Page 33 of To Claim A King
I turned in my chair to three men standing in a makeshift row, their piercing gazes penetrating my layers of thinned patience. Kellan must have come back in while I was on the call. The storm in his eyes looked more precarious than usual.
“Agent Smith, threatening me again,” I explained casually, though my pulse betrayed me. “We’re going to need to move forward with our plan as soon as we can.”
Standing, I walked over to Aaron and gently wrapped my arms around his sides, careful with the stitches still healing. “I don’t want to rush you, but how soon will you be able to be in the spotlight?”
“Within a week,” he answered succinctly, cupping my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned into its warmth for the briefest second before peering into the amber of his eyes.
“You’re sure?” I searched the liquid honey for signs of weakness, trepidation—any sign he wasn’t ready or able to handle what came next.
“I’m sure,Mi Reina.Rojowill remove my stitches in four days. I will have pain, but pain we can use to support our story. Please arrange the press conference for a few days afterward.”
Lucky placed a palm against my shoulder blade, pulling my attention to him. “I’ve been thinking, love,” he mused, the focused regard in his eyes telling me just how serious he was. “The hacked files are sitting in FBI evidence right now, enough dirt on Alvarez to bury a miner, right? Him being guilty is as obvious as Kellan’s erection every time Daddy Roboto here bends over.”
He jabbed a finger in the Viking’s direction, but didn’t crack a smile. “We need someone to speak about how much he hates you—or someone who might tell us why. He partnered with Aaron’s parents and threatened their son, but for some reason he really hates the likes of you. A man like him? Not a chance he’d be able to keep his mouth shut about it, and I think I know who he’d share some of those secrets with.”
He exchanged knowing glances with Aaron before continuing.
“Gertie Baker—his assistant. Hard to believe that she’d be some criminal sidekick, but I betcha she’s heard a thing or two about how nasty you are.”
I blinked, my mind buffering two seconds behind the conversation. Gertrude Baker was a sweet, mild-mannered woman—the farthest thing from a criminal accomplice.
“She’s already been interviewed, Luck. She had nothing to do with any of the sex-trafficking, just the above-board workings of Alvarez International. She’s squeaky clean.”
“Aye,” he said agreeably, “but she was interviewed about sex trafficking and all the baddie stuff. Unlikely how he felt aboutyouever came into the conversation.” He moved around me to face me front on, placed two wide palms on my hips, and stared down at me with steely determination in his eyes.
“Shelikes me. Let me take her out for coffee and give her just enough to test the waters. We need corroborating witnesses to help make this stick.”
The calming green swirled with apprehension, but the irises were clear of doubt. He was serious about this and wanted me—needed me—to be on board. I leaned up and brushed my lips against his, a light reminder of my trust in him.
Since we’d placed our cards—and the priceless painting—on the coffee table, we’d built a bridge between us, and it was becoming more fortified with each action. He was a walking oxymoron, every move unorthodox and unexpected. I couldn’t understand his methods, but I could comprehend his rationale. Lucky’s insight into people and their motivations was a carefully honed weapon. His soft words and slippery smile ensnared his victims long before they knew they’d been captured. It would be a waste not to leverage that skill set against Alvarez to save ourselves too.
“Do it,” I murmured against his lips, tasting the light trace of strawberry jam on my tongue. “But take Kellan with you.”
A wide grin overtook Lucky’s handsome face. The light in his eyes had the power to brighten the entire building. He pulled me tight to his chest with his good arm and buried his nose in my hair, smattering kisses over the crown of my head.
“No time like the present, Kell-Bell.” He released his hold and strode past Kellan, reaching for his jacket resting on the back of the kitchen chair. “Let’s go.”
The Viking in question raised two bushy eyebrows in irritation, but he shook his head instead of voicing any scathing commentary. He lumbered toward me, cupped my cheek, and leaned in to kiss my forehead. The coarse bristles of his beard left a mark along with the scalding brand of his lips.
He shifted back, but instead of following Lucky, he moved beside me to Aaron and cupped his head in the same manner. I blinked back my surprise as he pressed their foreheads together in the most intimate gesture I’d ever witnessed between them.
“Keep her safe,Guapo,” he muttered before pressing his lips against Aaron’s in a quick peck. Though relatively innocent, it was enough to set my panties on fire. Apparently, I was very out of the loop with the development of their relationship since our threesome several weeks ago.
“It is done,” Aaron agreed solemnly, grasping the hand at my side and interlacing our fingers. “Be safe,compañero.”
Then they were gone, in search of the last piece of evidence we needed to nail Alvarez inside his coffin.
“I’m sorry.”
He muttered those two tricky little words into the cab of the car like they were the secret nuclear codes or something. I smothered my grin with a—who was I kidding? I wasn’t smothering shyte. I’d been waiting for the meathead to apologize for manhandling me, and here it was. It was a dud as far as apologies went, but I’d allow it. Such a nice guy I was.
Kellan needed time to process his emotions, like an oversized grumbly toddler bear. The big oaf—mybig oaf—was channeling his sullen teenager, and he’d aced the role with his dark eyes, broody stare, and cloudy disposition. He’d taken the wheel andwas driving us out to a diner on the other side of Kensington, a small town two towns over, where Gertie had agreed to meet. It took only a quick phone call and a small amount of charm to persuade her to join me for lunch, promising her something more appealing—and cheaper—than our last dinner of seventy-dollar tacos.
I shifted my weight in the passenger seat, wincing as I leaned my head and shoulders flat against the window to question him. Blondie had wanted me to wear a sling, but I refused—too noticeable in a crowd, and the last thing we wanted today was to be noticeable. My upper arm burned with every movement, but the luck of the Irish had been with me last night, and I wasn’t uttering one word of complaint. I could slag my gloomy companion a bit, though.
“What’s that, mate? Couldn’t hear yeh over the sound of my disbelief.”
He snorted, the burst of breath blowing a rogue little thread of blond into his eyes. He wore a man bun today—the sexy kind, with all the little tufts of hair coming out of it like he’d just felled a tree like Paul Bunyan. Stone-cold blue eyes turned quickly in my direction, and then conducted a casual sweep of the mirrors and returned to the road ahead.
