Ruthless Creatures (Queens & Monsters, #1)(99)

“He won’t touch her. I’m dealing with it.”

I whisper, “Unless…”

At the same time, David and Kage repeat, “Unless?”

I moisten my lips, trembling all over. “We go into hiding.”

Kage’s eyes flare with heat. He lowers the gun to his side and says softly, “We?”

I close my eyes and draw a breath, gathering my strength. Then I open my eyes again and look at him. “Don’t think I forgive you. I don’t. I just need a new place to live. I can’t sleep in that house anymore, knowing Viktor’s ghost is lurking around.”

His voice full of love, Kage says, “You liar.”

“Right back at ya, gangster.”

From somewhere else in the house, a woman’s voice calls out, “Honey? Where are you? I’m home!”

I’m stunned for a second, then I turn and look at David’s face. It has, somehow, turned even whiter than before. He’s the color of copier paper.

Behind him, an attractive brunette rounds the corner into the room. She’s young and curvy, smiling widely, but the smile wipes clean off her face when she spots the three of us standing there, and Kage holding a gun.

She freezes. Looks back and forth between us with wide eyes.

“Nikki?” she says, her voice high and tight. “What’s going on?”

Alarmed, she raises a hand to her throat. The huge diamond on her left ring finger sparkles so brightly it’s almost blinding.

Still waiting for me, my ass. God, men are so disappointing.

Looking at David, I say quietly, “How long did you really wait for me to find you?”

He swallows. Moistens his lips. Shifts his weight from foot to foot. “A year.”

Kage says drily, “Now do you want me to shoot him?”

I wait for the pain to hit, but it never comes. I feel nothing.

After all this time, I don’t care anymore.

Kage walks around the sofa and picks up my travel bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. He shoves his gun into the waistband of his jeans. “Come on, baby. Time to go.”

Then he stands there waiting, holding out a hand.

I walk over to him and take it.

Before we go, I turn back to David and say, “By the way, Damon, your kids don’t look Sicilian. I saw pictures. They look exactly like you.”

As we’re walking out, I hear David’s new wife say loudly, “Who’s Damon? What kids?”

If she’s lucky, it won’t take her more than five years of her life to find out the truth about the man she’s calling Nikki.

I hope she gets half of that one hundred million.

I’m sure she deserves it.





43





Kage





From the time we leave Damon’s, Natalie doesn’t speak to me.

We spend the night in a hotel suite. I order room service and draw her a bath. I watch her eat in silence that’s suffocating. I listen to the sounds of her bathing from behind the locked bathroom door and want to kick it open and force her to talk to me.

I don’t.

This suffering is my penance. However long her silence lasts, I’ll wait.

She sleeps in the king sized bed. I lie awake on the sofa, my heart aching, and listen to her breathe.

The next morning, we fly to New York. She doesn’t ask where we’re going. I think she’s in a state of deep shock at seeing Damon.

I should’ve shot that prick when I had the chance.

When we arrive at La Guardia, she’s sleeping. I unbuckle her seat belt and smooth a hand over her hair. “Baby. Wake up. We’re here.”

Eyes closed, she mumbles, “Where?”

“Home.”

Her lids flutter, then lift. She gazes up at me for a moment, then looks out the window.

It’s obvious she can tell by the view that we didn’t land at Reno-Tahoe International.

But she only takes a deep breath and stands, avoiding my eyes.

She refuses to look at me on the drive into the city. She doesn’t look at my driver, either, or show surprise at seeing the Bentley waiting for us on the tarmac. She just stares out the window, her gaze far away.

I have to keep my hands curled to fists at my sides so I don’t pull her against my chest and bury my face into her hair.

When we get into Manhattan, she cranes her neck to look at the skyscrapers we pass. She looks very young, gazing out the window with wide eyes, her lips parted in awe.

I want to take her everywhere in the world so I can see that look on her face over and over again.

As soon as I regain her trust, I will.

She keeps absent-mindedly toying with the ring I gave her, twisting it around with her thumb. That she hasn’t taken it off is a good omen.

I wish like hell she’d tell me what she’s thinking.

When we pull into the parking garage of my place on Park Avenue, she sits back into her seat and grips the door handle, looking straight ahead. Even in profile, I see her anxiety.

I feel it, coming off her in waves.

I say gently, “This is my home. One of them. We’ll be safe here until it’s over.”

She swallows, but doesn’t ask what I mean by “it.”

I reach out and grasp her hand. It’s cold and clammy. When I squeeze it, she withdraws, sliding both hands between her thighs, out of reach.