Page 26 of Merciless King

My one and only priority was London.

I hated leaving her, even for a little while. She’d told me she wasn’t overly comfortable around men, and I sure as hell hadn’t forgotten, which was why I’d assigned Ruby to her during the day. Ruby was observant, skilled, and lethal as hell. London was in excellent hands.

Still, I worried.

That was all I’d been doing the last few days—and nights. She’d slept in my bed with me the last three, and fuck knew how it’d happened.

Bullshit. You know exactly how it happened.

Yeah, I wanted her there, wanted to be there for her, so I made damn sure that’s where she ended up each night. She hadn’t argued when I’d taken her hand and directed her to my room when she was on the way to hers the second night, or the one after when I’d stood at my open door, blocking the hall, and motioned her in.

She hadn’t mentioned her nightmares, but the second night had been the same as the first. And I’d held her through it again. Last night she’d managed a full night without waking. She’d probably exhausted herself.

I was an asshole for liking her there with me. But having her in my bed, curled against me, was addictive. Her soft, full curves, the heat of her body, the full length of her pressed against me. God, her smooth legs, those lush thighs. I inwardly groaned. Last night, my shirt that she was still wearing to sleep in—another thing I’d made sure of—had ridden up and she’d ended up half on top of me, knee bent, pussy hot and only covered by thin cotton, flush against my stomach.

I’d woken like that. Shit, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. My hand had been on her round ass, fingers curled in, holding her there, possessive as hell.

Hungry.

No, fucking ravenous for her.

I’d reluctantly let her go and got the fuck away before she woke as well, before I did something I shouldn’t. Before I slid my hand down the back of her underwear, spread her thighs wider, and played with her hot pussy until she begged me to fuck her. I’d wanted that so bad I ached.

Which was why I got the hell out. Shit, my cock had been so heavy and hard that shoving on my jeans and doing the fuckers up had been damn near agony.

And the longer this guy was on the loose, the harder it was going to be to find him. And the harder it was going to be for me to resist making a move and taking things where I’d wanted to take them with London a long time ago.

You’ll only hurt her.

London deserved someone who could love her, hell, who believed in that kind of love. That man wasn’t me.

Which was why I planned on keeping my hands to my damn self no matter how much I wanted different.

Jesus. This wasn’t the time or place. I needed my head in the game.

“Ready?” Zeke said beside me.

I dipped my chin. Zeke and I had known each other since we were punk teenagers. We’d enlisted together, fought alongside one another, and now he worked at the agency.

“Still don’t think you coming in is a good idea,” Jude said, frowning.

I’d known Jude almost my whole life, which was exactly why he was worried about me coming along. He knew just what I was capable of. But no way was I sitting this out.

I ignored him and we headed out in two cars, and I worked at keeping my shit tight as we headed across the city. Zeke wasn’t much of a talker, which was why I made sure I rode with him. I knew what I wanted to do when I caught this guy. But putting a bullet in his head wasn’t an option. So right then, getting a handle on the rage riding me was the priority.

I had it somewhat under control when we entered the apartment building.

The place was pretty nice. No rat-infested hideout. No squatting in a run-down dump. He wasn’t trying to hide at all by the looks. Terrence Ferida was a loans officer at LP Finance Corp, a video game enthusiast, and a violinist with a local orchestra. He enjoyed running and Italian food, and his Facebook relationship status was listed as “complicated.”

That’s what happened when you were a psychotic freak.

We moved in, Zeke taking the elevator while Jude and I took the stairs. Zeke was waiting by Ferida’s door when we hit the guy’s floor. I didn’t miss the way Jude strode ahead of me, trying to run interference—like anyone would stop me from beating the piece of shit who hurt and threatened London until he pissed his pants.

I was about to give the signal to move in when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I cursed when Daniels stepped out, two uniformed officers hot on his heels.

“Away from the door, now,” Connor called, looking nearly as angry as I was.

I stood my ground.