Page 72 of Reign of a Billionaire
Bingo!
I couldn’t believe my luck. I snatched the revolver and checked the chamber. One bullet.
I couldn’t resist a snicker. What kind of idiot left a revolver with a bullet in the chamber out in the open?
The clanging of pots from somewhere in the house startled me and I spun around, almost expecting someone to catch me red-handed, touching something I shouldn’t.
But the space was empty.
Gripping the gun, I followed the sound down the stairs. There was nobody in the dining room or living room. Another crash. I walked around until I found the kitchen.
And my captor.
To my amazement, Kingston was cooking—eggs, waffles, and pancakes. My stomach growled, despite woofing down my breakfast merely an hour ago.
He flicked me a glance, never pausing his movements.
“Good, you’re still awake.” His eyes fell to the gun in my hand, but his movements never faltered.
He was wearing jeans that hugged his ass like a second skin and a white T-shirt that revealed inky swirls. Despite his shortcomings, Kingston was a beautiful man.
“Obviously.” It pissed me off that I noticed anything about him. I should just put this bullet in his skull and end him.
Kingston didn’t appear bothered as he moved around his kitchen. And, since I was already noticing things about this man, I took note of his choice of design once more. Similarly to the upstairs rooms, this one boasted a wall of windows that led to the patio outside. For someone with such dark moods, this place seemed too cheery in contrast.
“Are you going to shoot me?” he prompted. My stomach growled again. Damn bodily needs. It was the last thing I needed or wanted right now. “Better hurry up and get it over with, then.” He nodded to the spread he’d laid out.
He raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to say something.
“I warned you,” I muttered. “I warned you that I’d kill you.”
“Go ahead.” The air vanished from the room at his cold tone, something about him unnerving. “But hurry up so we don’t starve to death.”
I remained in place, taken aback by the nonchalant tone of his tone.
“You ruined everything,” I gritted, keeping my aim on him and my finger on the trigger. “Now, I’m going to make you pay.”
“Are you going to hold that thing all day, or can you help set the table?”
I refused to move, and with a sigh, he moved to the cupboards and pulled out dishes and utensils. I let out a sinister chuckle. Watching him do such domestic things after witnessing his lethal side was a trip. Maybe the man had a split personality.
In no time, the table was set and food was on the table. Two plates. Two glasses. Two sets of silverware.
He sat down and picked up a crispy piece of bacon, and my lips curled with disgust. His eyes flared with surprise and his jaw tightened. But then he got up, scooped up the bacon onto a small plate, and walked over to the trash can, throwing it out.
“Why did you do that?” I asked as he placed the empty plate in the sink.
He sat back down, eyes sweeping over my face.
“You don’t like bacon,” he said simply. The sound of his voice was deep and gruff, something about it getting to me every time.
His words sunk in. “How do you know?”
He shrugged. “Could be the way you scrunch your nose.” Those lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Either shoot me, Liana, or sit down and eat.”
Something about his nonchalance pissed me off, and I fought the temptation to grab a pan off the stove—preferably still sizzling—and throw it at his head.
“I don’t want to eat.” I tightened my grip on the gun and glared at him. “I want to kill you.”
