The Rebel King (All the King's Men Duet #2) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,43

minutes, I drift off into the dark again.

17

Maxim

I’m eager and horny as hell.

I unlock Nix’s door, but turn to the guard in the hall with me before actually opening it.

“No one even rings the bell,” I tell him. “If someone wants to come in, call me and I’ll decide.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, his face cast into lines of impassive professionalism.

“You on for the rest of the night?”

“Second shift comes at six tomorrow morning.” He hesitates and then, with a grimace, goes on. “What if she tries to go run by herself?”

“Let her go,” I force myself to reply.

“You sure?” he asks, brows lifted.

I clench my teeth, seeing Greg Keene’s “pretty” face staring back at me from the file Grim sent. “If I’m asleep and she leaves without me knowing, alert me that she’s left.”

“Yes, sir.”

I ease the door open and roll my huge suitcase in behind me. I have more clothes than I need because I plan to leave some things here. She doesn’t want people to know we’re together yet. Fine. Doesn’t mean we won’t be together.

Her bedroom door stands open, and the light from the lamp reveals her small outline under the comforter. Even seeing just the curve of her ass and one slim arm makes me want to wake her up and slake all this lust immediately, but her schedule has been as taxing as mine. Sex can wait, but I need to hold her and have wanted to wake up beside her every morning since I left. Jin Lei’s not speaking to me for canceling the Germany trip, but no way was I missing the few days Lennix would be in D.C. before she and Owen hit the trail again.

I’ve unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it onto the bench at the foot of her bed when she makes a sound that freezes my hands on my belt. I’ve heard that sound before—the night she cried during her nightmares in Amsterdam.

“No,” she says sharply, turning so the comforter falls back. “Please, don’t.”

Her eyes remain closed. Her brows scrunch, distress twisting the fine lines of her face. Tears streak her cheek, and it feels like someone is squeezing my heart until it bleeds. I walk to her side of the bed and touch her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouts, swatting at my hand. “Leave Wallace alone.”

My hand drops. Wallace.

This isn’t like the other dreams of her mother. This is about Costa Rica.

“Nix.” I gently shake her shoulder.

She claws at me, raking her nails over my hand hard enough to tear the skin away.

I ignore the sting and the faint drops of blood, gathering her wrists in one hand. “Lennix, it’s me. Maxim.”

“Doc,” she sobs, her slim shoulders suddenly going limp and then shaking. “I love you. Don’t leave me.”

Emotion singes the inside of my throat. My muscles tauten with rage. Rage that I can’t seem to help her now, that I couldn’t help her then. Not in time to spare her these dark memories.

I sit on the bed and carefully gather her to me. She’s unresistant, her tears splashing against the bare skin of my chest.

“Nix, baby.” I push the tumbled hair back from her face, and thumb the tears on her smooth cheeks. “Wake up for me.”

Her body goes stiff in my arms and she slowly pulls back, blinking wet, spiky lashes.

“Doc?” Her voice is hoarse, and I wonder how long she’s been crying, and crying out in her sleep. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

She drops her head to my chest and the tears come faster, the sobs shaking her slim body. My teeth grind together at the tortured sound, and I realize I’m holding her too tightly. I loosen my grip, but she shakes her head, burrowing into my throat.

“Hold me tighter,” she whispers through tears. “Love me as hard as you possibly can.”

“I do, Nix.” I kiss the top of her head. “God knows I do.”

Her breaths are jagged, punctuated by sniffles. I stroke her hair and caress her back until the muscles loosen and she breathes evenly, finally finding enough peace to sleep.

18

Lennix

I know I’m not hungover, so who let the guy with the hammer inside my head? I sit up tentatively, pushing tangled hair back and squinting at even the little bit of morning sun sneaking through a gap between the drawn curtains.

“Morning.”

The voice beside me makes me do a double-take. I massage my temples at the discomfort caused by the sudden movement. Maxim sits, back pressed into my tufted headboard, chest bare and sculpted,