KING: Alliance Series Book Two
: Chapter 18

This fucking female is going to be the end of me.

My shoulder aches from where my hold on the railing jerked me to a stop. And my glutes and hamstrings throb from where they collided with the unforgiving steps, the second impact of Savannah’s weight jamming me harder into the steps is only dulled by her sweet ass smashing my balls.

I flex the arm around her waist, holding her in place, even as we bounce down another step together. The process causing a new round of hurts.

Her scream cut off as she landed on me, but my ears are still ringing from the agony in my fucking nuts.

She shifts, and I tighten my grip on her even more.

“Just. Wait,” I grit out each word as the pain radiates through my body.

I sound pissed. Because I am.

“Sorry.” Savannah’s whisper filters through the red fuzzing the edge of my vision and I tip my head down until my forehead is pressed against her hair.

If she really wanted to fuck me up, she could slam her head backwards and break my nose. But even if she managed to break my arm while she was at it, she’d never get off my property.

My nutsack gives another throb, and I shift my weight off my left ass cheek to the right, and it’s enough to relieve some of the ache.

The rib cage trapped between my body and arm, expands on a deep breath. “Thank you for catching me. Again.” I inhale as I finally let go of the railing, circling that arm around her too. “I’m sorry you got hurt. But…” she cuts off, and I wait for her to continue as I enjoy the smell of my shampoo in her hair. “I’m not sorry for running.” I squeeze her. “I can’t just let you keep me here.”

I sigh. “That’s where you’re wrong, Honey.” She starts to shake her head, so I lift my own. “It’s time.”

Savannah tenses. “Time for what?”

“For you to see why you’re going to cooperate.”

It takes some untangling to get us both up, and Savannah tries to shake off my grip when I grab hold of her elbow, but I don’t let up. I have no plans of watching her fall again as we descend the rest of the stairs. On our feet.

I keep my hold on her as I guide her down another hallway, to the opposite side of the house from the main bedroom, toward my home office.

To the office really. Since I have my own investment company which is now just me using my own money to make myself more money.

I don’t have to work anymore. I could’ve retired years ago. But running my own company is entertaining, as well as highly profitable. And Aspen always has some charity event that she needs me to throw money around at, so it’s good to keep the tap turned on.

I’ve always had a way with numbers, but the woman at my side proves that I’ve also always had a slightly off-center moral compass. So, even though I came from a normal upper-class family, it wasn’t that much of a surprise to anyone when I got myself tangled up in the Irish mafia. But by the time my dad found out, I was in too deep for him to buy my way free. And, truthfully, I was enjoying myself.

It wasn’t until Nero, who’d worked his way into the Bratva, and I met, and consequently uncovered a secret human trafficking plot, that things changed. On paper, Nero and I should’ve been enemies, but our hearts were never with the old families. We were there for our own reasons. So when we decided to draw new lines and enforce them, that’s exactly what we did. And I have no regrets.

To this day, we’re still working to destroy any and all human trafficking in our territory. But, like everywhere, there’s a disgustingly lot of it. So we’ll keep targeting deals and taking them down. While we’re not busy doing our own shady shit that is.

Savannah is breathing heavy at my side, and I realize I probably could’ve slowed my pace a bit. But we’re already here.

My office door is sitting open. None of my staff would dare enter on their own, but even if they did, every piece of information is behind layers upon layers of firewalls and protection. I’m plenty good with all things tech on my own, but partnering with a man who owns his own security company definitely has its perks.

Remembering Savannah’s fit as she tried to smash my unbreakable glass, after getting shocked by the lock pad, tugs at my lips. It makes me wish I’d put cameras in my bedroom, like I did every other room in this place, so I could’ve seen the look of outrage on her face when she got zapped. But cameras in my bedroom are a level of privacy I’m not willing to cross.

I don’t bring a lot of women here, but filming unsuspecting sexual partners is fucked up, and far too close to trafficking for me to be comfortable with.

But stealing women to marry them…

I brush away that thought. Savannah will have a nice life here. I’m sure of it. And so long as she doesn’t try to fingerprint her way out of a room again, she won’t get hurt.

I only knew it happened to her in the first place, because I get notifications anytime a non-approved print is pressed to the pad for more than a second. And that same timeframe is how long it takes before that non-approved print gets the voltage treatment. It’s not enough to really hurt, but it’s enough to let the person know to stop trying.

The way she glared at me when I caught the statue she threw at me…

I clear my throat, and use my hold on her to urge her into the office ahead of me.

I’m about to blackmail Savannah into marrying me, so I can’t let her see me smiling. She needs to believe the threat I’m about to present her with. And since I just saved her from physical harm, I need to lean into the bad guy persona.

“Sit.” My tone is sharp.

She starts toward one of the rarely used guest chairs, but I stop her and point behind my desk.

Slowly, she makes her way around the desk and lowers herself into my chair.

The monitors are all black, and I leave them that way as I unlock the tablet that I left sitting on the desktop and hand it to her.

She takes it, looking up at me, then back down to the screen filled with thumbnail images.

Before she clicks on the first image, causing it to fill the screen, I move around so I’m standing behind her. This ensures she can’t get up and run again. But it also makes it so I don’t see her expression.

Her shoulders stiffen as she looks at her parents.

I listen to her breathing hitch as she swipes, over and over, seeing image after image.

Close, far, candid, formal. Photos clearly from social media. Photos clearly not from social media, ones meant to stay private.

Photos with her.

Photos of houses she’d recognize.

Photos of cars she’d recognize.

And then, the next time she swipes, the photos change.

Burnt shells of buildings.

Scorched vehicles.

Blood stains on concrete.

Alliance hits.

When her hands start to shake so bad that she has trouble swiping to the next image I lean over her shoulder and turn my monitors on. And all at once, her personal life appears before her eyes.

Her house. Her minivan. Her income history. Her current bank statements. Her phone logs. Her dating profiles, that haven’t been active for nearly a year. Her driving record. Her medical history.

The sound that leaves her is nothing short of devastated. A combination of a cry and a whimper.

I lean back over her, turning the screens off and taking the tablet from her grip.

“You’ll marry me.” My voice is steady, but I’m glad her head is tipped down and she can’t see my face. Because I’m certain my expression shows the disgust I feel toward myself.

Savannah nods. It’s slow and jerky, but it’s an agreement.

It’s what I wanted.