Page 33 of King of War

“Like you want to kill me.”

A humorless smile lifts the corners of my mouth. “I think we both know that’s not the look you’re worried about, Rayne.”

“Oh, yeah? Then what am I worried about?”

I dip my head, bringing my mouth close to her ear. The way she shivers at my breath on her skin makes my cock leak in my boxers. I’m harder than titanium. “That I’m going to fuck you against this wall and you’re going to fucking love it.”

“You’re unbelievable,” she pants, almost breathless.

My grip on her throat tightens slightly, not enough to hurt her. That’s not the kind of suffering I want her to endure. The silence is loud enough for me to hear a heartbeat. Mine, hers, or maybe both.

“I hate you,” she whispers.

The words should deter me. Instead, they sound like a plea. Or maybe a confession.

All the anger, all the resentment and betrayal, the far too many long nights I’ve spent alone thinking about her, collapse into a single unbearable moment. I crash my mouth to hers, a bruising claiming of the lips that will always belong to me. For a blissful moment, she kisses me back, all passion and fire and longing. But then she bites down on my lip, hard enough to break the skin. I snarl, licking the sliver of blood from my skin, and she takes the opportunity to wrench her mouth away from me. Right before she delivers a swift knee to my balls.

White-hot pain sears in my groin and I double over, fighting for a breath that won’t come. Fucking bitch. “You might be keeping me prisoner here, Enzo, but I’m not your damn property.” She spits out the words. “Don’t ever touch me again. You lost any right to do that six years ago.”

She stalks off down the hallway, and I grit my teeth together and stand upright, finally sucking some air into my lungs. “You couldn’t beg me enough to fucking touch you again, Rayne.”

She flips me the bird. A second later, she turns the corner, and then the door to her room slams shut.

Fuck! Why the hell did I touch her, and what in god’s name possessed me to kiss her? Now I have the taste of her on my tongue, an aching dick, and nothing but my hand for relief.

Chapter

Fourteen

ENZO

The walk to the don’s office feels longer than usual today. Maybe because he told me he has an update from the cops to share. There are many things I’ve kept from him over the years, but this is by far the biggest and most dangerous. Secrets have a weight that people don’t realize until they’re forced to keep them. They settle in your bones if you’re not careful. Drag at your feet until every step you take feels like you’re walking through wet cement.

I keep my expression neutral as I move through the hallway, not making eye contact with any of the men as I pass, which isn’t unusual for me. Most of Carmine’s men are my men in reality—loyal to me and not him. Not the people in San Francisco though—the ones who’ve kept tabs on Rayne as much as I have. Nor the couple of guards he keeps stationed in his home. They belong only to him.

But none of them can hear my heart pounding or see through the veneer of calm I’ve so carefully crafted these past six years. While Rayne was right that I still often make decisions with my gut, I’ve also learned how to keep my emotions in check when absolutely necessary. For example, when standing in front of the don discussing the murder of his only son, which I still don’t regret. Like I told Micah, I always take precautions where the don is concerned, and today that includes documenting this conversation on my phone. I slip a hand into my inside pocket and press the button to start recording.

The guards outside the office step aside when I approach. One of them pushes open the door. “Morning, Enzo. He’s expecting you.”

I give a brief nod of acknowledgment and walk inside. The room is dark except for a single lamp. Thick drapes drawn across the windows block out the harsh afternoon sun. It gives him headaches, he says.

He’s sitting behind his desk, staring at a picture of Vinny. “I still can’t believe that fucker killed him, Enzo.”

“I’m sorry, Carmine.” I offer a fake platitude because he would expect it from me today, now that the shock has worn off.

He lets out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Everyone keeps saying that.” He stares at me for the longest time. I’ve watched grown men break under the weight of that stare, but today it’s different. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pinched from grief and lack of sleep.

He looks weak, but I know the truth of men like him. His pain doesn’t make him weak, it makes him even more dangerous.

“Do you know what I miss?” he asks.

I remain silent, knowing he’s not expecting an answer.

“He never shut the fuck up. Always running his mouth about something.”

True.

A ghost of a smile appears on his face before disappearing just as quickly. “He would just talk and talk about nothing. Drove me insane.” His jaw tightens, eyes filling with tears. “Now the house is too quiet.”