Merciless King (Lawless Kings, #5)

by Sherilee Gray

  Nothing.

  That knot in my belly sprouted thorns.

  “Is anyone there? Hello?”

  Someone giggled.

  I slammed the phone down.

  Grabbing my bag, I quickly locked up, rushed out of the shop, and waved down a cab.

  “Where to?”

  “The closest police station, please.”

  I let the sounds, the smell of the city ground me, holding off the second flashback in a week. The nightmares were a different story. They’d come back and there was no stopping them.

  I’d tried to tell myself it was in my head, that I was imagining things, seeing shadows lurking in corners, but the truth was, ever since that night in the park, I’d felt like someone was watching me.

  Like eyes were on me, burning into me as soon as I left my apartment or the store. Following me everywhere I went.

  I gnawed on my lip as we pulled up outside the station. Ignoring this feeling wasn’t an option anymore, but coming here? I swallowed, mouth suddenly desert dry. Coming here made it real. God, was someone really watching me? Did someone want to hurt me?

  I paid the cab driver and, not allowing myself to chicken out, headed inside. Two years ago, I’d ignored my instincts. Something had felt off, and I’d told myself I was being stupid.

  Paranoid.

  Like I’d been telling myself for the last week.

  A shudder moved through me as I approached the officer standing behind a desk.

  Thirty minutes later, I was sitting across from the detective who had handled my case back then and biting back angry tears. Detective Daniels’s eyes were warm brown, gentle, and he gave me another one of those sympathetic looks like he thought I was losing my mind.

  Apparently, my gut feelings and two heavy-breathing calls were nothing to worry about. Yeah, okay, maybe it did sound like nothing. But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. Down to my bones. But I struggled to get this across, obviously.

  “What happened to you…” Detective Daniels shook his head. “Miss Rivera, you went through a hell of a lot,” he finally said. “It’s only natural that you’d be…cautious.”

  “This isn’t all in my head,” I said, unable to meet his eyes, which frustrated the hell out of me and I’m sure didn’t help me plead my case. But men made me uncomfortable. I didn’t know why. There was no sinister reason, no awful event in my childhood. They had always just made me feel awkward, self-conscious. I was painfully shy at the best of times, and my social anxiety disorder made it all harder. And right then, stuttering and blushing and sweating through this interview couldn’t be helping.

  No wonder he thought I was imagining things.

  “Look, with nothing to go on, the best I can do is have an officer drive by your place a couple of times for the next few days.”

  “Right.” I bit my lip.

  He was silent for several long, uncomfortable beats. “If anything else happens, come back in.” He slid his card across the desk. “Or call me, and I’ll do what I can.”

  “Right,” I said again, because what else could I say? He thought it was all in my head.

  “London,” he said in a gentle voice, a knowing voice, dropping the professional cop act completely. He’d been kind back then. I’d liked him, had felt safe around him. And I knew he was looking back to that time as well, that awful time, and seeing the violent aftermath of my attack. Seeing exactly why I might be seeing monsters where there were none.

  “No. I understand.”

  His hand gently covered mine, startling me. My gaze shot up to his as he curled my fingers around his card. “Call me. Any time, whatever it is, and I’ll be there.”

  That wasn’t normal police protocol, I knew that much. I dropped my gaze again and my belly flipped. “Thank you.” I pulled my hand from under his and rushed out of the station before I broke down, before he saw me dissolve into tears.

  I laid out the roses and lilies for the arrangement I was recreating, trimming their stems before I began putting it together. I glanced down at the photo I’d been given. An older man with silver hair and kind eyes had brought it in. It was for his wife for their fortieth wedding anniversary. He wanted the arrangement to look like the bouquet she’d carried down the aisle when they’d married all those years ago. I wanted to get it right. It needed to be perfect.

  This, my work, was at least something I could control.

  Fear and dread tried to creep back in, but I refused to let it. After my talk with Detective Daniels the day before, I’d been upset, humiliated. But when I woke this morning, I told myself the police knew best. That maybe Detective Daniels was right. Maybe I was under more stress than I realized. But when I walked to work this morning, that crawling feeling had tingled at the back of my neck, like I was being watched, followed.

  Was I really conjuring it all up in my mind?

  I shoved the thought back out, I didn’t want to think about that, not then. I needed to not think about any of it for a little while. I needed to keep busy. And as always, my little shop had a steady stream of orders and I was thankful for that today more than ever.

  The phone rang. Erin was busy with a customer, so I rushed to answer it. “Beautiful Blooms, London speaking.”

  There were several beats of silence then that giggle came at me again down the line, pitched high, lifting the hair on the back of my neck and making my skin crawl.

  I slammed down the phone and turned off the ringer.

  I worked at controlling my racing heart, at telling myself it was nothing. But that crawling feeling across my skin intensified through the day. This fear was more than I knew what to do with.

  There was only one place left to go—one person left to turn to.

  Once the shop shut, I grabbed a cab and gave the driver a Queens address. One I had memorized but had never been to.

  A short time later I was standing at an elevator, trembling so hard I’d already dropped my purse twice.

  I sucked in a shaky breath and made myself hit the up arrow. This was my only option. I couldn’t pretend nothing was happening, that I was imagining things—not anymore. It was more than a feeling, more than paranoia, I was sure of it. But after my visit with the police, after the sympathetic looks, being told by Detective Daniels in that deep but gentle voice that my fears were likely part of my PTSD, I knew I was on my own.

  Those fierce dark eyes entered my mind once again.

  Van King.

  I hadn’t seen him since I was in the hospital, right before my release. I’d thought about him, though, a lot. Honestly, I’d thought about him more than was probably healthy. He didn’t even know how much he still helped me. Van was who I thought of in the middle of the night to calm myself after I woke screaming. And it was his face I focused on in my mind when a flashback took hold and I thought I might actually die of fear.

  What would happen when I saw him now, in the flesh? Would it all come crashing back? I lived it every day, but would being near the man who saved me put me right back there?

  In my old apartment building, bleeding out on the floor.

  I dragged in a shaky breath and reached for the wall to steady myself as the elevator climbed.

  You can do this. There’s no one else. No other choice.

  Van was an intimidating man, the kind of man who exuded authority—masculinity. Having the attention of a man like that for all those weeks following what happened, having him sitting at my bedside, quietly watching over me, holding me through the flashbacks and the nightmares, bringing me back when they sucked me under, had made me feel protected, special.

  He made sure I had everything I needed, that everything was taken care of. It had been exactly what I’d needed. Was the kind of care I’d craved nearly all my life.

  It had been…confusing.

  Having all of that, then watching him walk away and never look back had been difficult. I felt like, God, I felt like he’d abandoned me. It was stupid. There was nothing there, nothing between us. He’d felt
some kind of responsibility for me since I’d had no one else, since he’d been the one to save me that night. But that’s how I’d felt.

  The door slid open, and I focused on putting one foot in front of the other and pushed open a set of double glass doors.

  A woman with gorgeous red hair sat at reception and she looked up when I walked in, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Hi there.”

  I forced herself to meet the other woman’s eyes, something I’d always struggled with and had been working on lately. “Yes, hi. I-I…” I hitched the strap of my bag higher, gripping it tight. “I wondered if V-Van…um, King was here?”

  The other woman stood, and her eyes had softened, like she’d picked up on the fact that she was dealing with someone extremely nervous, like she could see the fear I was trying to hide and adjusted accordingly.

  “You’re in luck,” she said. “He just came in after finishing a case and I chained him to his desk to get the paperwork done.” She winked. “I’m not his favorite person right now.” She crooked her finger. “Follow me.”

  I noticed she had the name Hunter tattooed on the side of her neck in fine sloping script. I remember Van mentioning his brother, Hunter, who’d been in prison at the time. This was obviously his wife or girlfriend. I followed her down a short hall, and by the time we stopped outside a closed door, my pulse was thudding so hard I’d started to feel a little dizzy.

  She knocked twice and pushed the door open.

  “Jesus, woman, give me a chance to work through this bullshit,” a rough, extremely deep, and wonderfully familiar voice growled.

  The other woman was standing in the open doorway. I was to the side, still in the hall, concealed, and I had to make myself hold my ground and not run the other way.

  “Someone’s here to see you,” she said, ignoring his outburst completely.

  “Who?” he growled.

  Growled.

  I felt it down to my toes.

  “Huh, I forgot to ask,” she said then turned to me, brow raised.

  I stepped forward on shaky legs as she moved back, giving me room. I was standing in the doorway now, which meant he could see me, but there was no way I could look at him. Not yet. “London,” I said. “London Rivera.”

  The sound of a desk chair rolling back and hitting the wall came next. The redhead’s eyes widened and slid from Van to me and back.

  “You can go, Lulu. I’ll take it from here.”

  She stared at us for a beat longer then finally turned and headed back to reception, and I made myself step into Van’s office.

  He was still standing behind his desk and it was a struggle, but I lifted my eyes. I couldn’t bring myself to meet his, so I focused on his strong neck, that cut-from-granite jaw. It was covered in whiskers, more than a day’s growth, like he’d been out all night, maybe two, and hadn’t had a chance to shave. I took in the rest of him. Dark pants and a T-shirt that molded to him.

  I cleared my throat. “Do you…do you have a minute?”

  I didn’t need to see his eyes to know they were on me, burning into me like lasers. I could feel them. Van was impossible to read, and even when I had managed to look into those dark-as-night eyes, I’d never been able to read him. I just knew that they drew me in a way I didn’t understand.

  He stepped out from behind his desk but didn’t come any closer. “What are you doing here, London?” he said, and somehow his voice had gone even deeper, rougher than before.

  He also didn’t sound happy that I was standing in his office.

  I struggled at the best of times with social interaction, unless I was talking about my flowers. Anything to do with my store felt easy. There I was relatively confident. There I knew what was expected of me. But Van made me quake from the toes up. In the hospital, I’d stumbled over my words, and when I could bring myself to talk to him, I’d blurted idiotic things. He made me nervous, anxious. Feelings I tried to avoid. But oddly, I still wanted to get closer to Van despite those feelings, because when it came to him, they weren’t all negative. No, they came with an edge of excitement.

  “Look at me, London,” he said softly.

  My chin came up, like he was a sergeant major barking orders at me. My eyes briefly made contact with his before I looked away again. “Right, yes…well. You see, Heathcliff died and I thought—”

  He straightened. “Heathcliff?”

  I blinked over at him. “Yes, he is, was my dog…” I cleared my throat. “I came home and he, he was dead.”

  “Okay,” he said, those eyes still zeroed in on me but now there was something else in them, something I didn’t much like. Pity. “I’m sorry you lost him, London, but I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.”

  I shook my head and tried to gather my thoughts. “No, that’s not, that’s not the…” I stopped myself again and took a steadying breath. “I took him to the park to bury him. It was dark by the time I’d finished. I was grieving, upset, crying. I didn’t think about what I was doing until it was done, and when I started to walk home, I think…no, I’m sure, someone followed me.” I met his eyes again and held his gaze, which wasn’t easy, but I needed to get my point across. “Someone’s been following me.”

  He was in front of me in two strides, his hands on my upper arms, looking down at me, and there was no way I could look away. I was trapped by his dark gaze, caged. “You were in a park on your own at night?” he gritted out.

  “It wasn’t dark when I left…I-I had to bury Heathcliff.”

  His jaw tightened. “You saw someone following you?”

  “No, but I heard it.”

  His fingers flexed, his grip on my arms firm and sure. “So you never actually saw anyone?”

  “No, but I have this feeling. And I’m starting to think Heathcliff didn’t die of natural causes. I think someone broke into my apartment and killed him.” My lips started to quiver, and I sucked in a steadying breath. God, I didn’t want to cry in front of him. I’d done enough of that already. “And I’ve had calls. They call the store and say nothing. Something’s…something’s not right.” I took another breath. “Will you…will you help me, Van?”

  2

  Van

  Her softly spoken plea hit me in the gut. I stared down at her, still trying to get my shit together. I hadn’t seen London in close to two years, I’d made sure of it, and here she was, standing in my office as beautiful and tempting as always.

  And yeah, in her eyes I saw that fragility, that softness that called on every one of my protective and dominant instincts. The caveman in me still wanted to carry her home, lock her up, and keep her safe.

  But that wasn’t an option. It never had been. I would never be the kind of man that was good for her. I’d run right over her and take everything I wanted from her until she despised me.

  Because where London Rivera was concerned, the way she made me feel scared the ever-loving fuck out of me. I knew I had something in me, something dark and relentless, something I barely kept in check. When London was around there was no reining it in. I would do anything for this woman. Anything. And not regret it. Not lose sleep. Never feel an ounce of guilt, no matter what it was, as long as she needed it.

  I was a dangerous man, I knew this; my brother and my friends knew this. With London, I had the potential to become a monster.

  “Have you talked to the police?” I asked, and fuck that felt wrong. That dark part of me was howling with pleasure that she’d come to me with this, even if I knew what this was. And I was positive it wasn’t a stalker.

  “They said with no evidence they couldn’t help me.” Her eyes shone, glistening from withholding her tears.

  I was this close to carrying her to the couch in my office and pulling her onto my lap. Somehow, I resisted. “You get an autopsy on the dog?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head, and my dick got hard. Jesus fucking Christ. If that didn’t prove how out of control I was around her, nothing else would.

  “Have you actua
lly seen anyone suspicious? Seen someone following you?” I said, hating that I had to make her see what she obviously wasn’t.

  Her eyes had grown wide, panicked. “No, but…I just…I know it. Someone is out there. Someone is watching me.”

  Fuck. “Are you still seeing the shrink?” I knew she wasn’t.

  She jolted in my hold, but I wasn’t ready to let her go. “No.” Her breathing had grown faster, more erratic. “I’m not imagining this. What about the phone calls to the shop?”

  “Kids fucking with you? A wrong number?”

  She drew in a breath so hard and fast it almost looked painful.

  Shit.

  I got someone I trusted to check up on her from time to time. I needed to know she was okay. Not too close, and no, not me. Because the truth was I didn’t trust myself around this woman. I’d been all but obsessed with her back when everything went down, and I knew if I took an active interest in her life again I wouldn’t be able to walk away this time.

  God help us both if that happened.

  When I spoke next, I tried to be as gentle as I could. “It’s coming up two years at the end of the month, sweetheart. It’s only natural that you’d be thinking about this.”

  She pulled out of my arms and I wanted to pull her back instantly. Somehow I resisted that, too.

  “You think I’m crazy as well?” she said. “That this is me being paranoid?”

  I crossed my arms so I didn’t reach for her. “I think you’ve been through a lot, that two years isn’t a lot of time after what happened, and that it’s only natural that you’d be nervous.”

  She stared at me for several painstaking seconds, and the betrayal I saw in her eyes cut me to the bone.

  “Right.” She glanced away and I watched her take a steadying breath and pull it together. “And if I do see something or someone?” she finally said.

  I’d tear them apart limb from limb. But she wouldn’t because I knew what this was, and the help she needed wasn’t something I could give her. She was better off as far from me as she could get. “You go to the police. They should always be your first call.” I hated myself as I said the words. But London wasn’t in any danger out there. She was in more danger here with me. The fierceness of my hunger for her burned hotter than I could handle. My need for her would overtake, would reduce her to ash.