Rise of a Queen: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Kingdom Duet Book 2)

by Rina Kent

  “Kyle.” Tristan glares at him.

  “What?” Kyle sits beside him and snatches his drink. “I didn’t know it was a secret.”

  “It’s safe with me,” I say. Not that I didn’t suspect it. The Rhodes family has always given off vibes, especially Tristan’s cousin, Aaron.

  “It better be.” Kyle takes his time to savour his drink. “Or else we’ll have to…you know…shut you up with other methods.”

  “You’re not allowed to threaten my guests, Kyle.”

  “I’m just putting it out there.” Kyle is the type who speaks with complete nonchalance, appearing almost bored, but he knows exactly what he’s doing.

  Not that he rattles me. No one does.

  Or more accurately, no one aside from the woman who’s locked in her room because she was trying to escape.

  I can’t believe she attempted to fucking jump right after she was attacked. My chest constricts whenever I think of what could’ve happened if Moses and I had been even a few seconds too late.

  Or if I hadn’t been there to catch her.

  The fact that she changed so suddenly has been sending my mind into overdrive. I barely slept last night. Every time I closed my eyes, her vulnerable fainted state came to mind.

  It doesn’t help that my bed feels empty without her. It shouldn’t, but it fucking does.

  Pushing that thought out of my head, I focus on Kyle. “Can you find who I’m looking for?”

  “I can find anyone.”

  “Tristan will forward you all the information we have.” I take a drink. “I want him alive.”

  Both Tristan and Kyle smile at that. But the sadism that shines in Kyle’s eyes is nothing like I’ve seen before. It’s almost as if he finds a sick pleasure in it. “I love it when they’re alive…at first.”

  “What’s the time frame?” I ask.

  “As long as it takes. I’ll be in touch when I find your guy, or girl, you never know.”

  “Name your price and I’ll pay.”

  “I don’t need money.” He stands. “Once the mission is complete, I’ll take payment in the form of a favour.”

  I don’t like that idea. Money is more about cutting loose ends, but a favour could be anything. However, since my choices are limited, I nod.

  “Perfect. Looking forward to this.” He heads to the balcony. “And here I thought England was boring.”

  “There’s a door,” Tristan says in a semi-exasperated, semi-resigned tone.

  “Doors are dull.” And with that, Kyle jumps from the balcony.

  Tristan shakes his head, then smiles at me. “You can trust Kyle with this. He’s one of the best.”

  “I’m counting on that.”

  “May I ask what you intend to do with this man once you find him?”

  “Make him wish he was never alive.”

  Because no one, and I mean no-fucking-one, touches what’s mine and lives.

  I reach home somewhere after seven. Harris stays at the company to send me updates about an upcoming merger.

  Usually, I’d remain with him, but my attention is constantly robbed by the wild presence I left at home. Although there’s security and Margot is to bring Aurora meals, I don’t trust she won’t do something stupid.

  Aurora is not only like an injured animal. She’s also trapped, and they tend to bite any chance they get.

  A tiny woman in baggy clothes is shouting at the front gate guard. Layla. Of course. I knew she’d show up here and create a ruckus over her friend’s disappearance.

  I motion at Moses to stop, and he obeys. The front gate guard nods at me in acknowledgement.

  She points a finger at herself. “I’m talking to you. Pay attention, or better yet, let me in.”

  “Not going to happen, Miss Hussaini,” I speak to her through my window.

  She whirls around and narrows her fierce eyes on me. “Johnny! Where’s Aurora? What have you done to her?”

  “Done to her? What makes you think I’ve done anything to her?”

  “She would never skip a day at work without telling me first, and she hasn’t answered my calls and texts for more than forty hours.”

  “That’s oddly precise.”

  “That’s because she’s never done it.”

  “She’s a bit unwell and needs rest.”

  “Unwell how?”

  “Sick, tired, or both.”

  “Then tell your bloke here to let me in so I can check on her.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment.”

  “Why not? Unless you did something to her!” She gasps. “I swear if you don’t let me see her, I’m going to call the police.”

  “You won’t be able to do anything to me, Miss Hussaini, but if you’re stupid enough to call the police, I’ll bring your family to the ground.”

  She lifts her chin. Layla is Aurora’s friend, all right. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “You ought to be.” I let the window go up, slowly muting her shouts. She’s screaming about how she’ll take this to social media and spouting every threat under the sun.

  The gate opens and Moses drives in. The guard holds Layla as she tries to bolt after me.

  There’s loyalty in that woman. I like it. But I also meant it about crushing her if she goes against me.

  I step into the house, ready to find Aurora and make her talk. It’s long overdue. Surely, she also doesn’t like to stay away from her company and her weird friend.

  “Sir?”

  Margot’s hesitant voice stops me at the base of the stairs. She’s standing there with a silent Tom.

  “Yes?”

  Her skin is pale and she swallows a few times but doesn’t say anything.

  My inner alarms go off at the same time. “What’s going on, Margot? Did something happen to Aurora?”

  I checked in a few hours ago to make sure she’d had her lunch, and Margot didn’t mention anything.

  “What’s going on?” I say with a stern voice when neither of them speaks.

  It’s Margot who finally does. “After I brought her lunch, Miss Aurora has…been…”

  “What?”

  “Screaming. Breaking things. The crashes could be heard from downstairs. She’s calmed down a bit now, but it was so similar to…”

  Tom shakes his head at her, and she clamps her lips shut.

  But I know who she was going to compare her to, even if she didn’t say the words.

  So similar to Alicia.

  Fuck.

  I loosen my tie as I ascend the stairs, then turn the key in the lock. The scene I see in front of me is utter fucking chaos.

  The coffee table is turned upside down, clothes are thrown on the ground, some torn, and the lamp is broken in pieces at the side of the bed.

  I step inside and close the door, pocketing the key.

  Since Aurora’s nowhere to be found, I expect her to be in the bathroom. I’m a few steps in when she darts behind me, towards the door.

  I grab her by the wrist, careful not to hurt her injured palms. The bandages are already bloodied, which means she’s reopened her wounds.

  Again.

  Not that it should be a surprise with the amount of damage she’s caused. This fucking woman has no care whatsoever for her own safety.

  She thrashes against me, her face red and her loose black hair flying in all directions.

  I grab her by the throat and push her down against the mattress. My body overpowers hers as I hover above her. “Stop.”

  She squirms, one of her hands hitting me across the chest, but the other remains inert by her side. Her face is pale — minus her flushed cheeks. Her lips are cracked and have lost their natural rosy colour, and the cut on the side of them is bloodied as well. Her deep blue eyes are frantic, pupils dilated — could be due to lack of sleep or her angry fit or both.

  “You’re reopening your fucking wounds, Aurora. What is wrong with you?”

  “You.” She’s breathing harshly — so much so that h
er words are muffled with her breaths. “If you don’t let me go, you’ll regret it.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Don’t underestimate me, Jonathan. I lived on the streets for way too long. I can cause you damage.”

  “Then why aren’t you?”

  She lifts the hand that was limp by her side only moments ago. I thought she was only bleeding because she reopened her wound, but turns it out, she’s been squeezing a shard of glass. She points it at my neck, her breathing still chopped and uneven, but her eyes are blazing with sure determination.

  This fucking woman has no thought for her safety whatsoever if she was holding a shard of glass against her already wounded palm. Or maybe an injury or two doesn’t matter to her as long as she gets to run.

  She’s an expert at that.

  Running the fuck away.

  “What are you going to do with that, Aurora? Are you going to slice my throat?”

  “I will if you don’t let me go.”

  “The only way I’ll let you out is if you fucking talk, so you might as well go for it.”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just can’t.” Her voice breaks.

  “Try again.”

  “Let me go, Jonathan, please.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll hurt you.”

  “Do it.”

  “I really will.”

  “Fucking do it then.”

  She pushes the shard against my throat and I see the widening of her eyes before I feel the sting of the cut.

  Then my blood flows to her face.

  10

  Aurora

  Hot liquid lands on my cheek, my nose, my mouth, and I taste metal.

  Blood metal.

  Oh my God. Oh my God.

  My hand shakes uncontrollably and I release the shard of glass, letting it fall to the mattress. The blood mars the white sheets, soaking them red.

  No, no…

  Flashbacks from that day slam into me. The bloodshot eyes, the vacant look, the blood that trickled down her arms.

  It’s happening again. It’s coming back.

  Jonathan pushes off me, sitting on the bed, groaning. That manages to finally jerk me out of my daze.

  Oh my God. I did that to Jonathan. I…I sliced his throat.

  “Oh my God…” I breathe out loud as I straddle his lap and wrap a quivering hand on the wound in his neck. “I’m so sorry, so s-so sorry, I…I d-didn’t mean it, I only wanted… I’m s-so sorry…”

  “I’ll survive,” he says it with enough ease that it should soothe me. It doesn’t. All I can focus on is the blood seeping through my fingers, covering them. I did that. Just like Dad.

  I’m just like Dad.

  Oh, God.

  I’m going to throw up.

  “Hey…” Jonathan’s soothing voice echoes in the air. “Look at me.”

  I can’t. All of my attention is on the trail of blood that is seeping through his cut and slipping between my fingers. The blood that I brought out. What was I thinking? This is Jonathan. How could I cut him?

  “Aurora.” His fingers stroke through my hair, then slowly slide to my chin, lifting it and gently guiding me to stare at him.

  I’m trapped in those eyes I spent weeks and months getting lost in. Eyes I was going to turn vacant just like my dad did to those women.

  “It’s just a graze.”

  “It’s not!” My voice shatters, tears falling down my cheeks. “I’m just like him, aren’t I?”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He grabs a tissue from the side table, removes my hand, and wipes his neck. “See, it looks worse than it is.”

  Now that it’s not covered with blood, the cut isn’t long, but it’s there, and it’s still bleeding. The more blood comes out, the harder the tears leave my eyes.

  “I’m going to fix it,” I say through sniffles. “I know how.”

  I crawl to the first aid kit on the bedside table, then go back to straddling Jonathan’s lap. Although I expect him to push me away, and he has every right to, he doesn’t.

  Jonathan leans on one hand as the other goes back to stroking my hair.

  I retrieve the disinfectant and clean the wound with barely steady hands. I can’t stop crying, even when the blood dries. By the time I place the gauze on his skin, I’m a sobbing mess.

  Jonathan pushes me back so that I’m sitting on my haunches on his thighs and changes my bandages. He glares at the cut on my palm from when I clutched the shard of glass earlier. The fact that he disapproves of how I reopened my wounds, and then made them worse, is loud and clear in his dark gaze.

  “Hurt yourself again and I’m tying you the fuck up, Aurora.”

  A sniffle is my answer. I couldn’t talk even if I wanted to. My attention keeps filtering back to the gauze on his neck, to the blood that’s soaking the collar of his shirt.

  “How do you know how to do it?” he asks in a quiet tone.

  “W-what?” I manage through tears.

  “You said you know how to fix it.” He pours disinfectant on my palm, but I don’t even wince. He pays special care to wipe his blood from between my fingers and from under my nails.

  That makes me cry harder, feelings of shame and regret haunting my words as I try to speak, “I w-was stabbed when I was young and I-I sutured my wound myself.”

  I don’t know why I’m telling him this. Maybe, like him, I’m trying to get my mind off the present.

  “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

  I shake my head frantically. “I didn’t trust them. I still don’t. They hated me and would’ve probably accused me of doing it to myself. I…that’s why I didn’t go to the hospital either, because they would’ve reported me. Besides, if the perpetrator was a victim’s family, I didn’t want to hurt them. They’d experienced enough pain for a lifetime.”

  “There.” He drops my bandaged palms to my lap, and I soak in the comfortable feeling when the wounds stop pulsing. He then wipes what I’m sure is the mess on my face with a wet piece of cotton.

  My brow furrows. “What?”

  “There’s the reason why you’re not Maxim. He wouldn’t give a fuck if people suffered as long as he got his gratification. You got stabbed and remained quiet to protect others.”

  “But I c-cut you.” The words burn in my throat.

  “You were cornered, and I’m certain you won’t do it again.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I just am.”

  My chin trembles. “I-I’m so sorry, Jonathan.”

  “Stop apologising.”

  “But —”

  “If you don’t, I’m going to spank you.”

  My insides liquefy at that promise. This feeling of utter surrender to the lust I have towards Jonathan is the reason I trashed everything. I tried to get anyone’s attention so they would open the door and I’d get to flee.

  The fact that he could use my body against me scared me. It still does, but now, I feel like I’m suspended in an altered reality. Now, I don’t have the right to think about anything past the fact that I hurt him.

  I could’ve killed him.

  I could’ve lost him once and for all.

  “Jonathan, I —”

  “Shut up, Aurora.”

  “But I —”

  His hand wraps around my throat and his lips capture mine. My words and tears come to a halt and my thoughts scatter into thin air. Something tells me I shouldn’t do this, but that reason can be damned.

  I moan into his mouth as he claims me whole. He tastes of cognac and coffee. I love this taste on him so much. The fact that it’s mixed with his woodsy, spicy scent feels as if I’m diving deep into him.

  My tongue meets his, keeping up with his pace — or trying to, anyway. He’s too intense for me to maintain the same rhythm. Having his fingers around my neck adds to the lethal feel of his sheer presence surrounding me like a vice.

  Still kissing me, he fli
ps me over so I’m lying on my back on the mattress in the midst of the chaos of thrown clothes, towels, and sheets.

  His mouth leaves mine, and I breathe heavily, my lips are swollen and raw, but I want more. I need the confirmation that he forgives me, that he sees that I didn’t mean to hurt him.

  Jonathan’s fingers tighten around my throat, and I clutch his hand, not to remove it, but to keep it as leverage. I need to hold on to something, and it’s strange that he’s the only thing I can turn to.

  “Don’t cry again.” His voice is hard yet tender at the same time. “Those eyes aren’t made for tears.”

  Before I can make complete sense of his words, he crawls down my body and flings the nightgown to my waist.

  I didn’t bother with underwear after my morning bath, and I’m glad I didn’t.

  An appreciative groan comes from Jonathan’s lips as he slides his fingers through my folds. I’ve forgotten what it felt like to be dead down there. Jonathan made me bury that part of me with every orgasm he’s wrenched out of me.

  Now, I don’t even need pain. I just need his presence and my entire body flames back to life.

  He releases my throat, and before I can protest, he settles on his knees at the foot of the bed and starts to open my legs.

  They widen of their own volition as his fingers slide from my core to my inner thighs, leaving a wet trail.

  I’m falling into that sensation when Jonathan’s tongue does a long swipe. My back arches off the bed as a zap of pleasure sparks down my spine.

  He holds my thighs in a merciless grip as he thrusts his tongue inside me. At first, it’s slow, almost as if he’s sampling me.

  I’ve never allowed anyone to go down on me. It felt too intimate and just wasn’t something I was willing to give up. Just like, before I met Jonathan, I’d never gone to my knees to suck a man off. However, Jonathan has burnt through my inhibitions one by one like it’s his God-given right.

  The foreign sensation causes my lips to part in a needy whimper.

  “Fuck.” His head peeks up from between my legs. “You’re the best thing I’ve tasted.”

  And then he’s back to feasting on me. Gone is his unhurried pace. Jonathan thrusts in and out of me with a rhythm that liquefies my limbs. My nipples turn into hard pebbles, straining against the nightgown’s material.