King of Sinners - Start Reading for Free in Kindle Unlimited

“Charlotte.”

My name on his lips does little to
quell my fears. It’s hard, rough, angry. Interestingly, it sparks a bit of life back into my limbs and I find myself standing straighter.

I must be a picture.

White sneakers, black mini skirt,
Roman’s leather jacket. No style points are going to save me. “Mason.” His name isn’t a challenge. It isn’t a plea either. It might be a sigh. He’s dominated
the last two years of my life even though I haven’t laid eyes on him.

And he still evokes this reaction
no man has before.

“In the midst of trouble again.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t mean to
be. Either time.”

“That doesn’t change anything.” He
bites back.

I know that. I know what he told me
that night, too, when he’d slid into the limo, all muscle and sinew, blood staining his right cuff. The reason, the only reason, I was alive was because I hadn’t actually seen anything. But if I caused any trouble, talked to anyone, they
were the sort of men who eliminated trouble. Permanently.

And here I was in trouble again.

The one saving grace of that night
was that Leo never called me again. I can only assume that he either lost
interest or was told not to, but it had saved me from having to break it off
with Mason’s brother.

“I’m aware of that,” I murmur back
as I shrug off Roman’s coat. It’s a beautiful piece of clothing, the fine, buttery-soft leather sliding under my fingers as I swing the fabric around to my front.

Carefully, I do up the zipper on the front and then fold the garment in half, laying the sleeves at a forty-five-degree angle. Draping the piece over my arm, I extend the piece to Roman. “Thank you for the jacket.”

He looks down at it for a moment.
“You don’t have to return it.”

But I hold it out further until he
finally takes the jacket from my hand. It’s then that I sink to my knees, closing my eyes. “And thank you for rescuing me from those men,” I whisper. “I don’t know what they would have done to me but I’m certain it’s—”

“You don’t talk to him. You talk to
me,” Mason grits out between clenched teeth.

I give a small nod. The carpet
under my bare knees is plush and soft and I spread my hands into its deep fibers. “I just wanted him to know that no matter what happens tonight, I’m glad he stopped that…”

I’m not interested in upsetting
Mason. Far from it. I force my eyes open, looking up at him. He always towers over me but down at this level…he’s massive.

His gaze is hard and unreadable as
his jaw works.

“And I remember what you said…that night…” I draw in a large gulp of air, making a silent plea for a bit of
strength. “I just have one request.”

“You don’t get to request
anything,” he bites out rough and hard, his fists clenching at his sides.

I start, the volume of his voice
making me shake again. I bite at my lip, forcing myself to hold his gaze. This is important.

He turns his back to me then,
crossing to the table and picking up a crystal glass full of amber liquid. In one gulp, he swallows it down then lifts a decanter to refill the glass.

I can hear the pour, see the
sparkle from the overhead lights as the liquor swirls about the snifter.

Full drink in hand, he comes back
to me, where I’ve stayed on the floor. “You’ve made my life very difficult, Charlotte Fairfield. You know that, don’t you?”

I nod, sure he’s telling the truth.
Some men can’t be trusted to be honest. Mason isn’t one of those men. He’s too powerful to deceive. He doesn’t need to cover the truth to bend people to his
will.

A lion never lies to you. He just
devours. “I know.”

My shirt pulls across my back,
cheap, ill-fitted cotton. It scratches at my skin and I barely keep from
fidgeting. In this position, on my knees on the floor, the skirt has risen up so high, I can almost see my underwear.

Not that they’re impressive.
Nothing about me is impressive. Whatever swagger I had when I met Leo, it’s gone. I just want to slink away and lead some quiet, simple life. But that isn’t happening.

Which means I might as well go out
with a bit of dignity.

“Mason,” I whisper again. Our eyes
meet and I force my back straight. “Please don’t hand me over to those men.”

His lip curls. “I don’t have a lot
of choices here, Charlotte.”

Pulling one hand from the carpet, I
reach toward him, as though touching him might make him more sympathetic. But I stop myself before I actually make contact. Other than when he held me that
night at the club, we’ve never touched. I’m sure it wouldn’t be welcome now. “I know. But…”

I notch my chin higher, forcing the
words that had just died from my throat. “But if I’m going to die, I’d prefer you be the one who kills me.”

Complete silence meets my request.