MY AFFAIR WITH A DEADLY SOLDIER

11

PHOEBE

"Answer me, little bird," he said, stepping out from the darkness. He had put on a pair of black sweatpants, his bare chest still looking hard and broad in the light.

I shut my eyes to put myself in order and turned back to him.

"I’m going home," I said, my voice surprisingly steady—and thank God for that. "You said it yourself that I’m free to go, and obviously it's close to morning."

Kingsley took a slow step toward me, his dark eyes locked onto mine.

"At four in the morning?" he asked smoothly, raising an eyebrow. "In a city where half the men on the street would butcher you for the money in your pocket?"

"I don't care," I choked out, glaring up into his cold face. The humiliation from his bedroom was still burning hot behind my eyes. "I'd rather take my chances on the street than stay another second in this house with you."

My breath hitched, a hot tear finally slipping down my burning cheek before I could stop it. I violently wiped it away with the back of my hand.

"I don't need you to care about me, Kingsley," I choked out, staring right into his hard face. "And I damn sure don't need your permission to leave."

I reached back, grabbing the door handle again, ready to push it open and walk away for good.

Before my fingers could even turn the knob, Kingsley moved. He closed the distance in a second and slammed his hand against the door right next to my head.

I jumped, my back hitting the wood. He leaned down until his face was inches from mine, trapping me under his weight.

"You think this is a game, Phoebe?" he growled low, his eyes burning into mine. "I stopped in that room for a reason. You're a virgin. If I take your innocence, you're going to start expecting things from me. You're going to start dreaming about love, or holding hands, or walking down the aisle. I am not that man. I will never marry you or give you some happy ending."

“What? Marriage? Is that what you think?” I asked, a bitter laugh burst out of my throat making me push against his chest.

"Did I ask you to marry me?" I yelled, stepping right up into his face. "I don't give a damn about walking down an aisle, Kingsley! I hate marriage. I hate the idea of building a family. Love is a total scam to me. I never wanted a husband. I just wished I could afford the life I want and just pay you to offer me a service!"

Kingsley stopped dead in his tracks.

The hard look on his face completely melted away. He stood there staring down at me, his eyes wide with pure shock, like he couldn't believe what he had just heard. A slow, wicked smirk broke across his lips.

"What kind of girl are you?" he murmured, shaking his head slightly as he stared at me.

He took a slow step closer, his eyes dropping down to my lips as if he was about to say something else. But before I could answer him, bright headlights flashed through the glass windows of the living room, lighting up the dark ceiling. Down below, the loud sound of car tires screeching against the pavement cut through the night.

Kingsley’s smirk vanished in an instant. He shoved me behind his back and walked fast over to the window, looking down at the driveway.

I ran after him, leaning close to the glass to see what was happening. My stomach instantly tied itself into a knot.

There were four big black vans parked near the gate. Dozens of men were jumping out of the doors, waving iron pipes, baseball bats, and heavy sticks in the air. They completely blocked the entire driveway.

Fear hit me hard. My hands began to shake.

"Oh my God," I whispered, looking up at him. "Are they... are they here because of me? Did they find out I witnessed the killing?"

Kingsley didn't look scared at all. He just stared down at the crowd, a cold, dark smile spreading across his face.

"No," he said, his voice completely calm. "They are not here for you. They came to avenge the guy I killed in the alley. I only wished for more bodies anyway—the two from earlier was not enough for me. And they call this revenge."

"Are you out of your mind?!" I shouted, grabbing his arm. "Look at how many they are! You can't fight all of them by yourself! Why don't you hide in the room with me and call your men for backup?"

Kingsley turned his head and looked down at my shaking hands on his arm.

"For them to make it all the way here," he said smoothly, "they either got lucky with my men or played a cheap trick. I don't need to call anyone."

He wrapped his fingers around my wrist, dragged me quickly down the hallway, and pushed me straight into his bedroom.

"Kingsley, please—"

"Stay inside, lock this door, and do not open it no matter what sound you hear out there," he barked, his voice leaving zero room to argue.

He reached behind his back, pulled a heavy black gun from his waistband, and checked the bullet clip with one quick movement.

"Don't worry, little bird," he muttered, giving me one last sharp look before closing the door. "They are just baby thugs."

The door clicked shut, and the lock turned from the outside.

My heart was beating like crazy in my chest. I rushed over and grabbed the handle, yanking on it hard, but it wouldn't budge. He had trapped me inside.

"Kingsley!" I yelled, slapping my hand against the wood. "Open this door! You can't just leave me here!"

Silence was the only response I got.

I turned around, pacing back and forth across his huge bedroom. My brain was a complete mess. Just minutes ago, I was screaming at him The memory of the wicked smirk on his face made my cheeks burn hot all over again.

He was crazy. Total lunatic.

And now he was heading down to the private elevator to fight an army of angry men holding iron pipes and bats with just one gun in his hand.

The loud sounds started coming from the lower floor. The men down below hadn't made it inside the penthouse at all. Heavy gunshots echoed up from downstairs, mixed with the terrifying noise of metal hitting metal and glass smashing.

Panic completely overwhelmed me. I couldn't stop pacing back and forth across the floor, clutching my shaking hands together in fear. Every single gunshot made my heart jump into my throat.

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Then twenty.

I pulled at my hair, staring at the locked door like I could force it open with my mind. What if one of those men hit him from behind with an iron pipe? What if he ran out of bullets? Every time a heavy thud vibrated through the building, my breath caught in my chest. I hated him for trapping me here, but the thought of him dying down there made my whole stomach twist into a painful knot.

The clash went on for thirty agonizing minutes without stopping.

To keep myself from completely losing control, my eyes drifted away from the door and moved around the dark bedroom. That was when I noticed a picture frame sitting right beside his bed.

I walked over, my bare feet quiet on the rug, and picked it up.

Inside the frame was a photo of a stunningly beautiful woman. She looked to be around twenty-eight years old, with sharp, gorgeous features and a gentle smile. I stared down at her face, my thumb brushing the edge of the glass, wondering who she was and why her picture was sitting right next to the bed of a lethal mafia boss.

Suddenly, a loud click came from the door lock.

My heart stopped. Someone was opening the door.