Page 33 of Vengeful King

I can hear myself breathing fast, my pulse thudding in my ears. I look down at the woman slumped in the chair before me and all I can think is,what the fuck?

What the actual fuck?

For a second, I feel crazy. I stare at Katrina and I know it’s her; this isn’t some imposter. It’s her, with her auburn hair and regal features. Even unconscious, she somehow still looks composed.

Not like she was just trying to kill me moments ago.

I’m reeling. It takes me a second to refocus and pull myself back from the moment. I have to breathe deeply, telling myself to think. I can’t lose my mind over this. I have to figure out what the fuck just happened.

I’m still turned on. My blood is pumping through me and I can feel my cock still semi-hard. The struggle and the feel of her lips on mine are still sending my adrenaline sky-high. I feel like we just broke apart; I can still taste her skin, still feel her hands on my body.

As turned on as I am, I’m just as pissed. This is unbelievable. There are so many things wrong with what just happened.

I’m still breathing hard. I shake my head and reach for Katrina, trying to ground myself in the present. I need to figure out what the fuck happened. I turn her, careful, sitting her properly in the chair until she’s slumped in place.

What the fuck just happened?

I almost died. I almost died because I was distracted—by awoman, no less. Something that’s never happened before. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been distracted in the middle of something dangerous.

But I’veneverbeen distracted by a woman.

I was taken in by Katrina, and she betrayed me. She tried to kill me.

Why?

I can’t think of anything. I try to comb through every interaction we’ve ever had, every memory I have of seeing her.

I knew she was different when I met her. I knew she had nerve. When she came in looking for a job, she was in a standoff with a bouncer. Not many people have done that, especially sober. Not with my bouncers.

The first few days she worked, there was nothing remarkable about her. She came in early, did her work, and never drank or used. She was clear-headed and determined. She did her job well, too—everyone noticed her when she danced.

Hell,Inoticed her.

As the days went by, I’d almost forgotten about her trial period. To me, she was just going to stay. But then her ex showed up, and the first kink in the machine appeared.

She reacted when he appeared. It wasn’t fear exactly; it was more like embarrassment. Like she was scandalized that some man she’d once dated had made such a public scene. And when I asked her about it, she admitted she hadn’t wanted to be found by him.

But looking back, all those things could have been lies. Maybe she was afraid that I’d know her real name, or that this ex of hers would tell me something she didn’t want me to know.

But what?

Her ex didn’t say anything important. It was all his bullshit about how she was a slut. He didn’t say anything about who she was, or that she had a secret. And I don’t recognize her name, though I know now it might be fake.

I should find her I.D. I lean over her, looking for her purse—and then I notice what’s in her hand. A bottle. I pry it from her loose fingers and don’t even have to twist it open to know what’s inside. Antifreeze.

It’s not a bad way to poison someone—it’s accessible; you can get some anywhere. But it’s amateur. She’s obviously not a professional.

And that’s fucking confusing.

I would have understood if she was a professional. I would have been worried about who sent her, but I would have been able to explain this. But even when she tried to fight me, I knew she wasn’t really trained. She was lashing out, desperate.

Sheneededto kill me.

I pick her phone up from the floor. It has a fingerprint lock; smart, but easy to get around with her in the room. I press her finger to the screen and wait for it to unlock. Once it’s open, I start to scroll through her contacts.

There aren’t many numbers. It would be sad if she hadn’t just tried to kill me. Right now, I’m in my own head, focused on the potential danger. I see a number for a place that sounds like a hospital, another one for a bank, a number for a nurse. There are a few names, but opening them doesn’t show any recent messages.

If she has friends, she hasn’t talked to them in months. She hasn’t really talked to anyone recently. I can see auto text messages in her inbox, all about pending bills and late fees.

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