Page 79 of The King of Hearts

I rip the paper from the door and hold it up to read.

Enjoy her while you can. That luxury won’t last long. Soon her pussy will be wrapped around my cock.

With the paper crumpled in my hand, I rear my arm back and slam my fist against the door. The old solid oak doesn’t give. I barely notice the jagged cuts along my knuckles, nor the blood that drops from my fingertips.

As my chest pumps with adrenaline, my mind moves back to the three other messages I was sent and the pictures that came with them. The first was sent over two months ago through an email. The pictures were similar; candid shots that Savina didn’t know were taken. Most were intimate shots and were taken around the time they were sent to me.

I received the second email a month ago, and it was more of the same. The pictures were recent. Because of that, I assumed the person sending them had started watching her around the same time they were taken. But I was wrong. The image of her on the mainland six months ago proves he’s been watching her for at least that long.

I grit my teeth and flex my busted fingers, tempted to hit the door again. Knowing that this bastard was in my house, close to Savina, watched me fuck her, has seen her naked flesh, has pure hot rage filling every fucking nerve ending in my body.

I’m no closer to finding out who this person is, and that builds my rage.

He thinks he’s going to take her from me? That I’ll actually allow that to happen? That he’ll continue to breathe for much longer?

This fucker has no clue who he’s dealing with.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

HER

I’m sore between my legs, and my breasts aren’t much better. I guess being fucked raw repeatedly over the span of a few hours will do that to a girl. I have bruises from harsh grips and bite marks from blunt teeth all over my body. It hurts to swallow, and I’m not sure if it’s from the rings around my throat from Ryker’s fingers choking me, or if it’s due to the intense throat fucking he gave me last night. Or it could be from all the screaming I did. The insides of my thighs carry marks as well. From his fingers when he forced my legs apart, from the scruff on his cheeks when he ate me like a starved man, and from his teeth when I tried to push him away.

But the thing is, as much as I hated every minute of it, I also came harder than I ever have in my life. I detest my body for betraying me. I feel like a failure to all the women in the world. How could I enjoy something so much that I didn’t want to happen?

The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was search the internet if a baby in the womb could be hurt during rough and rigorous sex. According to several medical websites, a fetus is well protected, and there’s no need to be concerned regarding sex during pregnancy.

Ryker’s side of the bed was cold, indicating he’s been up for a while, something in which I was grateful for. I wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not sure I ever will be, but I know it’s inevitable.

After checking over my body and finding the multitude of evidence of harsh fucking, I got in the shower. I took one last night, and I wanted to take another after that last round, in which Ryker came all over my breasts and pussy, but he “forbade it,” stating he wanted me to sleep with his cum all over me. I was so tired that I didn’t put up much of a fight.

I get dressed quickly after toweling off because I don’t want to chance Ryker coming in while I’m naked. I choose a pair of black shorts and a soft, blue V-neck shirt and leave my feet bare. For my hair, I toss it up in a high ponytail, which still leaves strands tickling between my shoulder blades.

My head was too consumed with everything that happened yesterday that I haven’t gotten a chance to explore yet, so that’s how I plan to spend my day. This estate has always intrigued me, so despite the situation, I’m excited to finally be able to look around. Eventually, I’ll make my way down to the kitchen to find something to eat.

On my way to the door, something on Ryker’s nightstand catches my attention, and I go to it. There’s a book sitting on top.What to Expect When You’re Expecting. I pick it up and flip through the pages. I frown, unable to picture Ryker reading this, but it’s apparent he has, since the spine has been broken and quite a few pages have been dog-eared.

Does he lie here at night reading this? Is he that invested in this pregnancy that he’s actively learning what he can aboutthe stages? And why does that thought send a warmth of tingles down my spine?

Refusing to think about that last question, I set the book back down exactly how I found it and leave the room. Along the walls in the hall, close to the ceiling, are old-fashioned iron wall sconces that look to be original to the house. The floors seem to have been updated, though. Or rather, they’ve been sanded down and refinished to a glossy cherry oak shine. The walls must have been painted at some point since back in the day, wallpaper was a thing, and these aren’t. Now they’re a light gray with black trim along the ceiling and floors. The doors on either side of the hallway also have the black trim. The knobs on said doors are old but have been polished to a sheen.

When I approach the door that’s one down from Ryker’s bedroom, I test the knob. It turns, and I slowly push the wooden panel open. I’m not surprised it’s a bedroom, but what does surprise me is that it seems to be one that’s in use. A white robe lays across the end of a queen-sized bed. There’s a burgundy armchair that sits beside it and a couple of bedside tables. There’s a lamp and a picture frame on one, but from where I’m standing in the doorway, I can’t see the people in the photo. On the dresser, there’s a hairbrush, several bottles of perfume, a small wooden jewelry box, and several other things. The walls in this room have floral wallpaper and don’t appear to be updated like what I’ve seen so far of the rest of the house.

Since it looks like the room is in use and not wanting to invade someone’s private space, I back out and close the door. The room next door is also occupied, going by the personal effects on the dresser and the small stack of clothes on the end of the bed. However, that room has been updated.

I wonder who the antiquated room belongs to.

The room across the hall from those two is a linen closet, and the one beside it is an updated bathroom with an old clawfoot tub that’s been repainted black.

The next few rooms are bedrooms, and from the empty looks of them, they aren’t in use. I find the same in the other wing of the mansion.

It’s not until I come to the head of the stairs that I notice one of the paintings on the wall. I gasp when recognition dawns. I turn and look at the two I just passed by. These aremypaintings that I’ve sold to galleries on the mainland. I slowly walk back down the hall and check over each one I come to.Allof them are my paintings. There’s eight in total. The one I’m standing in front of now is the first one I sold five years ago. It sold only two days after being placed in the gallery who commissioned it. There’s even the one Braxton mentioned at the Sheppard Ball: The Tree of Death. How in the hell did Ryker end up with all of these?

Shaking my head at the confounding thought, I go back to the stairs. The staircase is wide and has a deep red runner. At the bottom, I take a left, away from the front of the estate. One of the rooms I come to is locked, and I wonder what’s behind the door. An office, perhaps?

More paintings hang on the walls. Some of them are mine, and some are from well-known artists. Gustav Klimt, Eugene Delacroix, and Raphael are just a few that I recognize. It’s strange and leaves me a little awestruck to see my paintings next to some of the world’s most famous artists.

The next room I come to, the door is cracked open about a foot. I look around the door jam, and I’m pleased to see it’s a library. Although I have the rest of the estate to explore, I can’t miss going inside to look around.

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