Page 13 of Desperate Crimes
We take.
So let the world watch.
Let them whisper about how far I’ve fallen.
They haven’t seen me fall.
Not yet.
Because the only time I go to my knees is when I’m putting her crown where it belongs—on her head, bloodied and blazing.
My Princess.
Mine.
Leanna has been the object of my obsession since the day I allowed myself to admit it—just before she left for college with stars in her eyes and her hair in a ponytail like she wasn’t already crawling under my skin.
I call her Princess, yeah.
It suits her.
But the truth?
She’s a fucking queen.
My queen.
Even if she doesn’t know it yet.
Even if she fights it at first.
Queens don’t get to choose their kings in my world.
They’re claimed.
Crowned.
Kept.
And I plan to keep her right by my side.
But first, I need to get her addicted.
She stirs. Softly.
A whisper of sound, a flutter of lashes.
My grip tightens on the wheel. It’s too early for her to wake yet, but I took precautions.
I let go with one hand and reach for the bag with the chloroform-soaked rag.
I don’t want to use it.
It feels cheap and dirty.
The measurements I took of her and the drug I used to sedate her should be enough.
This is just in case.
