Page 151 of LA King

“Why did you take her to a place like that? What happened to lunch at the yacht club?”

“She said she didn’t enjoy it, and she looked pretty miserable. Then she asked me to take her to the O’Malley shelter, so that’s what I did. As per your request, sir.”

Rage simmers beneath my skin. “Within fucking reason, asshole. You didn’t think it pertinent to share this development with me?”

“No, sir.”

Loyal or stupid as a bag of rocks? Still can’t tell. “Really?”

“I thought you would have asked me if you wanted to know where she was going, sir. And if you had, of course I would have told you. But I didn’t think you wanted to be bothered by the details of Mrs. Montoya’s comings and goings.”

Bastard has me there. I did tell him not to bother me with her daily routine, but that was when I assumed she was sipping champagne with Amanda Grant every day. That’s beside the point though. “How long has she been going there?”

“Since the day I started working for her.”

“And that’s the only place you two ever go?”

“No, sir. Occasionally, she goes to the grocery store. And I’ve taken her to the beauty salon once too.”

I push my chair back and walk around the desk. “On your knees,” I command.

He side-eyes me, his jaw clenched shut, but he complies. I pull my gun from its holster and press the cold steel to his temple. He still doesn’t flinch, but a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead.

“Do you realize how extremely fucking lucky you are to still be breathing right now? When Amanda Grant told me that Alana hadn’t been to any of her liquid lunches after you and my wife have been disappearing for hours every day, you can imagine what I must have thought.”

His Adam’s apple dips hard. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you fucking my wife, cabrón?” I growl as I press the metal barrel into his skin.

“No, sir.”

“Do you want to?”

“No, sir.”

“You understand that if I had even an ounce of doubt about that, I’d skin you alive and make her wear you as a coat, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

I study him closely while he kneels in front of my desk. His face is filled with anger and defiance, and yes a little fear, but I do have a gun to his head. He has balls of steel, and I admire that about him.

I holster my gun and return to my side of the desk. “Take a seat,” I snap, and he stands, brushes the creases from his suit pants, and sits.

“I’m not sure if I’m impressed by your loyalty to her or completely pissed. But remember in the future that while you protect my wife, you work for me. If there is any change to her schedule, anything out of the ordinary, anywhere new she decides to wander off to, you keep me updated. You got that?”

He nods. “Yes, sir.”

“And if you ever keep something like this from me again, I won’t think twice about putting a bullet in your head.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“You’re lucky she thinks so highly of you, or I’d have you on clean-up duty for the rest of your life.”

“I appreciate you not doing that, Boss,” he says, and it’s understood that the matter is dealt with and we won’t speak of it again.

“Good, now get out of here or she’ll be wondering where you are.”

He simply nods and leaves my office, probably wondering if I’m going to call him back and shoot him anyway. Not so long ago, I probably would have, but then I would have had to see her face when I told her what I’d done. She’d blame herself, and then she’d probably hate me. And I can’t stand the thought of that. Six weeks, and she’s already under my skin, changing who I am.