Page 23 of Lethal King

But I don’t shoot.

Is that…

A little red blob has stopped some five feet from me, frozen in fear. It takes me a second to recognize the strange figure, but by the time I do, it’s the least of my concerns.

A new round of shouts have filled the smoky air. More men are approaching from where I just came—back up for Maksim and the Kilpatrick princess.

Really, all I’d have to do is step inside the throne room and close the door and I’d easily avoid them. But something nails my feet into the ground.

That little red blob frozen in the chaos.

It’s a kitten.

I saw it earlier. One of those disgusting Italian dons was holding it by the scruff and waving it around like a fucking white flag. The sight made my blood boil. Luckily, Melina Kilpatrick managed to do something about it before I could blow my own cover—it’s part of the reason I decided to forbid Tytus from taking her.

Someone has to protect the cat, after all.

But I guess Melina isn’t strong enough to protect such a precious little package. Luckily, I am.

I’m still staring at the tiny furball when Maksim’s backup arrives. My mind is quickly made up.

Four shots rip from my silver pistol. Four heavy bodies hit the ground. The kitten’s hackles rise as I race forward to grab it.

To my surprise, it bites at my fingers as I try to pick it up.

“Fuck. This is for your own good,” I hiss back.

Forcing it into my arms, I carry us both back to the throne room. It will be the only safe spot in this entire mausoleum.

But the kitten doesn’t seem to agree with how I’m holding it. One last nip makes me place it back down on the floor, but only after I shut the heavy throne room door behind us.

We’re quickly sealed in, isolated from the violence outside. Only muffled pangs of the chaos seep in through walls. Otherwise, all is silent.

“We’re safe now,” I whisper, my voice quivering ever so slightly.

Maybe it’s just my hormones, but I’m actually hurt at the kitten’s response to my help. A whole tsunami of repressed memories threatens to crush me as those little paws scurry away, deeper into the throne room.

My unsure feet carry me forward. There, in the center of the room, is what I came for.

Rian Kilpatrick’s crown.

Forget the cat, I tell myself. They’ve never been anything but trouble for you. Focus on what you really want.

But that line of thought only sends a sharp pain through my hollow chest.

What do I really want?

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Rian Kilpatrick’s voice might as well be a burning whip—I can practically feel its hot leather wrap and my wrist as I’m yanked around.

Sure enough, the Irish lion steps out of the shadows, gun already drawn.

We both ignore the hiss that comes from the ground as he steps toward me. Every hair on my body rises.

“Pull the trigger and see how fast I do the same,” I warn, not daring to raise my gun quite yet. I’ve underestimated this man before, and it bit me in the ass. Hard. I’m not doing it again.

“A quick death would be too easy for you,” he spits back.