Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 71131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Not like this. I never wanted him like this.
My brain keeps screaming it.
And then he’s pulled away from me by King himself, who looks ready to put a bullet in his brain as his chest heaves. God, he’s beautiful, avenging, like a fallen angel who can’t decide if he wants to be kept on earth or go back to where he came from.
King’s caramel brown hair with shots of red gleams in the sunlight. Flames blaze in his angry green eyes as he kicks Roman to the ground with ease. “Touch her again without her permission, and you will feel my wrath. Even in death, you will taste it, smell it, fear it.”
Roman curses, his mouth bleeding as he nods his head once.
“Don’t make me regret giving you everything while taking nothing,” King spits. “Absolutely nothing!”
I can tell Roman wants to argue, but he keeps his jaw glued shut.
Meanwhile, Tiffany’s behind me, holding her freaking phone up and video recording. I mean, who the hell hired this girl?
“Don’t mind me, just posting to TikTok!” She waves and adds some viral music, and I just want to curl up in a ball and go to sleep again.
“Do your jobs,” King says before grabbing me by the wrist and spinning me back around toward the hotel lobby.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Where else?” He doesn’t look at me, but I can see how pissed he is with the way he’s clenching his jaw. Finally, he turns to the side and smirks. “To do our duty… right… queen?”
Dread and excitement pool in my stomach as we get on the elevator, and yeah, I know exactly what he means.
Dirty sex.
More and more dirty sex.
While the man I love waits.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“For to die with honor is far better than to live disgraced.”—King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table
King
I’m angry.
I’m confused.
Quite honestly, I’m hurt, I’m betrayed, I’m undone.
And I just texted my friends—my brothers earlier, which has me wondering… who is it? Who wants to hurt me? To hurt us? Who wants to take what I have? And why the fuck would they want the pressure already weighing down my soul and making my chest feel like it might split in two?
I’m so confused and upset that I want to lay in her lap and cry, and I’m ready to tell her that, to confess it all—and then I see them, and I lose every small inch of control I’ve been keeping.
I lose it all.
Or maybe I just give it up and give in to the need, the want, the safety in her arms that I’ve craved from the beginning. Maybe it’s a fantasy. Hah! I’m the dumb fuck thinking she can save me from them, from myself when I can’t even protect what’s mine when my own honeymoon is ambushed with this news from the people I trust the most.
Before I went downstairs, I texted.
I texted, and I waited.
Me: Why. Just tell me why? Who the fuck wants this throne? Should I burn my crown, toss it in the air and let someone catch it? What the hell do you want from me?
I wait, and it’s my own brother who answers first.
Valerian: Do you even want it?
Pain slices through my chest.
Me: Do you?
Valerian: That’s not what I asked, was it?
Junior: He’s right. Are you ready for this?
Betrayal piles on until I can’t breathe, until I’m crawling through my hotel room, phone in hand to the sink in order to get some water, in order to escape this actual fucking nightmare.
I find the strength to text back.
Ash: You always knew you’d be challenged, don’t act surprised; it’s laughable.
Tank: He’s right.
Maksim: You can’t escape your destiny. If you want the sword, you have to take it…
I throw my phone across the room, angry, hurt, confused. And of course, it doesn’t help when I see her with him, when I see him touching her, when I see my entire fucking life getting taken from me.
Am I not strong enough?
Did I not do enough?
Sacrifice fucking everything, including my own fucking heart for the Families?
I wait until we’re in the bedroom again, I stare at the bed, at the clothes thrown around the room, and I wonder why my story has to both start and end in more nightmare than fairy tale.
Was it so wrong to ask for one thing? Just one thing?
Tears fill my eyes, and then anger takes over again as I shove her onto the bed, covering my body with hers. “I need…”
Del’s eyes fill with tears, she cups my face with shaking hands. “Tell me what you need.”
Am I weak to say it? Am I weak to want it?
I say nothing. Instead, I tear at her shirt; the ripping sound fills the air and pushes me more and more as I tear at her clothing. I don’t realize that a tear has fallen until she catches it with her tongue, sliding it up my cheek as her hands cup my face. “I know what you need.”