Page 8 of Ruined By King

"Fuck," he mutters.

"Yeah." It's the only word I can manage.

His thumb drags across my lower lip, swollen and tender from his kiss, and I shiver. "I'm not going to be able to stop thinking about this."

"I know."

"I'm not going to be able to stay away from you."

"Good."

His jaw tightens. I can see the war playing out behind his eyes — the president fighting with the man, duty against want. Every instinct telling him this is a mistake, and none of it strong enough to make him let go.

For a long moment, I think he's going to kiss me again. I want him to. I want him to do a lot more than kiss me — right here, against this bike, where anyone could catch us.

Instead, he takes a breath and steps back.

The loss of his warmth is immediate and unwelcome. Cold air rushes into the space where his body used to be, and I have to stop myself from reaching out and pulling him back.

"Go back to your father," he says, and his voice is rough. Strained. Like the words are costing him. "Before I do something we can't come back from."

I should be relieved. This is the smart play — walk away, pretend this never happened, go back to being strangers on opposite sides of a line we were never supposed to cross.

But I don't feel relieved. I feel like something just cracked open inside me, and I'm not sure I can close it again.

"This isn't over," I say. It's not a question.

His eyes burn into mine. "Not even close."

I make myself turn around. Make myself walk away from him, back toward the lights and the noise and my father's camp. My lips are swollen, my hair's a mess, and I can still feel his hands on my body like a brand.

I don't look back.

But I smile the entire way there.

Back at the Road Kings camp, I grab a beer and pretend nothing happened. I laugh at the right moments. I nod when my father says something. I play the good daughter, same as I always have.

But the whole time, my lips are tingling. My skin is flushed. And I can still feel his hands on me like a brand.

When my father finally calls it a night and we head out, I don't look toward the Sons of Ruin camp.

I don't need to.

I already know this isn't over. Not even close.

And for the first time in my life, I'm not running from trouble.

I'm running toward it.

CHAPTER 3

KING

Three days.

Three days since the rally, and I still can't get the taste of her out of my head.

I'm sitting at the bar in the clubhouse, a whiskey in front of me that I've barely touched, watching my brothers play pool and pretending I'm not losing my goddamn mind. The music's loud, the beer's flowing, and there's a blonde in a tight dress who's been trying to catch my eye for the last hour.