The Lonely King

Chapter Eight

I walked out of my bedroom to start to make dinner for me and Nick. I felt as though something was off— like something was going to happen.

I tried to shake off the feeling, but my intuition was persistent.

Suddenly, a hand came over my mouth and pushed me against a wall. The hand left my mouth, and I was about to scream, until I felt cold metal press into my neck. One wrong move, and I could die.

Fear pulsed though my body. I knew never to look into the eyes of a criminal from all the crime shows and books, but I didn't really have the option since he told me to look at him and pressed the cold knife farther into my skin when I didn't. I was worried that any farther, and my skin would be cut, and I would bleed out.

"Well, what do we have here?" He chuckled. "I didn't know he keeps a girl around in his house. You must be special. The only other time I've seen him with a girl was when he drank a little too much and took a girl home for a night. Never again after that though, so you must be really special."

I made a face of disgust.

"I wonder what he would think if he saw you on the floor in a pool of your own blood. I would sure love to find out." He smirked.

"What's your name?" I just gave him a hard glare. He chuckled and pressed the knife farther. "Well?"

"Hailey." I quickly told him the first name that came to mind.

"Hmmm... Hailey." He paused. "What should I do with you?"

Suddenly, I heard a click.

"You won't do anything if you value your life." A voice I knew chimed in. I flickered my eyes toward it and saw Nick pointing a gun directly at the man with a knife.

The man just chuckled. "She's a beautiful lady with an extremely sexy body. Mind if I have a go before I kill her?"

"Don't even think out it." Nick growled out, his eyes filling with fury.

"Why not? Maybe her last words should be screaming my name in pure pleasure?" He teased. I gulped.

"I will fucking kill you if you even touch her."

The man with the knife started to laugh. I noticed the knife was looser over my neck and took the opportunity to knee him where the sun don't shine.

He toppled over, releasing the knife. I quickly kicked it away and ran to pick it up. Nick came closer to the man.

"You just signed your death sentence." He told him. The man tried to hit Nick, but he was quick to catch it and hit his head with the gun, knocking out the man who previously held me against the wall.

Nick suddenly turned to me.

"Are you hurt? Are you okay?" He rushed out, before wrapping his arms around me.

In that moment, everything rushed back. All the emotion caught up with me. I started to cry.

Nick held me tighter after carefully slipping the knife out of my hands.

He led me downstairs to the living room couch. He held me close to him as I thought about what happened.

He was yelling over the phone to different people. One of which was someone to get the body and to a warehouse; I assumed he'd be tortured and killed.

Some men walked into the house and later left with the body, and I noticed maids heading upstairs and then back down a little later.

I just sat in silence as he cleaned everything up. I had my arms wrapped around his torso, tightly, like he was my safety anchor, and if I let go, I'll be a goner.

The doorbell suddenly rang, my body tensing up. Nick made a move to get up, but I just held on to him tighter.

"Mary! Get the door!" He yelled. Mary was a maid. She's a nice, old lady. I saw her walk into the living room and place food on the coffee table. Nick reached for it and started to unpack it.

"I ordered take-out since we would probably be hungry." I nodded, still overthinking. He sighed. "I'll get you something to make you feel better."

He got up, and for the moments he was gone, I felt anxious. He came back with bourbon and a glass. He poured some of the alcohol into the glass and gave it to me. I took it from him and downed it.

Together, we ate, and I drank. By the time we were done, I was drunk— not the type of drunk where you dance in table tops or scream out of limousine sunroofs, but the type of drunk where you fall asleep because you're tired of your problems— and he knew it. He cut me off and cleaned everything up.

Once he came back, I was almost asleep. My eyes were closed, but my mind was still there. He picked me up and carried me to my room. He laid me down on m bed and stroked my hair with his fingers.

I heard one last thing before I fell into a slumber.

"I'll figure this out. You'll be safe." He whispered.