Page 13 of King of War

I grab her wrist. “We’re going.”

She gasps, tries to wrench free but has no hope of doing so. “What? Where?”

“Until I can fix this fucking mess, you’re coming with me.”

“The hell I am,” she screeches.

“You think I’m going to let you out of my sight for a single fucking second?”

She stops dead, puts her free hand on her hip, nostrils flaring, her entire being made up of nothing but attitude and defiance. “And what exactly are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting nothing. I would rather dip my balls in a vat of acid than have you anywhere fucking near me, but as we’ve established, you are not to be trusted. So you’re coming home with me until I can figure out a way to fix this clusterfuck of a mess you’ve created. And you will either walk to my car, or I will fucking carry you to it. Your choice.”

Her eyes dart toward the door, jaw working, mind ticking over a million miles per minute. She’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever known, and she’s trying to work out a way out of this shitshow. I wish there were one—one that didn’t involve this lying, cheating bitch having to spend a single second under my roof. Of course, there is a much simpler way to end all of this, and isn’t it something I’ve dreamed of doing since the day I found out she was a deceitful, hateful puttana?

I point a gun at her head. “Or maybe I should just fucking put us both out of our misery, huh? One bullet and this all goes away. You go away, Rayne. For good this time.”

Her eyes flicker to the gun. Of all people, she knows what I’m capable of, but this woman never backs down. She doesn’t have it in her. “You don’t have the balls.”

I cock the trigger, and the clicking sound makes her flinch. “No?”

Her dark eyes narrow to thin slits. “Just let me go, Enzo. I would never⁠—”

“Don’t, Rayne. I have zero interest in anything you have to say. Now, just walk to my fucking car, or I can leave you here for the cops to find.”

Her lower lip wobbles. She knows she’s beaten. Knows there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I’m letting her walk out of here and rat me out to the don. “Take your hand off me and I’ll come with you,” she says quietly.

Take my hand off her? There was a time she begged for my fucking hands on her. And now I’m hyperaware of her soft skin beneath my fingers, how I used to hold onto her wrists when I fucked her. I release her from my grip like her skin just caught fire, and she has the fucking audacity to be the one who looks hurt.

Chapter

Five

RAYNE

My legs are shaking. Every step feels like it might be the one where my body finally gives up and folds beneath me, but I keep moving, because that’s what I do. One foot. Then the other. Enzo is right behind me, his presence so familiar I’d know it was him without even turning around. My thoughts are splintering apart. So many questions and doubts racing through my head. As if coming back here wasn’t already humiliating enough, my ex-fiancé had to walk in and slaughter an entire family. He couldn’t have waited twenty more minutes? Or even ten. Maybe then I’d have what I came for. Maybe then I’d be gone.

By the time we reach the club’s exit, my heart is trying to break out of my chest. I shove open the heavy steel door, and the warm air rushes over my cold skin. I drag in a breath, and it shakes on the way down. Instinct makes me scan the street, left then right, searching for somewhere to run. But there’s nothing. No escape. No clean way out. Just Vegas heat, empty pavement, and Enzo at my back like a haunting specter of a past I can’t seem to escape.

“Don’t even fucking think about it.” His snarl comes from behind me, sending shivers racing up my spine.

God, I hate him. Arrogant, self-righteous asshole. I roll back my shoulders, remind myself who I am, and prepare to inject a bit of steel into my voice. “If you’re insisting on kidnapping me, can you at least let me get my things? My bag is in my car over there.” I jerk my head toward the white Ford Edge—a rental.

His eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Look, you can let me grab my things, or Joseph Bertelli’s blood isn’t the only kind you’ll be cleaning off your seats today, okay?”

He blinks at me. Moron.

“Tampons, Enzo. I need tampons.”

He’s still glaring at me, like he’s hoping he somehow might make me burst into flames if he hates me enough. Feeling is mutual, buddy. “Fine. But I’m checking your bag first.”

I shrug. “Fine by me. Not like we all carry Makarovs and Rugers around for fun, is it?” He ignores my comment and follows me toward the car. I pop the trunk and point to my overnight bag. “Have at it.”

He grunts something unintelligible and then rummages through my small bag, rifling through my one outfit change, my pajamas, toiletries, and couple of pair of panties like he’s TSA. Satisfied I’m not smuggling grenades in there, he zips it back up and grabs my purse. “Hey.” I grab it back. “You don’t need to look in my purse. There’s nothing in there of any interest to you.”

“If you were carrying a Ruger, then it would be in your purse, wouldn’t it? Not your My Little Pony bag.”