Page 137 of LA King

I smack her ass lightly. “Go to sleep.”

“I’m your wife. I think you should take care of me.”

Fuck! Even a saint couldn’t resist this level of temptation.

I cup her chin and tilt her head until her eyes open and she’s looking at me. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Alana. Rest assured that one day I am going to fuck you. But when I do, I want you to be in full control of your senses. Because I’m going to ruin you for any other man, and when I’m done with you, you’re going to beg me for more.”

Her whole body shivers, but she only presses herself closer.

“You’re an asshole,” she slurs, and a few seconds later, she’s snoring.

I should have known about her lying snake of a father. Except I had known—I’d been sure he was manipulating her somehow.

That duplicitous sack of shit will be dealt with soon. First, I need to deal with the man who pulled a gun on my wife. Jax sent me confirmation that they have him in a safe place.

That’s where I should be now, interrogating him, but he’ll have to wait until morning. Because how could I possibly leave her when she’s so warm and soft and inviting? Sleeping next to her is torture—the best kind of torture there is.

I will take her soon, but not until she begs me to.

Burying my face in her hair, I drink in the scent of her while my mind races with what happened tonight and who was behind it. While Alana likes to think that her father is some white knight, the truth is that he’s as much of a monster as I am, but at least I don’t pretend to be otherwise. He’s made plenty of enemies over the years, and I wouldn’t put it past him to have thrown his daughter to the lions to save his own skin. After all, he already did it once when he handed her over to me. And he fucking lied to her while doing it.

Cabrón!

She fidgets in her sleep, draping her arm around my waist. How the fuck did someone like her end up here with me? I almost feel like releasing her from our contract and letting her go. Especially now that I know she agreed under false pretenses.

Almost.

Because the more I get to know her, the more I want to keep Alana for myself.

Not only for three years.

But forever.

Because I am exactly the type of monster who would do that.

Chapter

Fifteen

Alana

My eyelids flutter open, and I am immediately aware of the intense throbbing in my head. I groan and roll onto my back, throwing my arm over my face.

Alejandro isn’t here.

Oh, dear god. I asked him to fuck me last night. I actually said those words out loud. I throw my other arm over my face in shame. Not only did I proposition him, but he turned me down. I was almost naked and literally rubbing myself against him, and he still said no. What the hell is so repulsive about me that my own husband refuses to touch me?

Another memory bubbles to the surface. One of my face pressed against his hard chest. Of his strong arms wrapped around me. Of a whispered promise that he would ruin me for any other man. The recollection has my insides melting like warm butter.

There’s no sign of him. I didn’t feel him get out of bed and don’t know if he stayed the night or if he slipped away as soon as he was able to—leaving his drunken mess of a wife to sleep it off. Not that I can be blamed for getting a little drunk, surely. It isn’t every day a girl has a gun stuck in her face.

On the bedside table is a glass of water atop a sheet of notepaper. When I lean over and squint, I see there are two Advil there also. I move the glass and pick up the note, finding it’s been written on Alejandro’s personal stationery.

Drink this and take these. Call you later, A x

I blink back a happy tear. He signed it with a kiss. Somehow that feels more intimate than anything that’s passed between us before. Even when I had my semi-naked body pressed up against him, it was about getting a physical need met, not necessarily about either of us caring for the other.

The water in the glass is still chilled, so he must have stayed all night. Happiness flares hot in my chest.