King (Alliance, #2)

by S.J. Tilly

Because the only thing more painful than the company of a disappointing man is chafing.

“Because acting dumb is basically the number one rule of being kidnapped. And you just told me that you know my name. Why would I ever let you go now?” “Oh.” I push my hands down farther between my thighs, hunching my shoulders. “But you know my name.” “Yeah.” The way he says the word sounds like duh. “But I’m the one doing the kidnapping. I’m supposed to know things about you.” “But you already know that I know who you are. Because we met this afternoon,” I point out dumbly. I watch him shake his head. “Do you want me to kill your friend, too?” “What?” My hands fly up, palms out in a stop motion. “No!” “Then maybe talking about that connection is a bad idea.” “Well, I’m freaking sorry.” I wave my hands around. “I’ve never been kidnapped before.” “No shit.” “Gee, my apologies for being a bad captive,” I snap.

N’s words suddenly sound louder. “Do you, King Bartholomew Vass, agree to take Savannah Jane Oates as your reluctant wife? In sickness and in health. In rich and richer times. Do you promise to be a faithful captor for as long as you both shall live?” “I do.” King’s words surround me. “And do you, Savannah Jane Oates, take King Bartholomew Vass to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to be cooperative and faithful? To be the best wife you can be? To not slit King’s throat while he sleeps?” I open my eyes and glare at the man smirking from across the room. When I don’t answer, King tightens his whole-body hold on me. “Fine.”

I use the moment when no one’s attention is on me to push up into a sitting position, only to find that third man staring at me. I’d forgotten all about him. The witness. I’m wearing a bunch of oversized borrowed clothes, but the way the man is looking at me crawls under my skin. King’s large body moves between me and the man. “When the certificate is ready for you to sign, I’ll have someone bring it out to you,” King tells him, sounding calm. “But if you ever look at my wife like that again, I’ll remove your eyeballs from your skull.”

“When you get yourself under control, come downstairs. I’m hungry.” I drop my hands. “I’m not cooking for you.” The man rolls his eyes at me. “I have a cook. And pretty sure I’m smart enough not to eat anything you make me.” He takes a step back, Duke moving with his steps. “The vows only covered slit throats. Not poisoning.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” I glance up to see him smirk. “How? I’m the one you call when you want that particular task done.” Her lips thin before she snaps, “I’ll get Nero to do it.” King laughs. “Good luck with that.”

“With me,” I tell Nero, and he peels away from his wife, stepping into stride with me. “Who’re we killing?” His tone is casual. “I promised Aspen I wouldn’t.” He makes a humming sound. “Still leaves a lot of wiggle room.”

Since I’ve had a lot of sexually frustrated time on my hands these past few weeks, I’ve been keeping myself busy by fucking up the lives of men I don’t like. First, I hunted down all the information I could on Christopher Devon, my caller’s baby brother. I saw that he spent one night in the hospital, having surgery on both of his elbows after he fell down some stairs. And I recoded the surgery before billing sent it to insurance, ensuring that insurance will deny the claim and Christopher will be on the hook for an awfully large medical bill. After that, when I saw he was discharged but didn’t use his credit card anywhere that would indicate where he’d gone, I dug around and found all his 401(k) information. And our boy has some sense, because he’s put away a decent amount. A decent amount that I siphoned straight into a trust fund, which will automatically disperse to his son when he turns eighteen in six years. Considering good old Christopher hasn’t been paying child support for the kid he never visits, it’s the least he could do. Sure, Christopher will figure it out when his accounts are empty the next time one of those quarterly statements gets mailed out to him. But then again, I did change his address to a PO Box in Alabama, so it might be a bit before he gets around to picking up his mail. I also dropped his credit score by one hundred points. Because I could. I mean, really, what’s the point in being a good hacker if you’re not going to use it for good?

“No?” “No,” he repeats. “She belongs with me. And I live in the dark. So that’s where she belongs, too.” “But…” That’s just his crazy talking. Right? “Also…” I swear I can see the smug look on his stupid face when he starts with that tone. “That wife of yours let you fuck her in front of a dead man, so don’t pretend like you’re ripping the wings off an angel.” “He wasn’t dead yet,” I grumble. “Good argument,”