Page 54 of King

CHAPTER 25

Amara sat at the kitchen island, fingers wrapped around a cool glass of water. The day had been overwhelming, a whirlwind of emotions that still had her reeling. After speaking to the woman who had more or less saved Joey’s life, they returned to Joey’s hospital room. Jessie and Jake had arrived shortly after, carrying bags of food which Joey devoured while Steve and Adam told him stories of their escapades as Warriors.

She had eaten what she could with Joey while King and Jake talked in hushed tones, their expressions serious. Jessie was wonderful. She was attentive to Joey as Amara tried to finish her meal. Amara hadn't hesitated when King finally said it was time to leave. She trusted these people to keep Joey safe. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she wasn’t carrying the weight of everything alone.

They had stopped at her own small apartment just long enough for her to grab a few things. Now, sitting in King’s kitchen, she let her gaze drift around the space. It was spotless and organized in a way that didn’t quite fit her image of a bachelor pad. Every surface gleamed; everything had its place. The entire house waslike that, a sharp contrast to the rugged, dangerous man who lived in it.

King had barely spoken since they left the hospital, only talking when he showed her around. He had taken her through the house, pointing out the bedrooms and bathroom, even showing her how to use the television remote. Then, without another word, he had disappeared, telling her to make herself at home and to let him know if she needed anything.

His mood had shifted. She had felt it the moment they left the hospital like something was pressing down on him and weighing on his thoughts.

Frowning, Amara took another sip of water, then stood to take her empty glass to the sink. She rinsed it, dried it, and put it away, an old habit she didn’t even think about.

A noise from below caught her attention. She paused, glancing over her shoulder toward the hallway. A door was cracked open, leading to a set of stairs.

Curious, Amara moved toward the door, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open a little wider. A deep, rhythmic thudding echoed up from below, followed by a sharp exhale of breath. Someone was hitting something...hard.

Frowning, she stepped through the doorway, carefully placing her foot on the first step. The sound persisted in a strange rhythm. She took another step, then another, descending just enough to peer into the dimly lit space below.

Her breath caught at the sight before her.

King stood in the middle of what looked like a gym, his bare chest glistening with sweat, muscles taut and flexing with everypowerful punch he threw at the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. His jeans sat low on his hips, his body coiled with tension as he drove his fists into the bag with brutal precision. Each strike was controlled but forceful like he was trying to exorcise something dark and violent from within.

Amara sank down onto the step, holding her breath, not wanting to interrupt. This wasn’t just a workout. This was something else. Frustration and rage came to mind as she watched.

She saw it in the way his muscles tensed with every strike, in the relentless rhythm of his fists slamming into the bag...controlled, yet unyielding. His jaw was tight, his breathing heavy but measured, as if he were forcing himself to stay composed, to keep whatever war raged inside him from spilling over.

It wasn’t until she noticed the earbuds in his ears that she realized why he hadn’t sensed her presence. He was lost in whatever storm was tearing through him, using sheer force and movement to drown it out.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, watching him silently, trying to understand.

King wasn’t just a protector. He was a Warrior forged in strength and discipline. Every movement was precise, every punch fueled by something more profound than just physical exertion. He radiated power, control, and something raw that sent a shiver down her spine.

And he was, without a doubt, the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on.

Her gaze traced the hard lines of his body, the way his muscles flexed and rippled with every strike. The sheen of sweat on his skin only made him more intoxicating, and before she could stopherself, a wave of need curled low in her stomach, spreading like wildfire through her veins. Hunger. Desire. An ache she hadn’t felt in so long she barely recognized it.

She swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the stair beneath her as she forced herself to stay still and quiet. But deep down, she knew—she was already lost.

Suddenly, he stilled, his movements ceasing as if he had sensed her presence before actually seeing her. With deliberate slowness, he pulled out his earbuds, his chest rising and falling with each controlled breath. Then, as if he already knew exactly where she was, he turned his head, his sharp gaze locking onto hers instantly.

The air between them thickened, charged with something unspoken. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

Amara's heart pounded against her chest as she tried to look away. But she couldn’t. His eyes held her in place, dark and unreadable yet burning with something that made her breath hitch.

Seconds stretched, the silence between them louder than any words. Her pulse raced, and she wondered if he could hear it, feel the pull between them as strongly as she did.

She should say something. Move. Do anything to break the intensity of the moment. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Do you need something?” His voice was low, rough from exertion, but there was something else in it that sent a shiver down her spine. His dark eyes searched her face, piercing and intense, like he was trying to unravel every thought running through her mind.

Oh, and wasn’t that a loaded question? Her throat went dry. If only she were bold enough to say exactly what she wanted, to confess the heat coiling inside her, the way her body reacted to just watching him. But instead, she took the easy, cowardly route.

“No.” The single word slipped out, soft and uncertain.

She didn’t offer any explanation as to why she was perched in the shadows, practically lurking, watching him like some obsessed stalker. She forced her gaze to stay locked on his face, but damn, it was hard.

King lifted his arm, resting it on the heavy bag as he leaned slightly. The movement caused his muscles to flex, making her suck in a breath, almost strangling herself. A frown crossed his face, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

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