Destructive King

by Van Dyken, Rachel

  A bucket of champagne was waiting next to two flutes on the main living room table.

  It made a popping sound when he opened it.

  “We can talk about my job—what I do for the Family other than kill, or we can wash off the night, order room service, and put on something that makes girls feel better… Hallmark? That Netflix princess one?”

  My jaw dropped as I stared at him. “You weren’t drunk. You were… pretending…” Heat swamped my face. “In the bathroom were you pretending too—”

  “Wow, my dick thanks you for the compliment, but you can’t pretend something that big, hard…” he winked. “Pulsating.”

  I groaned.

  “What? Too far?”

  “You always go too far,” I pointed out.

  “I thought that was part of my charm?”

  I shrugged, lifting a hand to tuck my hair only to realize it was trembling. Ash was at my side in an instant. Taking my hand, pressing it against his cheek. “It’s over.”

  “He sold me.”

  “He’ll burn in Hell,” Ash said softly. “Devil.” He patted his chest proudly. “I know things.”

  I laughed and then rested my cheek over his heart, absorbed its steady beat. “So, you really are the protector of the family, drawing everyone out with your asshole ways.”

  “Of course, you’d figured it out.” He rested his chin on my head. “Most people just think I’m mean, family included”

  “You are mean,” I pointed out. “But it’s a necessary cruelty.”

  “Mmm…” His arms held me tight. Protecting me. Holding me close. “Annie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Since your dad’s the asshole who threw you away—does that really mean I get to keep you?”

  I froze, a smile forming on my face as I pulled back and looked up into his eyes and whispered, “I’d start counting—you have to catch me first.”

  “Ten.” His eyes flashed. “Nine.”

  I had no idea where I was running.

  Only that no matter what direction I went in.

  It would end up in his arms.

  Always.

  The gleam in his eyes was my undoing.

  “Catch me,” I taunted.

  And then I ran.

  I ran down the hall took, a left, and ended up in a gorgeous bathroom.

  Trapped.

  It was modern.

  A huge tub was in front of me.

  Normally I’d give in.

  Tell him he won.

  Instead, I decided to crawl in and hide.

  I leaned my head back, my legs slightly spread since I couldn’t straighten them.

  “Hmmmmm…” Ash’s deep voice sent chills down my spine. “Where could my little Annie have gone?”

  I bit down on my bottom lip to keep the joy inside—which was nearly impossible.

  Because Ash.

  My Ash.

  My tormentor.

  Mine.

  Was chasing me.

  His gorgeous head of whiskey-colored hair fell over his forehead as he leaned over the tub and then lowered himself in, over my body. Wordlessly, he nudged my head aside as he started filling the tub with cold water, then hot.

  I waited, teeth chattering as water swirled around us, as the warmth of his body kept me secure, safe.

  And when it turned hot, when he turned those icy blue eyes back on me, he pressed a kiss to my forehead and then lowered my hair back into the tub.

  “You were baptized in fire… in rejection. In horror.” He lifted my head, heavy with water, cradling my neck as he whispered. “And now, bathed, baptized—pure.”

  I reached for him.

  He grabbed my body, our mouths slammed together as water sloshed around the bath.

  I moved onto him, straddling his body as we tried to tug our wet clothes away. They were suddenly offensive, separating us.

  He gritted his teeth as he kicked his wet pants down.

  The sound of the tub filling was like a white noise of passion as I lifted my dress over my head and tossed it to the wet white marble ground.

  Our clothes joined.

  And then so did we.

  In that tub.

  Mouths fused.

  Bodies flushed.

  Hot.

  One.

  “Finders…” He thrust into me. “Keepers.”

  “Good.” I forgot my own name, only able to say his, over and over again. “I’m yours.”

  He flipped us around, so I was pressed back against the tub wall, and then he surged like the water, filling me deep, pinning me, his eyes fierce, his muscles taut.

  In that moment, he wasn’t cruel Ash.

  Assassin.

  Mean.

  He was a god.

  King.

  Mine.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Mostly it is loss which teaches us the worth of things.” —Arthur Schopenhauer

  Ash

  It didn’t seem real. Having Annie actually in my arms—no arguing.

  Quiet.

  The light of the moon filtering past the thick black hotel curtains as I pulled her into my arms and then the sheets over both of us. I couldn’t stop staring at her, at how peaceful she looked.

  Earlier tonight, she’d looked ready to raise hell with barely a scrap of gorgeous white dress wrapped around her body like a snack.

  Now? Now she was naked against me, her skin pink from the bath, her lips swollen from the kisses.

  I ran my hands through her short dark hair. “Be honest, you cut your hair because you wanted to kill my soul, right?”

  She stilled, then looked up at me, her eyes flickering. “You hate it.”

  I sighed and kissed her head. As far as she’d come with her confidence, I needed to remember that she still needed the words, the actions, needed me to tell her how beautiful she was. How mine she was. I was owned. As cliche as it sounded, she was what I needed without even knowing, so I gave her the gentled words as I pulled her against me. “I love everything about you; I just feel like this was a giant fuck you, Ash…”

  Her laugh had me smiling as she leaned up and flicked my chest, her blue eyes sparkling. “It was.”

  I gripped her fingers and kissed each one. “Then again, it backfired when I didn’t recognize you. Shit, I’m an idiot.” I fell back against the bed as she splayed halfway across me.

  Her fingertips spread across my chest. “Say it again.”

  I reached for her hand. “Hell no, my ego’s extremely fragile post-sex.”

  She jerked her fingers away and punched me in the chest; I caught her hand and kissed her fingertips again, then grabbed the remote. “So, what will your poison be?”

  “Anything torturous… you deserve it after putting me through that tonight. The way I see it, I should have full control of the remote.”

  “And yet…” I pulled it back. “Who’s holding it?”

  She batted her eyelashes at me. “Who’s holding you?”

  “Damn it.” I sighed. “So what will it be?”

  Her smile was conniving; my dick and I liked it because her eyes were hooded, her breaths came in short pants, and we remembered what that felt like, and I wanted her again. “Something that makes you want to jump out that window like It’s a Small World at Disneyland…”

  “And I’m the devil,” I grumbled as she brought me back from my wicked fantasies. I wouldn’t trade it though. I loved it. Loved that we were talking, loved that I was holding her, that she knew me, saw me, not as the cruel playboy assassin, but just me. “So?”

  “Die Hard?” she offered.

  “Very funny.”

  “No look.” She pointed at the TV. “It’s on, and I love Bruce Willis.”

  “Are you trying to get laid again?” I pulled her until she was flush against me. “Because it’s working… honestly though, that may have been the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She frowned up at me, her face makeup-free, clean, beautiful. “Die Hard?”
<
br />   I rolled my eyes. “Not Bruce, you holding a gun, and I still get rock hard imagining you dressed up as a librarian.”

  “I never dressed up as a librarian.” Her pretty eyes narrowed into a confused frown that had me wanting to reach up and kiss her.

  I grinned mischievously. “We sure about that? Because my vision’s extremely clear,” I groaned. “I fucking loved it, daydreamed about pulling your hair about a million times.”

  She gave me a shove. “Wow, imagine had I just grabbed my favorite ruler out of my bag and smacked you with it then bit into an apple…

  “Fuck.” I flipped her onto her back, collapsed my body weight against her. “Only as long as you tell me to try to be quiet while I sink into you behind a stack of dusty books.”

  She burst out laughing. Free. She was free. “Let me guess you’re going to shove them all off the desk.”

  “There really isn’t any other move for that situation, Annie.” I gave a serious nod. “And I am a fucking professional.”

  Her eyes heated. “Die Hard in the background… You… in my mouth.”

  I completely froze, afraid I’d ruin the moment by being an ass again, and then I blurted, “Are you sure? It’s been a long night and—”

  I allowed her to shove me to the side of the bed, and then she was ducking under the covers as I tried to mutter out. “I’m an idiot, just kidding, carry on, shit—”

  “Finders Keepers.” Her lips moved against my cock.

  “Yes,” was all I could squeeze out. “Hell… yes.”

  I dug my fingers into her short hair.

  And I vowed to keep her forever.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Do you wish to be remembered? Leave a lot of debts.” —Elbert Hubbard

  Ash

  We spent all night talking.

  And then not talking at all.

  And then sleeping, only to wake up again and kiss.

  “So you thought your dad died?” I whispered between kisses.

  “Mmm…” She kissed me back and then shrugged. “He killed my mom then himself; apparently, he just killed her and had it all set up, I can’t believe he’d do that, but his hatred for her was deep. She ruined his plans. She was supposed to go to Luis Sinacore, get pregnant with a son, and come back to him. Instead, she got pregnant with me, fell in love, then had such a horrible labor, according to my dad—I ruined her. Broke her.”

  “Not true,” I whispered. “He may have thought you broke her, but you put me back together again.”

  She cupped my face. “It’s impossible, you know.”

  “Fixing me?”

  “Being drawn to you.” Annie sniffled. “Even when you’re a complete ass who deserves to get strangled to death.”

  “Harsh.” I put a hand across my chest; she gripped it and held it tight.

  “I mean it.” Her eyes were clear, focused solely on me. “I wasn’t terrified when I first met you, I told myself it was terror, but it was something else it was…” She chewed her lower lip, sucking it in and out, then finally a bright smile. “It was you. Maybe there’s no way to explain Ash Abandonato, except he’s dark when he needs to be, light when it’s asked of him—hero and villain. I can’t imagine you any other way.”

  I kissed her swollen mouth. “I hate that I wasted time, that you were gone, that I sent you away.” I frowned then. “Why did you leave?”

  It was the first time I saw uncertainty in her eyes. “Not tonight… later… I’ll tell you later.”

  “Promise?”

  “Always.” She kissed me.

  And I spent the rest of the morning smiling like a fool, then the rest of the afternoon ready to consume her again only to get blindsided by every single cousin with a party at my pool house.

  Apparently, we were trending on Twitter for a while, me and Annie, and her horrified expression in that gorgeous dress as I kept her close.

  Booze was set up around my kitchen, pizza, pasta—basically anything and everything Maksim could order in with his DoorDash app.

  And everyone was there.

  My friends.

  My family.

  We split up the party—the bosses were all with my dad in the house playing ping pong, which still weirded the shit out of all of us because what the hell happened to poker? I mean, mafia? Really?

  They even had a fucking chalkboard with their tournaments.

  Weird. So weird.

  I grabbed a whiskey and coke and sat on my couch while Annie and Serena laughed in the corner.

  She belonged.

  Here.

  With me.

  Anywhere else just seemed, such a waste, of a good person, of her. And I needed her goodness, her ability to challenge me even when she was scared. I needed someone who knew themselves, knew themselves well.

  “So funny story…” King plopped down next to me, wearing a black beanie and a shirt that said. Fight me. “Junior here saw a ghost last night.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Junior groaned and downed the rest of whatever he was drinking; he grabbed the remote and changed the channel to some weird reality show shit that had the girls animated instantly. “Hate that guy.”

  “Whyyyyyy?” Maksim groaned. “Why are we watching The Bachelor?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Izzy appeared behind us. “Are you jealous, Maks? Because he has balls, and you have… whatever you have down there… dangling between your sad, pathetic legs?”

  She blew him a kiss.

  I whistled. “Bro, not that I want you having sex with my sister, but what the hell did you say to her to get her so hostile.”

  “I have this answer.” Tank strolled in with a beer and groaned. “He called her a what was it? Dirty whore. Yup, I think I got it right.”

  I glared at Maksim. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “TWO SIDES, MAN!” Maksim yelled. “To every story! And we’re getting sidetracked; Junior saw a ghost!”

  All the guys quieted while Valerian burst into laughter. “Yeah, a ghost, okay… and after Christmas, how rare…”

  Junior shuddered like he was scared shitless. Junior of all people. He was never scared. Scary, yes, scared, no.

  “Are we sure?” Valerian grinned. “That it wasn’t Maksim dressed in cosplay again.”

  “That was once!” Maksim yelled.

  “And fucking hilarious,” King added. “Your outfit was see-through.”

  “Jingle Balls, Jingle Balls,” I sang, earning a pillow in my direction with a yell that Christmas was over.

  “Adrenaline.” Junior nodded. “It had to have been adrenaline because it really did scare the shit out of me. I didn’t sleep all night, but I think, and not to bring up past shit, but I think it just had to do with us bringing part of our enemies down last night. So much was tied in with Claire.” He shot me a sad look. “She died because we were targets, and I think my subconscious was just… sad all over again, for you, us, her.”

  Misery washed over me, and then Annie waved at me from her spot in the kitchen.

  Fresh start.

  We could have this fresh start.

  It could be different.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be the same, but did that make it any less beautiful? No. Not with Annie. With her, it would still be… glorious. Like a sunrise.

  I caught her eye, and with a laugh, she strolled over and wrapped her arms around my neck from behind.

  I tilted back and lifted my chin, meeting her halfway with a kiss that had everyone groaning around us.

  I couldn’t stop smiling.

  And I hated how long it took me to get to this place, with myself, with her.

  My emotions were overwhelming as I held her close, and I knew nothing. Nothing in the world would change this.

  Ever.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.”—Dr. Seuss

  Chase

  The Past: The Day of The Accident

  “Tank,
” I barked into the phone. “I’m busy; what is it?”

  He was quiet. Was he crying? Not breathing?

  “Tank,” I ground out.

  “She’s… she’s okay.”

  “Who?” I roared. Imagining my daughters, my wife, anyone I loved getting hurt had me crushing the phone until I was sure it would crumble into tiny pieces of dust.

  “Claire.” He sighed. “I mean, she looks rough, but she’s okay… at least I think she is, the doctors aren’t… they aren’t fully sure yet because there could be some internal damage.”

  “Fuck!” I roared. “What the hell happened?”

  “Cut brakes, meant for Ash, you need to get down here, Nikolai’s already seen her, but she’s asking for you.”

  Those words.

  Those damning words.

  “Okay.” I hung up.

  I slid my phone into my pocket.

  I stared out the kitchen window.

  The same one I watched my son play outside with his siblings, the same one I saw him walk through with Claire on his arm, declaring her his.

  The same window.

  The same fucking window I saw so many things through.

  And yet, they were never clear, were they?

  Altered, yes they were altered by the angle of the sun, the moon, the thickness of the glass; I only saw what I wanted.

  I only saw what I needed to see.

  So did Ash.

  And Claire?

  She only saw Ash.

  Until she didn’t.

  Until. She. Didn’t.

  Did she ever even realize it?

  Memories assaulted me then of a moment so long ago when I’m sure Luca or Frank, the original bosses, stared out a different window and watched me walk in, with Trace on my arm, after Nixon’s so-called death.

  I claimed her as mine.

  I wanted her.

  I wanted her too much.

  And then I realized it wasn’t my path.

  Nixon had known, though, and he’d been willing, he’d been what I couldn’t be, and I hadn’t even realized it until that moment.

  I’m sure they watched like I did then.

  I’m sure they were silent like I so often was.

  Letting all of us figure out the pain on our own, knowing we would suffer, knowing there would be tears, blood, pain.