Page 51 of King of Omen

He’d pushed his hands into the disposable gloves I’d found in my supplies.

My eyes were glued to him as he shook out the large bags in a scene resembling one from a chilling true crime drama.

He moved with calm deliberation, which told me he often dealt with the seamier side of life. Despite his pristine appearance, he was used to getting filthy and was a formidable enemy when crossed.

My face flushed at the incongruousness of my reaction to this man’s sensual ruthlessness.

‘Mia, go.’

He growled the words without glancing at me.

Jolted from my unbidden lusting after him, I made a hasty retreat.

With lips pressed together, I tracked to the kitchen, where I stood against a counter, waiting for the coffee to brew.

Lorenzo’s footsteps sounded to and from the study and garage, and I assumed he was stashing our supine guests in the carport.

I prepared my cup and sipped it, welcoming its soothing calmness, which counteracted the shivers of apprehension skating over me and the growing sense that I was a mere pawn in a game much more significant than me.

On a whim, I also poured a mug for Lorenzo, keeping it black and bitter.

‘Come back in.’

His drawl jarred me out of my trance as he appeared under the arch between the living area and kitchen, eyes dark, icy, levelled on me.

I pointed my chin at his waiting cup of steaming coffee.

His eyes narrowed as he shoved his gloves off his hands.

He moved to the sink, washed up, and returned for his beverage, downing it in one go, eyes fixed on me.

Setting the empty mug on the table, he jerked his head and led the way back to the den.

Lorenzo turned to me as we entered his office. ‘I’ll pay you well to clean whatever shit you can off my study floor.’

‘It’s marble and will wash right out,’ I proffered.

He gave me a narrowed glance, bit his lower lip and raised his chin in assent.

I glanced with an arched brow around the room.

The pair of assailants’ bodies were gone.

Mauri was now out cold on the sofa. After checking his bandage, I turned to cleaning.

Lorenzo had wiped most of the blood from the floor.

Still, some stains remained, so I masked and sprayed a generous amount of an eco-friendly natural bleach alternative and got to scrubbing.

The dried edges of the crimson blemishes mocked my futile efforts to erase them, each swipe of the cloth bringing me no closer to absolution.

Lorenzo stood in the doorway, observing me with his inscrutable gaze. His eyes glittered with an unknown emotion, which flitted close to respect as I moved with efficiency and silent focus.

The rhythmic sound of my cleaning was the only thing breaking the heavy silence enveloping us. After what appeared like an eternity, I managed to rid the floor of its gruesome blemishes.

I stepped back to survey my work. Exhaustion washed over me, leaving me drained and hollow.

Lorenzo’s steady regard bore into me, his unreadable expression making me uneasy.

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