Page 56 of Merciless King

“London,” he said with more force. “You need to lock this after me, understand?”

I nodded, then he was gone.

I shut and locked the door behind him like he said and rushed to the window, watching as he went at the fire quickly and efficiently with the extinguisher, putting out the blaze while trying to watch his surroundings. I did the same, scanning the area around him.

Suddenly something broke away from the shadowy tree line and I screamed out a warning. The fire lit up everything at the front of the cottage and I saw the shadowed face as he moved out of the darkness, and his blond hair. It was him. Oh God, it was him.

Van hadn’t heard me, and I watched in horror as Owen Ferida ran at him. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d run to the door, unbolted it, flung it open, and was on the porch.

Owen was closing in, holding a knife in his hand. His head twisted toward me. He grinned and changed direction, charging at me.

It all happened so fast. I lifted the gun and did what Van instructed me to do.

I pointed the gun at my target and pulled the trigger.

The gun kicked back, the sound deafening, making my ears ring. I screamed again, adrenaline pounding through me. My gaze flew to the dark heap on the ground less than a yard from Van. I’d hit him. I’d actually hit him. Then Van was beside me, warm fingers curled around my hand.

“Give me the gun, sweetheart,” Van said as he carefully slid it from my fingers. “That’s it. You stay right here. I need to check on him.”

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.”