Page 49 of Merciless King

“We’re leaving tonight?”

“We’ll head out as soon as you’re packed.”

“Okay,” she said, the pulse at the base of her throat fluttering madly. “I’ll go get a few things together.”

I watched her go, knowing what I said to her earlier was the absolute truth. I hadn’t tried to sugarcoat it. London had been the victim of a twisted mind, horrific violence, had stared into the eyes of pure evil before she was viciously stabbed and almost killed. The way I saw it, for her to feel safe with me, she needed to know I would do whatever was necessary to protect her, that I could dish out the kind of violence needed without a second thought. And I would.

Fifteen minutes later, I was throwing a bag for each of us in the trunk of Zeke’s SUV while London climbed in beside me. We watched Zeke drive out in mine. He was going to drive around a while, and if he was followed, Hunter would return the favor and take the fucker down. Not ideal, since I wanted to do that myself, but getting the sick fuck off the street and in a cell—or better yet, in the ground—was my main priority.

We headed out a short time later. I drove around for a while as well, making sure no one was tailing us, then headed out of the city.

London stared out the window, fingers curled tight in her lap. She’d texted Erin, explaining she was going away and that the store would need to be closed for a few days. Since then she’d been quiet. What the hell was she thinking?

“Try and get some rest,” I said to her.

She nodded, leaned back against the seat, and closed her eyes.

It was a long time before her breathing evened out and she finally fell asleep.

* * *

London

I woke in a room I didn’t recognize.

There were chintz curtains at the windows and the bed I was in was slatted rustic wood with a floral quilt. I was still in my shirt, but my jeans and shoes had been taken off. I looked back at the window, and light streamed in underneath.

I realized I’d gone another night without a nightmare. I hadn’t had one since my second night in Van’s bed. No flashbacks either. I had Van to thank for that.

The last thing I remembered was him telling me to rest. He must have carried me inside and put me to bed. My belly flipped around a bit at that. Van didn’t seem to have any problem with my curves. He certainly didn’t seem to think I was too heavy to carry since he’d done it now several times.

In my whole life, I’d never met anyone like him. My father had been a tough guy who had been in the navy for as long as I could remember. He’d had this quiet, stoic way about him that Van possessed as well, and I liked that. It made me feel safe.

But I’d never met anyone else like Van King. He was intense, hard, possibly even ruthless in a lot of ways. I knew from before, from conversations we’d had while I was in the hospital that he’d been in the navy as well, a SEAL. Maybe that was why I recognized his demeanor. My father had been the same. But that’s where the similarities began and ended.

“I’m not leaving your side, and if he’s stupid enough to come anywhere near you, he’s not walking away. He’ll be carted away in a body bag. I won’t hesitate. I see him, he’s dead. That’s a promise, London.”

His words of the previous day echoed through my mind. He’d killed a man for me before, and he would again. Maybe that should make me uneasy or frightened, that he was capable of that. But it didn’t. Knowing the lengths Van would go to for me only made me…love him more than I already did. He made me feel incredibly safe. I was safe with him.

There was no denying it anymore, not to myself. I’d been in love with him since I woke in the hospital close to two years ago and found him standing in my room, expression pensive, body rigid, eyes intense.

I’d never felt safer then, just like I did now.

Now he’d taken me out of the city, shielding me, protecting me. Throwing his own wants and needs out the window. Putting his life on hold for me.

How could I not be hopelessly in love with someone who selflessly gave like that? Van didn’t owe me one single thing, yet here I was, in this cabin, far from any danger that might touch me, because once again Van had put me first.

I knew he didn’t want anything more than short term with me, and yeah, I wished that wasn’t the case, but I would take whatever he gave me and relish every moment. I owed him the best of me, and I owed it to myself to give us both that. I’d do whatever it took, push myself out of my comfort zone to make the most of my time with him. There wouldn’t be a do-over. This was it, right here, right now. I didn’t want to walk away at the end of this with regrets. Not this time.

I heard a noise from the other room. I threw back the covers, found my jeans on a chair by the door, pulled them on, and walked down the short hall to the living room. There was a big comfy couch, the fabric floral, and a lot of worn rustic furniture.

I found Van in the kitchen. He was standing at the oven. His back was to me and he was flipping pancakes. His long legs were encased in their usual denim and he was wearing a long-sleeved black Henley that clung to his powerful chest and arms.

“Take a seat, baby. These are nearly done,” he said without even turning around.

I loved when he called me that. I sat at the recycled timber table and watched as he moved around the kitchen. He seemed more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. He stacked a few pancakes on a plate and sat it in front of me, along with some syrup.

“Where did all this come from?”