King's Wrath (Sydney Storm MC 5)

“Lily,” he started, but I cut him off.

“King, no. I’m getting an Uber. It’ll be faster than me waiting for your guy.”

“Be careful,” he muttered before hanging up.

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I didn’t waste time trying to figure it out. I went in search of my friends and let them know where I was going, and less than ten minutes later, I was on my way to see King. Actually, I was on my way to see Skylar. But the fact I’d also get to see King caused my core to clench. I’d had just enough drinks tonight that it was anyone’s guess what I might say to him. Or what I might beg of him.

Skylar was in bad shape when I arrived. Anxious, in pain, and in a foul mood with her brother, she had me a little concerned as to how I was going to calm her down. King stood in the doorway of her room watching us for a while, until Skylar told him to leave us alone. After that, it didn’t take me half as long as I thought it might to soothe her worries and lull her to sleep. She didn’t like taking drugs to help her anxiety, but tonight she agreed to a sleeping pill. I figured if she could just get some sleep, she may wake refreshed enough to deal with things better.

It was after midnight when I left Skylar’s room and went looking for King. I wasn’t quite as drunk as I had been when I arrived, but I was still relaxed and feeling quite floaty—the complete opposite of King’s tense state.

I found him sitting at the desk in his office. The room was dark except for the glow of light from the lamp in the corner of the room. King sat in the office chair, a half-empty glass of whisky in his hands, and all the troubles in the world on his shoulders.

Why did I always want to fix men? Well, not so much fix them, but help them when they were down. I’d had this nurturing streak for as long as I could remember. Even back in high school when I met Linc, I wanted to help him. My instinct to nurture was the reason why I still let him get away with a lot of stuff. He’d been struggling for the last year after losing his job and trying to find regular work, and on top of that, his father was really ill, so I cut him some slack. He may have cheated on me and hurt me, but I wasn’t the kind of person to play tit for tat.

Looking at King sitting in the dark, his body rigid and his expression grim, I felt that burning need to nurture. It made no sense to me since I hardly knew him. And while King didn’t strike me as the kind of man who people took care of—I imagined he was the one who always did the taking care of—I wanted to offer him something. Even just a conversation.

He met my gaze, his face not softening even a little. “What?” It was almost a bark. A demand. I wouldn’t have stood for it with many people, but I made allowances for King. He’d shown me enough good sides of himself that I’d tolerate his bark.

Entering his office, I walked to the desk and wiggled my ass onto it so I sat next to him. King didn’t argue; he sat quietly watching me. But he didn’t look happy.

“You should pour me a drink,” I said.

He slowly lifted his glass to his mouth and emptied it. “You don’t need another drink.”

I raised my brows. “How do you know what I need?”

He placed his glass on the desk. “I don’t, but I know it’s not that.”

I eyed the bottle of whisky sitting on the desk, on the other side of him. Deciding he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted, I leant across him to grab the bottle.

He hissed and muttered, “Fuck,” which I ignored as I unscrewed the lid and poured some whisky into his glass.

Focusing my gaze back on him, I drank some of the whisky before saying, “Skylar took a pill. She should sleep all night.”

“Good.”

I drank some more of my drink. “You’re a man of few words, King. Normally I like that about people, but I kinda wish you’d say more.”

His jaw clenched as he watched me intently. King had a way of making me feel like he was undressing me with his eyes, even when his gaze never left mine. Maybe it was my soul he was undressing, not my body. Whatever it was, it awakened a part of me that had been asleep for far too long.

I didn’t just want his eyes on me; I wanted his hands.

His mouth.

His tongue.

God, I wanted that body of his to take mine in ways it had never been taken.

Just for one night.

Tonight.

He picked up the bottle of whisky and took a swig. “I’ll get one of the boys to take you home.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here with you.”

His body stiffened more than it already was. “No.” His denial was harsh. And final. But I’d had enough to drink to ignore it.