Page 47 of King of Omen

I slid along the wall into a crouch, thighs trembling, heart racing, as the shadowy figure glided, advancing on the source of the commotion.

The dim light under the den door cast an eerie glow on their form, making them appear more spectre-like than human.

I held my breath, trying to quiet the thunderous pounding in my ears.

Silence enveloped the mansion for a moment, broken only by the faint sound of my ragged breathing.

The stranger kicked in the door with unbelievable strength, and it crashed open. I spotted the outline of his tall, imposing body and that of a gun, just as the silencer attached to it spat.

The gunfire, although dampened, was enough to keel me over. I dropped to my knees, hands over my head, imagining and waiting for the worst.

My fists were clenched, nails digging into my palms. I stuffed them over my mouth to keep quiet like I’d been commanded.

The crashing noises continued from the study, punctuated by the occasional muffled sound and terse whispers. I strained to understand what was happening, my mind racing with a thousand possibilities.

Silence fell.

The office door swung open once more with a resounding crash. Radiance spilled into the hallway, casting long shadows on the walls that danced with ominous promise.

I lifted my hand’s palms in surrender in front of my face as a figure emerged from the den, silhouetted against the harsh light.

It was a man, tall and imposing.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ he demanded in a deep, angered drawl that brooked no argument, his tone laced with authority.

I stammered, trying to form a coherent response.

Before I had the chance to utter a word, he stepped forward, nabbed my upper arm and dragged me into the den, into the brightness glowing from the lamps inside.

I walked into a nightmare.

On the floor, the same one I’d hoovered and polished hours earlier, was a man, prone, dead by first indication, further evidenced by the pool of blood under him.

On the couch slumped a second man, heaving, hands clutching his thigh, which was also bleeding. My eyes widened as I recognised him.

It was the burly bodyguard who’d returned my necklace.

Heart pounding, I glanced up at the man gripping my arm, and my heart lurched.

Standing over me, gazing down at me with almost identical incredulity, was the man who’d haunted my days and nights for weeks.

Lorenzo.

‘Mia?’

I must have uttered his name at the same time he said mine.

We both jolted in visible reaction.

Lorenzo’s eyes, those piercing dark blue orbs that had tormented my dreams, narrowed. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

Blazing heat rose in my face, the shame of being caught by him invading my senses.

‘I’m the cleaner. I was here earlier in the day. I’m not supposed to be here now, but I left some of my gear,’ I stammered, words tripping over each other, my voice shaking. ‘I had to come back for it. I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

Lorenzo’s eyes hardened, his expression betraying his lack of belief. ‘So supplies that might have waited to tomorrow to retrieve warranted you breaking into my new house when, as luck would have it, an assassin been sent after me? Cazzo, fuck me.’

My mind whirled, thinking how messed up it was.

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