Page 18 of Bloody Kingdom

“Get the word out.” I open the back door to the SUV. “I’m willing to pay for any information on this. If someone knows who this might be, I want to know about it.”

I own this city and the people who reside in it, if anyone knows something, they’ll talk. They know the consequences if they don’t.

“On it,” Duke tells me as he types away on his phone. Duke has people stationed all over the city that are his eyes and ears. “Are we going home now?”

“No.” I need to work off this pent-up energy or I’ll go home and snap. I don’t feel like killing an employee tonight. Quincey’s face comes to mind—the way she looked up at me in the kitchen with those soft eyes and her scent… fuck. No, I can’t return to that house in this state with her there. If I do, my dream will become a reality. “Take me to Rowena’s.”

“Rowena’s?” Duke repeats skeptically. “Are you sure?”

No.

“I didn’t stutter, Duke.”

He’s not anywhere to be found the next morning when I walk into Ira’s room.

Not… that I was looking for him and wanted to see him. No, I saw him in my dreams enough. That’s right. After tossing and turning for hours in my new foreign bed, I fell into a fitful sleep, where I started dreaming of the fucker. He promised I wouldn’t see him much, but it seems I can’t escape him even while I sleep.

Now that I’ve seen him multiple times out of the dark shadows and know exactly what he looks like, it’s like his face is ingrained in my mind. I was right in the alleyway when I observed his strong cheekbones. His face looks like it was carved out of marble by an artist. It’s perfect. A strong bone structure people would pay thousands of dollars to achieve. His jawline is covered in neatly trimmed facial hair that is just a little bit more than a five o’clock shadow. His hair is as dark as his eyes, jet black, styled to perfection. He doesn’t seem like someone who spends mass quantities of time styling his hair, so if I had to guess, it lies perfectly with little to no effort. That would seem fitting since everything about him is perfect. He doesn’t have one fine line or wrinkle. You would think with all the scowling he does he’d have a deep line between his dark eyebrows, but nope. The man’s face is void of any imperfection.

Even his clothes are flawless. The suits are tailored specifically for his six-foot-four frame. There’s no way Silas Laurent buys off the rack.

“Are you settling in okay, Quincey?” Ira asks once he’s settled back in bed after we finished getting him washed up and changed for the day.

He wears clean maroon pajamas today. If it weren’t for the fancy lift that helps move him from his bed to his wheelchair, I never would be able to get him out of bed by myself. The bathroom connected to his room is also modified to his needs. It won’t be much longer until we are unable to move him at all. Soon we will be resorting to sponge baths in bed, but I will do this for him as long as possible.

“Oh yeah, Ira, I’m living the dream here,” I muse sarcastically as I work on reattaching all the tubes and wires to his body. “It’s like being on vacation, but better.”

Ira wheezes as he laughs. “I bet Silas loves your attitude.”

“You would lose money on that bet.” I shake my head, smiling. “He is not a fan of me, nor am I of him.”

“Be patient with him,” Ira advises. “He’s not as bad as he makes himself out to be.”

I scoff, “He killed someone in front of me and then kidnapped me. I’m pretty sure that makes him a bad person.”

“I never said he was a saint,” he clarifies, smiling fondly as he talks about his boss. “He has some redeeming qualities.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it, Ira.” I plop down into the chair I’d moved closer to his bed yesterday. If I wasn’t sitting in it, reading the book I’d brought with me from Lucy’s, I was pacing in front of the windows like a caged animal. No one has instructed me on whether or not I can leave this room during the day, and I haven’t been brave enough to risk it yet.

“If he was truly the monster you think he is, would he be going through all this trouble for me?” he presses.

I already figured out on my own that Silas has a soft spot for Ira, but I don’t say that, instead I deflect. “I just figured you have some really good dirt on him, and he needs to keep you happy so you don’t spill the goods.”

That knowing look flashes in his eyes again. “I’ve worked for Silas for a long time, honey. I know more about that man than most.”

I want to ask him questions—so many questions, but I find the strength to stay quiet. It’s too soon to press him for answers, I’m going to gain his trust and then get him to spill the beans.

I’m about to change the subject when there’s a knock on the door. My body whirls around in my seat, expecting to find my tall, dark and brooding kidnapper, but instead, I find an elegant woman wearing a navy shift dress and blazer. She’s on the plumper side and short like me. Her gray hair is tied back into a fancy chignon that I will never be able to do. I can barely braid my hair. Her eyes, that sit behind a pair of black-rimmed cat-eye glasses, are cynical as she stares me down.

Awkwardly, I raise from my chair and give her a wave. “Hi, I’m Quin—”

“I know who you are, girl,” she cuts me off. “I’ve been briefed on the situation.”

“Uh—”Damn, looks like there’s another person in this house who doesn’t like me.Great.

“Della,” Ira rasps. “Don’t be so rude to Quincey. She’s a nice young lady.”

Oh, this is the infamous Della.

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