Ruthless Kings - Laura Lee Page 0,32

was exhausted, both physically and mentally. We decided to call it a night and agreed to discuss possible suspects in the morning. I agreed to stay over because it was so late, but I made it crystal clear Kingston and I would not be sleeping in the same room.

God, what am I going to do about him? Lying in Kingston's bed, surrounded by his sexy signature scent all night, was absolute torture. The ache between my legs that was ignited earlier in the evening intensified to an almost unbearable level. My hand slipped beneath the covers several times, intent on chasing a release before my brain kicked in. If I wasn't so tired, I probably would've kicked off the covers, marched into the other room, and begged Kingston to touch me. Again.

Damn it, I should've never kissed him, but we were arguing, which always gets me going for some sick reason, and he looked extra hot with his stupidly square jaw clenching half the time. Plus, he was wearing gray joggers, for fuck's sake! I'd have to be blind to miss the rather large dick print beneath that thin cotton. I shake my head, reminding myself now is not the time to think about dicks, especially Kingston’s.

Fucking gray sweatpants. Total thirst traps, every damn time.

I woke up shortly before dawn and couldn't fall back asleep, so I decided to take a long, hot shower. As I'm standing beneath the rainfall showerhead, I replay last night's conversation with Kingston in my head. He looked like he was about to kill someone when I told him what those bastards did and said to me. His fists were clenched so tightly, his knuckles were blanched, and his leg wouldn't stop bouncing. There was this crazy energy buzzing around him the whole time, but he barely said a word—just asked a clarifying question here and there. When I asked him if he was okay, he brushed it off like I imagined the whole thing.

I swear, that boy keeps such a tight leash on his emotions, he's bound to snap eventually. I thought he was about to blow last night. Oddly, when—not if—that happens, I don't believe his rage would ever be directed at me, so it's not as scary as it probably should be. I can't say the same for my assailants. Now, they should be terrified. I’d like to say I’d feel sorry for them if Kingston ever got a hold of them, but I can’t. I want them to suffer, and I've no doubt he'd do the job. What that says about me, I don't know. I've never been a big proponent of violence, but recent events have me seeing things through a different scope, I suppose.

After drying off and getting dressed, I tiptoe out into the main room to grab some water. I smile when I see Kingston sprawled out on the pull-out sofa, his arm thrown over his eyes to block out the sun. It’s risen just enough to slice through the windows across his face.

What the hell?

I move closer, careful not to wake him. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Nope. Kingston definitely has a fat lip. I have to stifle a gasp when I see the nasty gash, with a little dried blood caked on it as if the cut reopened while he was asleep. What the heck happened? He was perfectly fine when I went to bed last night.

On instinct, I reach out to touch his lip but freeze when Kingston’s hand locks around my wrist. His eyes fly open, relaxing slightly when he sees me.

He releases my arm and rubs his eyes. “What are you doing? Are you okay?”

“Are you?” I counter, swiping my thumb to the right of his mouth. “What happened to your face?” Jesus, his knuckles are swollen, too. “And your hands?”

Kingston holds his hands out, looking at the cracked skin over his knuckles. “I’m fine.”

“Really? Kingston, I’m a girl. I know ‘fine’ never actually means fine.”

He rolls over, away from the light. “Can we do this later? I’m fucking tired.”

I sit on the edge of the mattress and pull on his shoulder. “Talk to me. When I went to bed, you were about to do the same. Did you decide to punch yourself in the face a few times beforehand?”

He grabs his phone off the pillow and groans when he sees the time. “Jazz, please. I’ve only been asleep for an hour. I need at least a few more to function.”