Merciless King: A Lawless Kings Novel

by Gray, Sherilee

  My blush deepened when I finally got it open. Van stood back a little from the door, his arms crossed, head tilted to the side, and those dark eyes on me. They lowered to my sock-covered feet. I cringed. They were pink and had little worms holding books and wearing glasses on them. Then I watched as that dark gaze moved all the way up. It felt like an eternity, when in reality it was seconds, probably less than a second.

  “How you feeling this morning?”

  I jumped again, so deep in my own head, desperately searching for the right words, that his took me by surprise. He didn’t miss my reaction. He frowned.

  Not sure what to do with my hands, and to hide the way they trembled, I crossed my arms as well. “I’m okay.”

  He took a step closer and I jolted, almost falling over my own damn feet.

  Van froze, his frown deepening. He was silent for several frantic beats of my heart, watching me in that intense way of his. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Are you afraid of me, London?”

  Every curse word I knew—which was extensive since my dad had literally been a sailor, or at least in the navy most of my childhood—shot through my mind. I hated that I was like this. Having social anxiety sucked and made life extremely difficult at times. Add on top of that a general awkwardness around men and some insecurities about my body that I was still working on, and living under a rock became increasingly appealing.

  As hard as this was, I did not want Van, of all people, to think I was afraid of him. “Definitely not,” I said, while avoiding actually looking at him. “No way. I’m not afraid of you. You’re the last person in the world I’d be afraid of. Well, not like that, you know? Like you don’t scare me. I know you’d never hurt me.”

  He just stood there staring at me.

  I flushed hotter. “So, um…no. Not afraid.” In my fantasies, I wasn’t this ridiculous. Not completely, anyway. Because as hard as I’d tried, I couldn’t even imagine away my nerves when I’d fantasized about what it would be like to be with a man like Van. What it would feel like to be kissed by him, touched…

  He took a step closer again.

  And dammit, I went rock solid, right after another one of those little jolts. Again, he didn’t miss this.

  He pulled up short again. “Why do you keep jumping when I take a step in your direction? What do you think I’m going to do?”

  I inwardly cringed. I was going to have to tell him, wasn’t I? Man, I so didn’t want to. But there was no way I was going to let him think it was him when it was all me. “It’s not you. I, ah…I have social anxiety disorder, and one-on-one situations are often hardest for me…especially around…well, around men.”

  Sweet baby Jesus, why? Why the hell did I keep on talking?

  “You seemed okay with me before…back then.”

  “I was doped up to the eyeballs.” The pain meds had made everything a whole lot easier.

  His brows slid higher. “Okay.”

  He thinks I’m nuts.

  I skirted the couch and rushed for the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “That’d be good.”

  I heard him follow me into the kitchen but kept my back to him, working at cooling my burning cheeks.

  “You want me to get someone to come over so you’re not alone with me? If one on one makes you uncomfortable.”

  “No,” I said too loud. God, what he must think of me. I made myself turn and face him. “No,” I said again, quieter this time. “Van, you…you saved my life, and last night…I should be thanking you, not—”

  “Don’t need to thank me, London. I just want to make sure you’re okay, and if being around me makes shit harder, I’ll do what I can to make it easier.”

  I blinked over at him, at his fierce expression. Floored by the intensity of that declaration. “I feel more at ease with you than I do with anyone else…well, except for Mrs. Charmers who lives two doors down. But she’s eighty and about as intimidating as a sleeping kitten.”

  His strong throat worked, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down in a way that was mesmerizing. “Yeah?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you find me intimidating?” he said.

  I waved my hand at him, indicating all that was standing in front of me. “Have you looked at you?”

  Nope, I had literally no control over what came out of my damn mouth.

  His lips tipped up on one side and my knees went a little weak. My face went hot again, and I spun away to finish making the drinks.

  I heard his boots on the hardwood floor, moving closer, and I forced myself to remain still, not to react. It wasn’t easy.

  “I’m sorry, London,” he said. “For not believing you. For turning you away when you came to me for help.”

  The sincerity in his deep gravelly voice had tingles dancing across my skin. I turned to face him again, his coffee in my hand. He was a lot closer, only a couple of feet away, and I had to tilt my head way back to look up at him. “Please, you don’t need to apologize. I know how it sounded. Even the police thought I was imagining it.”

  His gaze moved over my face, lingered on my lips, and his hand lifted like he was going to touch me. I wanted him to, but without my say-so, my own hand extended and I shoved his mug at him. “Here’s your drink.” But I did it with so much force it sloshed over the edge and scalding hot coffee splashed his shirt and him. A lot of it.

  He hissed, grabbed the mug off me, quickly put it on the counter, and reached back to yank his shirt off over his head.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry!” I spun away, grabbed a dish towel, ran it under cold water and spun back, slapping it on his stomach where he got the worst of it. “I’ve burnt you.”

  Van went still, the room going completely silent.

  I blinked down at my hands, one holding a wet dishtowel to his incredibly ripped, golden-skinned abs, the other pressed to that hot bare skin at his waist. Skin to skin. Mine against his. I felt his stomach tighten, the corrugations of his abdominal muscles hardening beneath my palm and my now trembling fingers.

  His hand dropped to cover mine and I jerked back.

  “I’m so sorry, I, um…I’ll let you, ah…do that…” My back collided with the counter and I winced in pain.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “Go pack a bag, sweetheart. I’m taking you home with me.”

  My head jerked back and my mouth fell open. “What?”

  “Until we get this guy, you’re staying with me.”

  “But…hang on a minute—”

  “You got somewhere else to go? Someone else to come stay here?”

  I snapped my mouth shut, which was suddenly dry. “It’s nice of you to offer, but I can’t ask you to do that for me.” My pulse sped faster, my hands getting clammy. “I’m not your responsibility. You don’t owe me anything. Taking me into your home…that’s, that’s too much. The police might do something now, after what happened at the shop…”

  “You didn’t ask and I’m not offering. I’m telling.”

  I stared at him in shock.

  “You’re coming to my apartment so I can goddamn sleep without worrying that you’re okay. I’m not just doing it for you, London. I’m doing it for me as well. Understand?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  His eyes closed for a moment, that strong throat working again, and when his eyes opened they seemed even darker, though I wasn’t sure how that was possible. “Go pack your bag, sweetheart. Please.”

  I didn’t want to be this giant burden on him, some kind of responsibility, but I wasn’t stupid either. Even with the break-in at the shop, what could the police do? They had no suspects, not yet anyway. I didn’t have anyone I could go to or someone who could come to me. Having anxiety when it came to social interactions meant I didn’t have a lot of friends. I most certainly didn’t have any close ones I could impose upon like that. Someone wanted to hurt me, and Van was offering safety. So, yeah, I was going to take it no matter how awkward I felt.

  “Thank you,” I said, and rushed past hi
m to my bedroom to pack.

  * * *

  Van

  I watched her race off and bit out a curse. I’d never been affected by another human being the way London Rivera affected me. I dragged a breath in through my nose as my gut tightened and other parts of me fucking throbbed.

  Everything about her hit every one of my hot buttons. Which was why I avoided women like her. Sweet, soft, gentle females that sent my protective instincts into overdrive. I’d seen that in her the moment I laid eyes on her. My mother had been sweet and soft and gentle, and my violent father had run right over her, over and over again.

  I was afraid of how much of him I had in me. How much of him he’d passed on to his oldest son. I recognized him when I looked in the mirror, saw his hard, cold eyes reflected back. Of course, there were differences. I protected those people who relied on me, who I cared about, and I would never lay my hands on a woman.

  No, what worried me was the cold, ruthless, violent part of me that would do anything, and I mean anything, to protect those people. That part of me, when it came out, brought pain and rage and vengeance with it. I knew what I was truly capable of. I could dish that shit out without mercy, without losing a moment of sleep.

  Something was missing inside me, something that meant I wasn’t capable of the kind of love my brother, Hunter, was capable of. All the other guys at the agency—Zeke, Jude and Neco—had all managed to work through their shit and find that kind of connection. I wasn’t like them. Years of watching my mother being punished for something that wasn’t her fault, abused repeatedly, had done something to me, something it hadn’t to Hunter. Maybe it was guilt that they took the worst of it, that me, his real son, was never the first on the receiving end of his fists.

  I didn’t know. But what I did know was that because of it, I was incapable of the kind of love that Hunter and Lulu shared, of forming that kind of connection.

  No, instead I became obsessed. My twisted need for London was all-consuming and her vulnerability, her sweetness, just drew me more. I wanted some of that. Wanted to taste it, have it in my hands, underneath me, more than I wanted my next damn breath.

  Of course, she chose that moment to walk out, expression uncertain, sweetly shy. I wanted to kiss her then more than I ever had. Back her up against the kitchen counter, tug down her jeans, and sink deep inside her warmth.

  “Ready?” I bit out, need clear in my voice.

  Her gaze avoided mine, cheeks still pink. “Yes.”

  No, definitely not for me, no matter how much I wanted her. Having her at my place wouldn’t be easy, but she needed someone to take care of her. Needed somewhere safe while I hunted this fucker down and made her world safe again.

  And I wouldn’t stop until I had.

  5

  London

  I woke, swallowing my scream before it could be set loose. Heart racing, I blinked up at the shadowed ceiling, one that wasn’t mine, and it all came rushing back.

  I was in Van’s apartment.

  A groan slipped past my lips as I pushed myself up. I had aches and likely more bruises after the wrestling match I’d had on the floor of my shop the day before, ones I hadn’t noticed in the bathroom mirror.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. The nightmares were back with a vengeance. Only now there wasn’t just one monster, but two.

  Light from the full moon cast shadows across the carpet. The bed felt huge. I curled my fingers into the navy blue quilt. It was big and soft, one of those sets you buy in a bag with pillows included. I scanned the room. I hadn’t taken it all in when Van led me down here hours earlier. I’d just wanted to close my eyes and try and forget. There was some exercise equipment over by a built-in closet and a small dresser opposite the bed, and not much else. This was his spare room. Van was in the room next door.

  The restlessness riding me increased until I couldn’t sit still any longer. I shoved back the covers, climbed out, and walked to the door, easing it open. It was quiet and dark down the hall and beyond that as well. My feet were silent on the thick carpet; still, I was extra careful as I passed Van’s closed bedroom door.

  The living room windows were floor to ceiling and the moonlight was just as bright in there, so I didn’t bother with the lamp and moved to look out across the city. During the day you could probably see my apartment building, the top couple of floors anyway.

  Had the man who’d tried to hurt me gone there, gone into my apartment looking for me? Had he gone inside, hoping to find me there alone?

  I shivered again and wrapped my arms around myself, shoving those thoughts from my mind. I couldn’t think about that right now, in the dark, on my own. I might fall apart if I let myself think about what could have happened, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull it back together again if I did.

  I glanced around the room. Van’s apartment was so different than mine. He had money, obviously. Liked things orderly, in their place. The furniture was all dark, big, built for comfort. No photos or knickknacks. A total bachelor pad.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  I jumped and spun around. Van stood at the hall entrance, his face in shadow. His chest was bare and he was wearing a pair of sweatpants low on his hips, like he’d just tugged them on.

  He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. His skin looked smooth apart from a trail of dark hair below his belly button that disappeared into those soft-looking pants. His stomach was ridged with muscle and his pecs were wide and heavy, but not too heavy. Just…right. I’d wondered if he had any tattoos. He did. One large one that covered his right pec, shoulder, and biceps to the elbow. I wanted to take a closer look, desperately. I stayed where I was.

  My dad’s favorite sport to watch had been MMA fighting. He always had matches playing on the TV when he was on leave. Van’s body was like one of those men. A fighter. Raw and lean and muscled. Strong.

  “London?”

  I lifted my gaze to where his would be, which was easy since I couldn’t see him properly in the shadows. I’d almost forgotten that he’d asked me a question. I shook my head, answering him, though I didn’t really need to since I was standing here and not tucked up in his spare room.

  He stepped forward and I managed to hold my ground and not step back. Light from the window angled across the sharp edges of his cheekbones and jaw. His eyes looked black.

  “You’re shaking,” he said.

  Was I? I took stock of myself and realized he was right. I guessed I’d been shaking since I woke up, maybe since Van coaxed me out of the back room of my shop. “I’m okay,” I said automatically, even though I was far from okay. So far from it I didn’t know where I was or what to do with myself.

  “You have a nightmare, sweetheart?” he said gently.

  I knew from the look on his face he was remembering all those times I woke screaming in the hospital. I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want him thinking about it either. But I nodded, because he was waiting for my answer.

  I took him in again, standing there like he’d just stepped out of one of my fantasies, and hugged myself tighter. I couldn’t believe I was here, with him. Van was gorgeous. Brutally masculine. Fierce.

  He belonged here in this beautiful apartment. It suited him.

  I most definitely didn’t.

  Did he bring a lot of women here? Probably.

  Beautiful, confident women who knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid of everything and everyone.

  Or maybe…

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” I said, or more whispered. Then I inwardly cringed. I couldn’t believe I’d asked him that. But then I seemed to blurt a lot of things when I was around Van King. Maybe it was the darkness, the shadows. Yes, it definitely felt more like a dream, a fantasy, standing here in his apartment, than reality.

  My belly felt weird even thinking of him here with a woman. Someone he cared about. But why wouldn’t he? He was an extremely good-looking guy. And a good man.

  He shook his head. “No gir
lfriend.”

  I ignored the flutter in my belly. “You have a brother, don’t you? Any other siblings?” I didn’t know why I was asking him a bunch of questions in the middle of the night. I just knew in that moment I wanted to know more about him. It felt important. More important than anything else.

  “No,” he said. “Just me and Hunter.”

  He didn’t ask me anything in return and I wondered if he already knew. Probably. He was a PI. Had he taken it upon himself to find out about my background, my history? Not that there was much to discover. Or was it wishful thinking that he’d taken that kind of interest in me?

  “I don’t think I’m going to get back to sleep tonight. Is it okay if I watch some TV?”

  He strode across the living room, picked up a remote, and hit a couple of buttons. A TV glided up and out of the cabinet across from the couch, and the screen turned on. “I’ll make us a drink,” he said.

  “You don’t need to stay up as well.”

  His gaze moved over me and his eyes gentled. “I want to.” He headed to the kitchen.

  * * *

  I woke on the couch, my face smoothed against something hard and hot. Forcing my eyes open, I quickly realized the something hard and hot was Van’s stomach. I also had my arm slung around him.

  My first instinct was to jerk back, but then I saw that he was asleep. I sure as hell didn’t want to wake him, not after I’d been draped over him like cling wrap. His fingers were buried in my hair—had he been stroking it? Yeah, right. Wishful thinking, London. I carefully reached up and moved his hand, untangling my hair, then eased up slowly.

  He was in the corner of the couch, one arm along the back, long legs out in front of him, bare feet crossed. I took him in. I’d never been this up close and personal with a man’s bare chest.

  And I’d been draped over him. On him.