Page 21 of Venomous Throne

An icy glare snapped toward me. The paper he held in his hand drooped over his lap. That fierce mouth pressed in a tight line.

“I didn’t know they still made those,” I said, pointing at the newspaper. “Hertz Media? Is that a local source?”

“You need to leave.”

His abrupt words stopped me cold. The friendly smile faltered on my lips as I took in his rigid posture, the way his knuckles had gone white gripping that paper.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Jaxon’s voice carried a razor’s edge I hadn’t heard before. “Walk away. Now.”

Something in his tone made my hand drift instinctively toward the pistol at my waist. The romantic fantasies I’d been nursing about this mysterious neighbor evaporated like smoke. This wasn’t the mysterious, wounded man who’d stumbled into my life the other night.

This was the stray, ready to bite the hand that helped it.

“Is everything alright?” I kept my voice level, casual, even as every instinct screamed danger.

“Thank you for what you did, but I don’t have anything else to offer you,” Jaxon clipped out, folding the newspaper. “Just keep walking, Isabella. Forget about me.”

That…hurt.

Damn this man. Just a biting phrase, and with it, he had the power to shatter the newfound high of becoming the sole ruler of this corner of the earth.

“Okay, well, if you need anything—”

“I don’t.” Jaxon glared at me with such blackness that the world clouded over, even though the sun still blazed hot in the sky.

“Goodbye then,” I stammered. Turning sharply on my heel, I forced my steps to be measured. He would not see me run.

He would not see the tears in my eyes.

Chapter 10 – Jaxon

I was a right, royal bastard.

The hurt in her eye, the tremble in her lip.

“Fuck me.” I swiped a hand over my face.

I never cared what others thought about me, never had the opportunity to interact with them long enough to see their reactions.

But the way Isabella looked at me just now—like I’d gutted her with my bare hands—made my chest ache in a way I never felt.

What the hell was wrong with me? She’d only asked about my injury, a simple question most people could answer without turning into a complete arsehole. But I wasn’t like most people. Years of keeping everyone at arm’s length had become second nature.

I leaned back on the bench, a raging fury rushing through me. The dull thud matched the pounding in my chest. A new city, a new job, and I’d finally found someone who didn’t treat me like I was something scraped off the bottom of a shoe. Someone who smiled at me instead of finding an excuse to run away.

And she should run.

It was for her own safety.

Because not five minutes after her wispy figure turned out of the park, back down the street, my client arrived.

He was even uglier in person than his picture in the dossier filed away at my island base. That crooked nose sat like a bulbous ornament on his face. Pock marks dotted his cheeks and jaw. Hair buzzed short and body gnarled and gimpy, he painted a garish picture.

And he was pissed.

The man made a beeline for me. “I had one, teeny, tiny problem. One that should have been easy for a man like you. And yet, here you sit. The problem still walks about, living and breathing!”