The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,77
things. Then I pour three large glasses of brandy into heavy tumblers, down one of them, refill, and carry them with me into the study.
Walking into the room, I kick the door shut behind me. Cassie, seated on a chair, jumps at the sound.
“Here.” I thrust the drink at her and pass the other to Vasily.
I take a sip of my own.
Cassie doesn’t touch hers.
“Drink,” I say, as I lean forward and tip the glass toward her with my free hand. “You’re going to need it.”
She blinks at me, and her eyes are shimmery.
Fuck me, not again! What is it with Cassie and her tears that gets to me so much? Except, she doesn’t cry. She tightens her jaw and takes a deep breath through her nose.
It’s then I notice the mark on her jaw. It’s a livid bruise, and right on the bone. It must hurt.
Glaring at Vasily, I sigh. “I never told you to hit her.”
I’m about to shoot him in the foot for this.
He stares at me, looks at Cassie, then does a double take at the mark on her face. “Not me, boss. I didn’t do that.”
“Cassie, what the fuck? You better start talking now.”
She doesn’t speak, but she’s shivering.
I don’t think violence and threats is going to work here.
She’s already been hurt, she’s terrified, and whatever she did, I’m suddenly confident she did it under duress. Even if I wanted to hurt her, which I categorically don’t, it wouldn’t get me anywhere. She’s about five seconds away from shutting down completely.
“Leave us,” I bark at Vasily.
“But, boss…”
I glare at him, and he shrugs but leaves the room, looking pissed.
Right now I don’t know who I can trust. Vasily wasn’t in on this; his reaction at the door was far too sincere, but Denis betraying me in this way means I’m totally at sea here. My men were my family in some ways, and now Denis has torn that apart.
My father tore my blood family apart, and Denis and Liza have torn to shreds the new one I’d built.
“Cassie?” I keep my voice low and squat down until I’m able to look her in the face. “Cassie?”
She sniffs, but she still doesn’t cry. In some ways this stoic determination is worse. Glacially, she moves her gaze to meet mine, and her eyes are terrified.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“It’s okay.”
She makes an odd, low murmured sound, like an animal in distress.
“Hey.” I smooth a damp tendril of hair from her face. “Hey, Cassie. Sunshine. It’s okay.”
At me using the word sunshine, she focuses a little more on me, and I see a tiny glimmer of hope in her beautiful gaze. Things have gone too far for her. I knew, didn’t I, that if I uprooted her, she’d wilt, and now she is. She needs safety in all of this. She needs to know I won’t hurt her.
“Tell me what happened.”
She opens her mouth, but then shuts it again. She’s shivery and yet clammy.
God, I don’t know how to deal with a woman in this state.
“Drink, baby. It will help.” I lift the glass to her lips by wrapping my hand around hers and pour some of the liquid into her mouth. She swallows then coughs. But then she takes some more, two more big sips to be exact.
“Good girl,” I say.
She looks at me, and her gaze softens some at the praise. God, she’s a conundrum. On the one hand fiery, with that temper I like, but on the other, Cassie craves security, praise, and to be told what to do. The moment shit gets real, she turns into a pseudo child, needing somewhere to run for safety. Most human beings do, but with her it’s more overt. Cassie needs structure, I think. Security.
What a little mystery she is, all wrapped up in that delectable outer package.
“Okay, now listen to me. I really need to know what’s going on here. And I need you to tell me all you know. It doesn’t matter if you don’t know much at all; just tell me what you do know.”
“I know everything,” she blurts out. “I was… It’s my fault.”
What?
My blood runs cold. What is her fault? What does she mean? Did she have a role to play in this? A hand in it as I first thought? How do the pieces fit together here?
“I was bored, so I went exploring,” she says, starting to speak and catching me off guard. “I went up to the turret room. I saw