realisation of what I’d just witnessed, what had just happened to me, pounded into me like round after round of bullets from a machine gun.
“Come.” Arthur came toward me. He wasn’t gentle in his approach. He took long strides to where I stood, then lifted me into his arms and walked down the alley to the entrance. I closed my eyes as we passed the bodies lying still and soiled on the ground.
When enough time had passed, I opened my eyes and threaded my arms around Arthur’s neck. I felt his strong arms holding me, keeping me close to his chest. I glanced up at his face. He was so ruggedly handsome I could barely stand it.
He had saved me.
He had avenged me.
And he had killed for me.
“Thank you,” I whispered. Arthur kept his face forward, but I noted a small, quick clenching of his jaw. And if I wasn’t mistaken, his arms held me just a little bit tighter.
I heard a car door open and realised we had reached the end of the alleyway. Arthur placed me in the back seat of the car and slid in beside me. I should have been nervous going anywhere with him, but I was the polar opposite. I was safe. I knew I was safe with him.
As we began to pull away, I saw a van stop behind us. Men in black clothes and balaclavas got out and made their way up the alley. “Clean-up”, I assumed.
I stared at Arthur, who was texting on his phone, feeling pain build in my wounds. I stared at this boy I had first met at age thirteen. The boy I had thought of more often than was normal. And now he had saved me. I didn’t know him. Our brief childhood encounter had been fleeting, yet felt as though it had been seared into my brain with a hot iron.
I was all alone with him for the first time in five years.
I was bruised and battered, but alive. Living, breathing, heart beating because of one man. All because of the man everyone told me to avoid.
The beautiful devil who had just killed four men in front of me … and disturbingly, that didn’t diminish my attraction for him one bit. It only made me want to know him more.
Who was Arthur Adley?
I needed to find out.
Chapter Three
CHESKA
The car stopped at Arthur’s yacht. My mobile vibrated, and I pulled it out of my clutch, which Arthur had retrieved from the alley floor.
FREYA: Where are you? We’re worried.
I took a deep breath.
Gone home. Had a headache. I’m going to bed. Have fun. Don’t worry about me.
I put my phone in my bag and tried not to feel guilty for omitting the truth about what had happened. But despite my throbbing cheek and my brush with the attackers, I needed to know what Arthur planned to do next. I wanted to speak to him. I wanted to get behind the high walls he had clearly built around him. He was a deep, dark mystery wrapped up in a seductive package, and I was intent on figuring him out.
The driver opened the door beside Arthur and he stepped out. He walked around the boot and opened my door. I climbed out, wincing when my stomach stabbed with pain—the result of the punch I’d taken to my torso. Like in the alleyway, Arthur didn’t hesitate; he scooped me into his arms and carried me toward his yacht. Nerves burst in my chest.
Arthur walked onto the back deck and through to the living quarters. I roved my gaze around the area, numbly looking at the cherry-wood finishes and Italian furnishings. An older man was waiting, and when I saw his black bag, I realised he was a doctor.
“Not in here,” Arthur said to him and carried me through the centre corridor of the boat and into a large master bedroom. He placed me down on a huge bed that was dressed in black bed linen. Arthur stepped back, but from the way he crossed his arms over his chest and remained only a few feet from the bed, it was crystal clear that he wasn’t leaving.
The doctor looked at him, appearing slightly unnerved. “Señor? I will examine her now.” Arthur nodded his head at the Spanish doctor but stayed where he was. “You can leave the room.”
“No,” was all Arthur said. Goosebumps broke out on my arms at his curt, cold response.
The doctor looked to me for guidance. “I’m fine with