him.
Shaking my head in a desperate attempt to clear it, I opened my eyes and grabbed a roll of gauze, quick-clot, and disinfectant.
“Where did you learn to use these tools?” the voice that haunted my dreams drawled.
That tone, oh lord, that deep, husky tone!
When he wasn’t angry, he was the most sensual man alive.
I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, to push down the ugly twisting in my gut and concentrate on the tender warmth that flared in me from his words as I began to clean his injured palm.
But blood oozed from the wound, pooling on the floor like a crimson lake that only fed my panic.
I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat.
I tried to keep my hands from trembling as I worked.
“Um, I like to find ways to actually help, you know?” I blurted out, rambling to fill the silence between us, to ground myself with words. “Not just dress pretty and give money.”
“Hmm.” The sound was a low vibration that slithered through me.
“Honestly, I’m glad to see someone as powerful as you helping the poor.” He was watching me, those dark eyes never blinking, as I tore open the package of gauze and wrapped it tight around his hand. “Sorry you’re hurt, but don’t let it stop you from doing something good.”
“There’s no such thing as doing good.” His reply was pure gravel, rough and unyielding. “There’s always an ulterior motive.”
I snapped my gaze up to meet his. Darkness danced through his black gaze, an ominous twinkle that both thrilled and unnerved me.
His words echoed in my mind, a haunting revelation.
It was as if he had reached in with those bloodstained fingers and plucked the answer to the question that had been running through my head.
He wasn’t here for charity. He wasn’t here for the publicity or even to make an impression with the social elite. He was here for me.
But…he hated me.
So, the question now was why? What changed over the course of a few days? I should probably be worried.
Instead, a trickle of excitement spread through me. I got through to him. Even under his skin, bothering him enough to spur him into action was better than avoidance.
I can work with this.
“I’ll take it from here.” Leo jerked his wounded hand away from me, and it felt like a slap, like another prick to my soul.
“Are you sure—”
“I’ve got it, Annaliese. Go back to your primer.”
He didn’t wait for me to protest. He stalked across the room, back to the chaotic site, back to the volunteer who stood staring at his hands like he’d never seen them before.
Leo ripped the gun from the dazed man’s grip, gave him a rough shove, and took matters into his own capable hands.
I stood frozen, still unable to catch a full breath, the world spinning around me.
The monster was done playing hide-and-seek. Whatever this new game was, I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.