Page 5 of Merciless King

The phone rang. Erin was busy with a customer, so I rushed to answer it. “Beautiful Blooms, London speaking.”

There were several beats of silence then that giggle came at me again down the line, pitched high, lifting the hair on the back of my neck and making my skin crawl.

I slammed down the phone and turned off the ringer.

I worked at controlling my racing heart, at telling myself it was nothing. But that crawling feeling across my skin intensified through the day. This fear was more than I knew what to do with.

There was only one place left to go—one person left to turn to.

Once the shop shut, I grabbed a cab and gave the driver a Queens address. One I had memorized but had never been to.

A short time later I was standing at an elevator, trembling so hard I’d already dropped my purse twice.

I sucked in a shaky breath and made myself hit the up arrow. This was my only option. I couldn’t pretend nothing was happening, that I was imagining things—not anymore. It was more than a feeling, more than paranoia, I was sure of it. But after my visit with the police, after the sympathetic looks, being told by Detective Daniels in that deep but gentle voice that my fears were likely part of my PTSD, I knew I was on my own.

Those fierce dark eyes entered my mind once again.

Van King.

I hadn’t seen him since I was in the hospital, right before my release. I’d thought about him, though, a lot. Honestly, I’d thought about him more than was probably healthy. He didn’t even know how much he still helped me. Van was who I thought of in the middle of the night to calm myself after I woke screaming. And it was his face I focused on in my mind when a flashback took hold and I thought I might actually die of fear.

What would happen when I saw him now, in the flesh? Would it all come crashing back? I lived it every day, but would being near the man who saved me put me right back there?

In my old apartment building, bleeding out on the floor.

I dragged in a shaky breath and reached for the wall to steady myself as the elevator climbed.

You can do this. There’s no one else. No other choice.

Van was an intimidating man, the kind of man who exuded authority—masculinity. Having the attention of a man like that for all those weeks following what happened, having him sitting at my bedside, quietly watching over me, holding me through the flashbacks and the nightmares, bringing me back when they sucked me under, had made me feel protected, special.

He made sure I had everything I needed, that everything was taken care of. It had been exactly what I’d needed. Was the kind of care I’d craved nearly all my life.

It had been…confusing.

Having all of that, then watching him walk away and never look back had been difficult. I felt like, God, I felt like he’d abandoned me. It was stupid. There was nothing there, nothing between us. He’d felt some kind of responsibility for me since I’d had no one else, since he’d been the one to save me that night. But that’s how I’d felt.

The door slid open, and I focused on putting one foot in front of the other and pushed open a set of double glass doors.

A woman with gorgeous red hair sat at reception and she looked up when I walked in, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Hi there.”

I forced herself to meet the other woman’s eyes, something I’d always struggled with and had been working on lately. “Yes, hi. I-I…” I hitched the strap of my bag higher, gripping it tight. “I wondered if V-Van…um, King was here?”

The other woman stood, and her eyes had softened, like she’d picked up on the fact that she was dealing with someone extremely nervous, like she could see the fear I was trying to hide and adjusted accordingly.

“You’re in luck,” she said. “He just came in after finishing a case and I chained him to his desk to get the paperwork done.” She winked. “I’m not his favorite person right now.” She crooked her finger. “Follow me.”

I noticed she had the name Hunter tattooed on the side of her neck in fine sloping script. I remember Van mentioning his brother, Hunter, who’d been in prison at the time. This was obviously his wife or girlfriend. I followed her down a short hall, and by the time we stopped outside a closed door, my pulse was thudding so hard I’d started to feel a little dizzy.

She knocked twice and pushed the door open.

“Jesus, woman, give me a chance to work through this bullshit,” a rough, extremely deep, and wonderfully familiar voice growled.

The other woman was standing in the open doorway. I was to the side, still in the hall, concealed, and I had to make myself hold my ground and not run the other way.

“Someone’s here to see you,” she said, ignoring his outburst completely.

“Who?” he growled.