Page 17 of Vicious Kingdom

Did she want me to admit that I was here only because she was? Well, I wouldn’t.

“Sheetrock it is.” I took the equipment and began to work.

If it was torture watching Annaliese plastering the nail holes after I was done, if it was hard to see her bend and reach, I ignored the temptation, retreating into myself, waiting for another opportunity to pounce. I was here to ruin her life. Not watch her work. No matter how tantalizing a sight she was.

I was here to destroy her life and reclaim my city—and my sanity.

Chapter 7 – Annaliese

The air compressor purred with a sultry rhythm, interrupted only by the seductive pop-pop of the nail gun. Leo was irresistible in those snug jeans, which hugged his perfect ass, inviting my eyes to linger and savor every curve. One could bounce a quarter off that masterpiece.

Heat pooled within me, a sweet ache simmering against my panties. His mere presence had my mind unraveling with desire. He never graced these charity events with his presence. Donate money? Absolutely. Attend opulent galas or charity dinners? Only to mingle with other power players.

Watching him roll up his sleeves and get down to work was a delicious mystery. I wanted to believe he was here for me, especially after he pulled me close for those photos at the event's start. Those inappropriate photos. For a man who said he hated me with his every breath, those pictures told a thousand different words. But as soon as the work began, his attention never wavered from the task. Not even a glance was cast in my direction.

I paused from the strain of pushing the roller up and down the stretch of wall. There was spackle under my nails from filling holes, while primer was splattered over my arms and legs. The golf outfit was ruined. There hadn’t been time to change after my disastrous morning on the fairway. I barely made it here on time.

Sipping my water, I watched Leo heft a length of sheetrock as though it was feather-light. His muscles bulged as he braced it against the framework. His partner came behind, running nails into it. Drywall screws worked better, and other projects I’d worked on used those. But this company was putting up this house cheap and fast, much to my annoyance. My partner stood waiting with quick-dry spackle to fill the holes. In twenty minutes, I would paint the length with primer.

We were halfway done with the house.

The second crew would meet us in the middle and then—

Leo cursed with a violent explosion of words, every syllable dripping with venom and frustration. The accent he so carefully concealed crept into his voice, bending the vowels and sharpening the consonants. Unfamiliar and raw, it soaked the air like a threat. My stomach lurched into a queasy spiral. There, his hand was pinned to the wall, a nail jutting from his skin like some grotesque jewel.

“You fucking idiot,” he spat at the other worker, eyes dark with rage.

“Don’t rip it out!” I shouted, panic surging. “It will tear!”

I rushed forward, my mind a blur of terror and adrenaline. Pushing the nail gun wielder aside, I inserted myself into the heart of the chaos. The gun pop-popped a staccato rhythm as the worker stumbled back in a daze.

“Watch out!” Leo clipped, his voice edged with contempt. “He’s high as fuck.”

I spared a glance over my shoulder. That explained the helter-skelter layout of the nails, the wild, reckless patterns that made no sense. My heart thudded. Plucking a needle-nose pliers from the belt around Leo’s waist, I gulped, trying to steady my shaking hands.

The volunteer fumbled for words. “Man, I didn’t realize—”

I ignored his blithering noise.

“Okay, I’ve got you,” I murmured, my voice a soothing lie for the horror I felt.

“Anna—” Leo’s eyes bored into me, an unsaid warning in their depths.

“Trust me,” I pleaded, desperation tingeing my voice with an edge of madness.

His gaze hardened. “I don’t.”

The words were a dagger, twisting deep inside me.

And that’s my fault.

Swallowing past the knot of regret in my throat, I pinched the pliers around the nail’s broad head. And pulled. Leo’s jaw tightened, muscles taut with silent restraint, but not a sound escaped his lips as I tugged. The nail wasn’t in the two-by-four. It slid out of his flesh with a sickening ease, leaving the wound to weep freely. Blood pooled with startling quickness, an ominous crimson against the pale sheetrock.

Drops fell to the floor, vivid little splatters that seemed to echo with accusation.

“Let’s go find you a bandage,” I breathed, feeling suddenly queasy. Funny how I could write garish details but seeing it in person sent a wave of nausea through me.

Next to the water station was the red box with the white cross. The lid crashed into the table, and my fingers fumbled through the mess.