Merciless King (Lawless Kings, #5)

by Sherilee Gray

  I watched as Van moved to him, gun aimed at the still form on the ground. He crouched down and pressed his fingers to Ferida’s neck, checking for a pulse. He rose a second later, the gun loose at his side, and looked up at me.

  My belly tightened unbearably.

  Van walked to me and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me in tight.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” I said. “I killed him?”

  “Yeah, baby, he’s dead.”

  I started shaking and Van led me inside to the couch, sitting me down. “I want you to stay right here.” He disappeared into the bedroom and returned a moment later without his gun and carrying the quilt and sheet from the bed. He wrapped the quilt around me then walked outside and threw the sheet over Ferida’s body. More than likely for my benefit.

  A moment later he was on the phone, talking to Connor then his brother.

  When he was finished, he came in and sat beside me, pulling me into his arms. “Okay?”

  I tilted my head back to look at him. “I’m not sure how I’m feeling,” I admitted.

  Van’s strong fingers took my chin and he looked down into my eyes. “If you hadn’t done what you did, we might both be dead now.”

  “He had a knife,” I whispered.

  “Yeah, he did.”

  I nodded, because I knew Van was right, but I was still struggling to process what just happened. I must have looked as in shock as I felt because Van pulled me in closer and pressed his mouth to the top of my head.

  “You did the right thing.” He kissed me again, this time at my temple. “You were so brave, baby. So fucking brave.”

  I leaned against him, and all of a sudden I felt exhausted. I’d been fighting my fear ever since I realized I was being followed. I’d refused to let it surface to the point it could tear me apart, and I hadn’t realized how damned hard, how draining that had been. The threat was gone. I didn’t need to be scared anymore and this weight, this crippling weight had lifted off my shoulders.

  And I was so…tired.

  I woke to muttered voices.

  My arms were pinned to my sides and I realized I was lying on the couch, wrapped tightly in the quilt Van had put over me. That was the first thing I remembered, then everything else followed in a rush. I dragged in a breath through my nose as the nerves in my belly roared back to life. My eyes shot open.

  Van stood on the other side of the room, looking tense. Connor was across from him looking extremely unhappy.

  “You’re not waking her,” Van said. “She’s been through enough.”

  Connor planted his hands on his hips. “I need her statement.” His eyes hardened. “What the fuck do you think I’m going to do? Hit on her?”

  Van growled.

  “I’m awake,” I said, sitting up. “I can give my statement.”

  Van strode toward me. “Only if you’re up to it.”

  “I’m okay.” I wasn’t sure that was the truth, but the sooner I did this, the sooner I could put it behind me.

  Connor joined us and crouched down in front of me. “How you doing, honey?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not really sure.”

  He dipped his chin, like he understood completely. “I just need you to run through what happened here and then I’ll leave you to get some sleep, okay?”

  The door was open and I glanced out. The body was gone. Several police cars were outside, as well as a couple of others. I saw Hunter walk past with one of the officers, deep in conversation. I turned back to Connor and dipped my chin. “How did he find us?”

  “Your assistant, Erin—”

  “Oh God, he hurt her?”

  “No, London, she’s okay. He called her, pretended to be a police officer, told her he needed to know where you were urgently, that it was life and death. She freaked and let slip you were at a cabin owned by Van’s family. It took him a couple of days, but he discovered Van’s connection to Raul, broke into his office at Stilettos. He found the address there.”

  Thirty minutes later, we were done. When I glanced up, our bags were packed and Hunter was carrying them out to his car.

  Van held his hand out to me. “Hunter’s taking us back to the city.”

  Despite everything, I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay there with Van, but it was time. The danger was over.

  Everything was over.

  I shoved the quilt off and Van wrapped his coat around my shoulders, took my hand, and led me out to Hunter’s waiting car. I climbed in the back and watched while Van locked up the cabin. I refused to look at Zeke’s burnt-out car or the spot near it that looked darker than the area around it. I didn’t want to think about that either.

  Van jogged down the steps and surprised me when he climbed in the back with me and dragged me across the seat so I was plastered to his side. I didn’t know why this surprised me so much. He’d done that kind of thing a lot over the last few weeks. Making me feel safe, wanted.

  Again that heaviness surfaced and exhaustion took over. I allowed myself to relax against him, to take the comfort he was giving, the warmth of his body, his wonderful familiar scent, and closed my eyes.

  I lay in Van’s bed and stared at the closed door. I was alone, but he hadn’t left the bed long ago. I could tell by the way the covers were thrown back. I had a feeling he’d had his arms around me all night, almost positive I could still feel the warmth of his skin against mine. Like he’d only just let me go.

  I threw back the duvet. I was wearing only my shirt. I remembered coming in late and Van helping me tug off my jeans and get into bed. After quickly pulling on my pants, I left the room and headed down to the living room. Van was standing at the large window, staring out at the city below.

  He turned when he heard me walk in. “You’re awake.”

  I took him in, the sharp line of his jaw, something in his eyes—uncertainty—and I knew what came next. “You couldn’t sleep?” I said, instead of asking him what was wrong. I wasn’t ready to hear it. Not yet.

  A barely there smile curled up his lips. “It’s ten.”

  I never slept in that late. “You should’ve woken me.” Especially since that more than likely had been our last night together.

  He didn’t say anything for a long time. His intense stare moved over me and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Suddenly, I couldn’t bear drawing this out. One thing I’d learned early in life, and especially in the last two years, was that dragging things out, dwelling on the past, did nothing but prolong the pain.

  And I’d already decided that wasn’t what I would take away from this. I refused.

  “I’ll be going back to my apartment today,” I said. “I need to get my life back. I need to move forward.”

  He shook his head to the side, one decisive movement. “I want you to stay here.” The muscle in his jaw jumped and he opened his mouth to add more. “For—”

  “No,” I said, getting in first. I didn’t want to hear the rest of what he was about to say.

  For now. For the time being. For a little bit longer.

  “London, we need to talk,” he said.

  I lifted my hand, stopping him again. We’d enjoyed each other, taken pleasure from one another. But that’s all it was for him. I didn’t hold it against him. He hadn’t lied to me or pretended it was more than it was. “There’s nothing to talk about.” I was determined to make this easy on him. He’d told me from the start that what we had was temporary, and I’d agreed to it. I didn’t want him feeling sorry for me. Or worse, pity. And I sure as hell didn’t want him thinking he owed me anything. He’d done more for me than anyone would expect. So much more.

  So I said, in what I hoped was a strong voice, “I need to move on. Staying here with you, it’s a reminder of everything that happened. I need to start fresh, Van…away from here. I’m leaving the city.”

  He stilled, every muscle in his body seeming to go rock solid. “You’ve made a decision, then? You’re definitely leaving?”

  The hoarseness to
his voice slid over me like roughened velvet, tickling my scalp, lifting goose bumps over my body. “I think it’s for the best.” And it was. If I was gone, he wouldn’t worry about me, that he’d hurt me.

  We could both move on with our lives.

  That thought made my stomach hurt, the same hurt I used to feel when my dad got deployed and I knew I wouldn’t see him for months. A feeling of homesickness. Our house hadn’t been my home—my dad had. And right then, imagining leaving and not seeing Van again, I got that same feeling. Dread and panic and a deep sadness all rolled into one.

  His nostrils flared as he stared at me, that muscle in his jaw doing overtime. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

  I nodded and made myself hold his eyes as I said the words that would totally release him from his feelings of obligation toward me. “Thank you for everything, Van. You are the best man I’ve ever known, but being around you now, after everything that’s happened, it’s too hard. It’s…unbearable.”

  His hands went to his hips and he looked at the ground for a moment then back up at me. “Unbearable?”

  “It’s not you. It’s what being around you…reminds me of. All the fear and pain and everything that’s happened.”

  He was quiet several long seconds, then he said, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that.”

  I swallowed compulsively. I wasn’t sure if I was going to start crying or throw up. Speaking wasn’t going to happen, so I dipped my chin and walked out of the room.

  To pack my bags.

  14

  Van

  Unbearable.

  For London, being around me was unbearable.

  How did you fight that? How did you make someone stay when being around you hurt them? That’s exactly what I’d been trying to avoid. I knew what happened when her PTSD was triggered, when her past resurfaced. She’d gotten the nightmares, the flashbacks under control for now. I sure as hell didn’t want to be the reason they came back.

  I’d been about to ask her not to leave, and she’d told me I was the goddamn physical embodiment of her attack, a walking, talking reminder of the worst time of her life.

  I wasn’t even sure if this thing between us would have worked, could work. She sure as hell wasn’t the only one with issues, but I realized I’d wanted to try.

  But it didn’t matter what I wanted.

  I watched her walk away, disappear into the bedroom, I guessed to pack, and yeah, that shit stung. But this wasn’t my call. No matter how much I wanted her, I couldn’t make her stay, and I couldn’t make her want to be around me. The last fucking thing I wanted was to cause her more pain.

  Pacing the apartment was all I was good for while I waited for her to come back out, and even though I knew she was packing, my gut felt like there was a rock sitting in it when she walked out carrying her bags. She was wearing one of the dresses I loved her in, the ones that softly hugged her gorgeous curves.

  “I’m ready,” she said, a small smile curving her lips.

  Lips I hadn’t spent nearly enough time kissing. I pulled on my jacket with more force than was necessary and snatched my keys off the side table. “Let’s go, then,” I said, doing my best to keep my frustration out of my voice.

  She nodded and walked out the door ahead of me.

  The drive to her apartment didn’t take nearly long enough, and she didn’t stop me when I grabbed her bags and followed her up.

  She unlocked her door and we walked in.

  It looked unchanged. It was hard to believe how much had happened since the attack in her store. So much had happened. Everything had changed. I put her bags down.

  London turned to me, staring up at me, her hands clasped in front of her. Color darkened her cheeks, like it often did when she looked at me. I wanted to tug her into my arms right then so bad I had to remind myself over and over why that was a really bad idea. The silence stretched out, but neither one of us moved.

  She cleared her throat and straightened her spine. “I’m glad it was with you,” she said finally.

  I didn’t need to ask what she meant. She was talking about the first night she gave herself to me, when she chose me to be the first man she slept with. Looking into her beautiful eyes now, knowing this was it, I felt like someone had punched me in the chest. “Me, too,” I rasped. “You have no idea how much.”

  The idea of her being with someone else, anyone else, made me want to punch something.

  “There’s no one else like you, Van King,” she said and took a step toward me. “And I’ll never regret one moment we spent together. I want you to know that.”

  “Yeah?”

  She licked her lips. “Yes,” she whispered and took another step toward me.

  I was already moving. She met me halfway and our bodies collided. I wrapped her in my arms and hauled her off her feet, nostrils flared, breathing erratic and exploding from me as I waited for her to give me what I needed. To say the words.

  She was trembling. Her head was tipped down and I thought she was going to pull away, but she nuzzled my jaw. “Once more,” she said shakily and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Just one more time.”

  Being with her one more time might actually kill me, but I didn’t care, I was powerless against this woman. I turned into those tentatively seeking lips and claimed her mouth hard, sweeping my tongue inside, reveling in her taste, the texture, the heat of her.

  The woman was heaven, every part of her, every perfect inch. Need slammed me low in the gut like a goddamned missile and lust exploded inside me with force. There was no taking this slow. I needed her now.

  I walked her back and ended up with London wrapped around me, pressed into the wall. I shoved her dress up as London’s hands came down to my waist, tearing open the button and sliding down the zipper of my jeans.

  “Fuck, I need inside you,” I gritted out.

  Holding her up with one hand, I yanked my wallet out of my pocket with the other and flipped it open, holding it out to her. She grabbed a condom and tore open the packet. I looked down, watching as she shoved down my boxer briefs, pulled my cock free, and worked the rubber down my insanely hard cock.

  As soon as it was on, I shoved her panties aside and thrust inside her.

  So. Fucking. Deep. Inside her.

  I groaned, and her open mouth went to the side of my throat and she moaned against my skin. I gripped her ass in one hand, her hip with the other, and started thrusting into her like a man possessed. She gripped me hard, shoving her hands up under my shirt, digging in her nails, scoring my skin. The bite of pain just turned me on more.

  We went at each other like wild animals, fucking, kissing, with a desperation that bordered on frenzied, like we were trying to pack every missed moment into this one last time. Every fuck, every kiss, every caress we wouldn’t have.

  At least that was the way it was for me.

  Her scent, the sounds she made when I slid home, the softness of her body, the way she held me. I wanted to remember it all. Everything.

  All too soon, London was crying out, shaking and clinging to me as she came apart in my arms. There was no way I could hold back after that, no matter how much I wanted to drag this out. I buried my face against the side of her throat, in her thick silky hair and groaned as she spasmed around me, working me with her tight pussy until there was nothing left.

  We stayed like that for a while afterward, with me holding her pressed against the wall, still buried inside her, reluctant to let her go.

  Until she said my name softly, loosening her hold on me, forcing me to do the same.

  I slid from her body and stepped back.

  Then I did what she asked, and I let her go.

  Hunter sat across from me in a booth at Stilettos, frowning, watching me too damn closely.

  I took a sip of my beer and glanced at Raul, who was behind the bar cashing up. The club closed an hour ago.

  After I’d dropped London off, I’d gone to work and buried myself in paperwor
k. When I’d finally forced myself to go home, the place had felt so quiet I couldn’t stand it. I could still smell her, her soap, her perfume, in my apartment, and I’d had to get the hell out. I’d ended up here.

  But still London filled my head, and every time I thought about our goodbye, the way she’d shuddered against me, crying out, the way she’d held me and I’d held her, I wanted to throw my bottle across the room. Which meant the urge was pretty much constant.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong,” Hunter said into the silence, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “That so?” When Hunter said no more, I raised a brow. “You going to enlighten me?”

  Hunter held my stare, something in his eyes I’d never seen before, and I knew whatever was coming, I didn’t want to hear. “You think you deserve to be miserable. You don’t think you deserve her.”

  I barely stopped myself from flinching, because, yeah, that was way too close to the truth for comfort. “London’s been through enough already. It’s better this way. She should be with someone who can give her everything. Someone that can give her what you give Lulu. That’s not me.”

  She needed someone who wasn’t fucked up beyond repair, someone capable of loving her like she deserved.

  Hunter shook his head. “This is about our piece of shit father, about Mom. You know that, right?”

  I stiffened. We never talked about that. About them.

  Hunter and I had different fathers. My brother’s biological father wasn’t the man who raised us. He was the piece of shit who attacked our mother on her way home from work, a man who beat and raped her. And my father made sure Hunter knew he wasn’t his. The fucker had hated Hunter from the moment he was born. And he’d been angry that our mother refused to get rid of him.

  He’d taken that anger out on all of us.

  “I know you blame yourself or feel guilt or fuck knows for what happened to us, but, brother, there’s nothing you could have done.”

  My eyes slid to Hunter’s forearms, pitted with scars from cigarette burns. He had a lot of scars from that time. A hell of a lot more than me.