Page 52 of Vengeful King

But I have no choice but to do what he says. I can fight the situation all I want, but Lachlan has shown that he’s willing to do whatever he needs to in order to make me follow along. This is no longer about me sticking to my guns. It’s about me trying to survive being used as a pawn by people with more power than me, people willing to kill me.

I steady my shaking hands when he gives me my phone, then send the message.

Will Lachlan kill me if I don’t get a response? Maybe he’ll think I was lying about the number, about the man who told me to kill him. Maybe he’ll think I really did do this alone, that I was doing it for the money.

As if any woman would dance for a mafia club just to rob the place.

But maybe he’ll think that, and if he does, he’s going to kill me. I can see the sharpness in his eyes; it doesn’t matter that he was touching me just moments ago.

The memory of his hands on my body makes my cheeks flush. I duck my head so he won’t see and try to drive the images from my head.

I clutch the phone in my hand and try to imagine what the best-case scenario is for this entire mess. Maybe Mr. V will get back to me and Lachlan will watch while I meet the man. Then Lachlan’s men will swarm the place, he’ll get what he wants, and he’ll let me go.

Maybe he’ll let me work at the club to pay off my mistake, and maybe I’ll still keep enough money to help my mother. Or maybe I’ll be even after I give Lachlan Mr. V and I can just leave, go on my way like nothing ever happened. Like the last two weeks haven’t been a nightmare.

I know life isn’t perfect, though. So I don’t hold out hope that I’ll make it through this.

Finally, my phone buzzes. It’s a message. I don’t breathe when I open it; I half expect to see an answer like,We know. We’ve been watching.

You’re a traitor.

We’re coming.

It makes me hesitate. The fear that something worse could be coming almost paralyzes me, but I know I can’t avoid this. I can’t run from people bigger than me. So I open the message.

There’s another day, time, and place. And the words,We expect you alone.

I thought I’d be able to breathe. This is good news. But I’m still frozen, my heart pounding, jaw clenched. The fear still courses through my veins. I have to meet these people again in a few days. This time, I don’t know if I’ll survive it.

I’m scared.

Lachlan looms over me, looking at my phone. He steps around me, nodding once. The movement is sharp and final. “This is good. You will go to the meeting, and I’ll use the chance to find out who it is that wants me dead.”

It’s like he’s done this before. Like nothing has changed, now that he knows he has to face this. The prospect of dealing with the nameless Mr. V doesn’t faze him.

But me? I’m in so far over my head that I don’t know if I’ll ever resurface.

* * *

Time passes in a rush over the next few days.

I’m constantly under Lachlan’s watch, but he’s not trying to torture me for information anymore. And the more I’m left locked in the house, the more I start to realize things about the man who has my life in his hands.

He never fails to wake up at the same time every day, clear-eyed even after just rolling out of bed. He doesn’t skip anything—not a morning workout, not breakfast, not a shower. He’s so disciplined it’s almost robotic.

But I can tell how determined and serious he is. Any time he gets a phone call from one of his brothers, he answers immediately, setting aside anything else to pay attention. His family and his business comes first. He doesn’t stop working at the club or doing his job just because his life is in danger.

It’s almost like he doesn’t know that people are after him. But he does, and that makes it even more crazy to me. He’s just living his life exactly like he was before.

Despite being so close to him, I don’t get anything more than what I can guess and overhear. Lachlan doesn’t let me into his life; he doesn’t include me, doesn’t explain his phone calls to me. He doesn’t allow me any closer than I have to be.

He doesn’t touch me, either. He hasn’t stayed in the bathroom or shower to watch me since that first day, and he isn’t hovering over me when he’s home with me. He barely acknowledges me; he hasn’t looked at me the way he did before, barely controlled and burning with fire.

He hasn’t touched me again, but a part of me wishes he would.

What’s wrong with me?

The day of the meeting, I wake up queasy. I can’t focus or eat; my chest feels tight, my head dizzy. I know what’s coming and despite all my attempts to not think about it until the last minute, it’s already here. I can’t escape it.

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