Lord of London Town

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 him staying,” I said.

The doctor sighed but examined me from head to toe. He hesitated, glancing back to Arthur when he said, “Have you been compromised, señorita?”

It took me a moment to understand his meaning. When it hit home, I shook my head. “No,” I said, seeing Arthur’s jaw clench again. The doctor stood and started putting his equipment back in his bag.

“Bathe, then place ice on your cheek for the swelling. I will leave pain medication for you to take. There is no lasting or significant damage. You will be fine once the bruising fades.”

“Thank you,” I said, and the doctor left the room. A man dressed in a dark suit came to lead him away. I looked down at my torn and bloodied dress and felt disgust and the residual embers of fear roll through me.

What would have happened if Arthur hadn’t found me?

“Shower is through there.” Arthur pointed to an en-suite bathroom. When I struggled to get up from the bed, he held out his hand. Our palms kissed, and my heart doubled its beat and shivers raced through the very marrow of my bones. Arthur helped me off the bed. There was no reason I couldn’t go and shower next door on my own yacht. But I didn’t want to go back there alone. That thought forced me to remember something, and I felt my stomach cave in.