Page 37 of Merciless King

“Connor…”

He cupped the side of my face, thumb sliding across my jaw, and cursed softly. “Yeah, I waited too long,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He smiled down at me gently. “Not your fault, London. I only have myself to blame.” He tucked my hair behind my ear, like Van had done the day before, and suddenly I wanted to cry. “Thanks for lunch, honey,” he said when he lifted his head. “No matter what, I’m here if you need me, okay? No strings.” He straightened and walked away.

I watched him go then pushed the door open. What the hell was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I want what was good for me? Connor would be so easy. Everything with him would be easy. Safe.

Erin grinned at me. “Good lunch?”

“It was nice.” There was that word again.

“It’s been pretty quiet here,” Erin said. “I sent off this morning’s orders and printed off a couple more that came in. Oh, and a package arrived for you. I put it in the back.”

I left her with a customer and went into the office. There was a large box wrapped in brown paper sitting on the floor, with the shop’s address scrawled on the top.

I grabbed my scissors and cut through the tape. There was a lot of it. It wasn’t a box but a Styrofoam cooler, the kind we had delicate or rare flowers like orchids and lilies delivered in. There was tape all around the seal, so I ran the blade of the scissors around it and pulled off the lid.

The smell hit me first, so bad I fell back. Something was wrapped in a blanket. Blue with tiny white bones. Heathcliff’s blanket. The one I’d buried him in.

I screamed and scrambled from the room on my hands and knees. Erin looked down at me, startled.

“Call the police,” I said, sobs my clogging throat. Climbing to my knees, I pushed the back-room door shut. The customer with Erin ran out instantly. Somehow I got to my feet, and on shaky legs I followed and locked the door after them.

Then I broke down, covered my face with my hands, and cried.

The next thing I knew, Erin was unlocking the door and I was being pulled into Connor’s arms as Erin told the uniformed officers with him where to find the box.

He took my shoulders, looking down at me. “Breathe, London. Come on, honey.”

My entire body was trembling. I needed something to ground me. I thought it was over. This was too much. Just too damned much.

A car pulled up across the street, a familiar one. The door opened and Van climbed out, eyes somehow instantly finding me through the store window. He strode over, putting up a hand to stop a car—literally stopping traffic, ignoring everything around him.

He strode in, dark eyes looking nowhere else, only at me. “Come here,” he said.

And I did. Everything in me needed him, needed to feel his arms around me. He pulled me in tight. “Daniels,” I heard him say over my head.

Connor muttered something in reply then headed to the back of the shop, joining the other officers.

“What’s back there, baby?” Van said against the top of my head.

I squeezed my eyes closed. “Someone…dug up Heathcliff.” A sob broke free. “Oh God, someone dug him up. They sent him to me.”

He cursed, and it was raw and filled with so much anger I flinched.

Van didn’t say much after that, but he didn’t let me go, simply kept me tight against his side while we waited for the police to finish what they were doing. When Connor came back a short time later, his eyes shifted between Van and I and his jaw clenched.

“It was sent yesterday,” he said.

I felt Van still, going on full alert. “What the fuck is going on?”

Connor shook his head. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Is Ferida talking?”

Connor’s gaze darted to me then back to Van. “No. He’s not said one damn thing.”