Page 38 of King of War

I bury my face in her neck, drinking in the heady scent of her cum as I rail into her. She’s still shaking from her own orgasm when I fuck mine into her, feeling like my body’s truly alive for the first time in years.

My forehead rests against hers as we both come down from the endorphin rush, panting for breath. “Are you on birth control?”

“It’s a bit late now, asshole. But yes,” she snaps.

That fact should fill me with nothing but relief, so why doesn’t it? Because why the hell is she on birth control? Who is she fucking? I keep a hand resting on the base of her throat, can’t tear myself away from her still. Then I make the mistake of looking into her eyes, and I remember all the promises we once made to each other. All of the plans we made about filling a house with kids. Maybe that’s disappointment clouding my anger because if I were to knock her up, she’d be tied to me forever. Then maybe I could keep her.

She shoves her balled fists against my chest, causing me to stagger back. “This changes nothing, Enzo.”

I get a hold of myself and remember this woman is not the angel I once dreamed of having a family with. No, she’s the fucking devil. “You think I want anything to change, Rayne? You seriously think you could be anything more to me than a convenient fuck?”

Hurt flashes in her eyes, but she hides it quickly. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

She straightens her clothes, and with a final, murderous glare, she stalks off down the hallway, ass swaying seductively and my cum dripping down her thighs. Already, I want her again. Want to follow her to her bedroom and take what’s mine.

Of course I don’t, because I haven’t totally lost my mind. Not yet anyway.

Chapter

Seventeen

ENZO

“You know I cannot stand that man. The thought of being in the same room as him makes my skin crawl. But for Vinny, because my sister adored her son, I will be there.”

“Thank you, Catherine. I’m sure it would mean a lot,” I tell her then hang up the phone. I hadn’t particularly relished the thought of calling up Vinny’s long-lost aunt and inviting her to his funeral. Partly because I’m not Carmine’s fucking PA, but mostly because he’s talked a lot about what an ice-cold bitch she is over the years, blaming her for ruining his relationship with his wife—her sister. I found her pleasant enough to talk to though, and maybe she was right warning Lisa Falcone to stay away from Carmine. I’m still mulling over what Ivan told me yesterday and the whole shitshow with the Bertellis. If Carmine is planning on setting me up and turning the other families against me, it would be the perfect way to do it. But why fuck me over now, after all these years of loyalty to him?

I have no fucking clue, but my guess is he’s going to wait until after the funeral before he makes any declarations about my involvement in the Bertellis’ murders. I updated my brothers on the new development last night, and while they were shocked, I don’t think they were all that surprised. Something has felt wrong about this whole situation from the outset. What I still can’t figure out is how the video of Rayne fits into any of it.

The sound of glass smashing makes my head snap up. What the fuck is she doing? “Rayne?” I shout.

No answer.

For fuck’s sake. I stalk out of my study and head toward where the sound came from. “Rayne?”

Still no answer.

Silence is never good where she’s concerned. Not Rayne’s silence. Rayne makes noise when she’s angry. When she’s scared. When she’s breathing and fighting and still alive.

My heart slams against my ribs once, hard enough to hurt, and then takes off at a gallop.

“Rayne!”

For half a second, the entire world stops.

I run to the kitchen, every horrible possibility tearing through my head at once. She’s hurt. She’s gone. Fear grips me, cold and vicious, punching straight through the centre of my chest. I see the broken glass scattered across the floor and her bare feet peeking out from behind the kitchen island.

I find her on the floor, rasping for breath, one hand clutching at her throat, eyes wide and glassy with panic. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The sound she’s making is barely a breath at all. More like her body is trying to drag air through a closing fist.

No.

The word detonates inside me.

Not her. Not like this. Not on my fucking floor while I stand here useless.

I drop to her side so hard pain shoots through my knees, but I barely feel it. My hands go to her face, cradling her jaw, forcing her fading gaze back to mine. Seeing her fight for one thin thread of air rips something open in me I thought was long scarred over. I’ve seen her like this once before and it scared the hell out of me then too.

That memory slams into me with brutal clarity—Rayne at thirteen, too small and too pale in my mother’s garden, a hornet sting swelling angry and red on her arm while her breath came in those same awful, broken pulls. I remember my mama shouting for the epi-pen while I stood there feeling more helpless than I had ever felt in my life.