King Novel novel Chapter 53

Chapter 53

1 fucking hate this day.

It’s the kind of day that grinds you down to dust–one inconvenience at a time until you’re two seconds away from committing a felony just to get the universe to cut you some slack.

First, I humiliated myself in front of the entire office during my first day. Then I found out he is coming to the city Lycan King, the ghost who ripped my heart out and walked away like it was a favor.

Enoch. Fucking Enoch.

Goddamnit, I don’t even know his last name.

The rain is pouring hard outside and I glance down.

the

For thirty minutes now, I’m locked out of my shitty apartment, staring at the door as if I can manifest telekinesis through sheer, simmering rage.

I jiggle the handle harder, biting down a snarl. The lock doesn’t budge. My keys sit on the kitchen counter inside–right next to the half–empty bottle of cheap wine I was supposed to drown my misery in.

Of course, they do.

“Perfect,” I mutter, smacking my forehead against the door with a hollow thunk. “Fucking perfect. Love that for me.”

I exhale slowly through my nose, forcing down the panic bubbling under my ribs. I could call maintenance – but knowing my luck, they’d take three hours to show up and charge me half my rent for the pleasure of unlocking my own goddamn door.

Option two: break a window.

Tempting – but considering this apartment is hanging by a thread between livable and crack den chic, I’m not convinced the window wouldn’t just shatter into toxic dust the second I touched it.

Option three: camp outside like a pathetic little stray until morning.

I glance down at my crumpled blouse, the coffee stain dried into a sad brown blotch near my boob. Yeah, I’m one missing shoe away from full–blown Disney princess breakdown territory.

A door creaks open behind me.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

–

I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is because the universe clearly has a hard–on for kicking me when I’m

down.

Liam fucking Beckett.

Of course.

Because if there’s one thing this day needed, it’s my boss–slash–neighbor–slash–certified pain in the ass witnessing my rock bottom in real time.

“You lost the key to your kingdom, Your Highness?”

grind my teeth, slowly turning to face him. He’s leaning against his doorway like the world’s i

infuriating male model

—-

tousled hair, gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, plain white T–shirt stretched across lean muscle. Casual. Effortless.

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Completely unaware that every woman in this building probably thinks about riding his face at least twice a week.

I wouldn’t know anything about that. Obviously.

I cross my arms, trying to pretend I don’t feel like a half–wet dog left out in the rain. “What are you doing here?”

He lifts a brow. “I live here”

Smartass.

I scowl, heat prickling under my skin. “I meant, why aren’t you out feeding on the tears of interns or sacrificing virgins to the journalism gods or whatever the fuck you do after hours?”

Liam’s mouth twitches, the corner of his lips tugging up like he’s trying not to smile.

God, I hate that smirk. Hate how it makes something hot coil low in my stomach.

He’s nothing like my sweet Enoch.

“You’re in a mood.”

“No shit.” I slap my palm against the door again, rattling it in its frame. It holds firm the stubborn bastard.

Liam’s gaze flicks lazily between me and the door, enjoying this a little too much.

“Locked out?”

–

I plaster on my sweetest fake smile. “Nope. Just bonding with my door. We’re trauma–bonded now. Very intimate stuff.

actually fucking snorts

He snorts

—

– like I’m the most amusing little disaster he’s ever seen.

Dick.

“Well, don’t let me interrupt your spiritual awakening.” He turns like he’s about to walk back inside – and I swear to God, something inside me snaps.

“Wait.”

The word punches out of me before I can stop it. I immediately regret it.

Liam freezes mid–step, glancing back with one eyebrow raised.

His eyes are sharp- too sharp – like he knows exactly how badly I don’t want to need his help.

I swallow my pride. It tastes like broken glass and humiliation.

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to pick a lock, would you?”

There’s a long pause.

Liam fucking grins.

Of course he does.

Then

—

“You think I carry a lock pick set around for fun?”

I cross my arms tighter, leaning back against the wall as if I’m not internally combusting. “I think you’re the kind of guy who probably had a criminal record before he hit puberty.”

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Chapter 53

His grin widens, teeth flashing white.

“Maybe.”

Jesus Christ, is that a dimple?

I hate him. I hate him so much.

Without another word, Liam reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small, sleek leather case. He flips it open with practiced ease, revealing a set of lockpicks gleaming against the black lining.

1 blink.

“What the actual fuck-”

“Old habit.” He kneels by the lock, fingers moving quick and precise. The muscles in his forearms flex under the fabric of his shirt, veins tracing up his wrists.

I force myself to look away. Definitely not staring. Nope.

“Should I be concerned that my boss moonlights as a criminal?”

Liam’s lips twitch again, but he doesn’t look up.

“Relax, Sinclair. I only break into the apartments of damsels in distress.”

I snort. “Bold of you to assume I’m a damsel.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re not.”

My mouth opens

Dick. Again.

–

then snaps shut.

The lock clicks open with a soft snick.

Liam stands, brushing off his hands. I stare at the open door, then back at him.

“You… you actually just carry that around?”

He shrugs, already heading back to his own apartment. “Never know when you’ll need it.”

“That’s not sketchy at all.”

He glances over his shoulder, something dark flickering behind those too–sharp eyes.

“Depends on who’s asking.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. For a second, the hallway feels smaller – the air thicker. As though maybe I should be more scared of him than I am.

But then the moment’s gone.

Liam disappears behind his door, leaving me standing there – flushed, flustered, and way too fucking curious.

I should forget about it.

I should forget about him.

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Chapter 53

But I know myself and I know my stupid, stubborn little journalist brain.

Liam Beckett just became a puzzle I have no business solving.

And I am absolutely going to rip him apart piece by piece.

I step inside my apartment, shutting the door behind me. The lock clicks too loud in the silence.

My heart is still beating faster than it should be.

+53

I lean back against the door, clutching the necklace hanging around my throat – the one I haven’t taken off since the day he left.

Enoch is coming to this city.

Enoch.

My Enoch.

My chest seizes so hard I have to press a hand to the wall to steady myself.

No. Not mine.

Not anymore.

I suck in a breath through my nose, holding it until my ribs burn–until the panic recedes enough for me to lock it down. Deep. Buried. Where it’s been for months now.

I can’t fall apart. Not here. Not again.

I’ve built myself brick by brick from the wreckage he left behind, and I’ll be damned if I let one overheard conversation shatter me all over again.

Not for him.

I kick the door shut behind me, the flimsy lock clicking into place, and peel off my jacket. My whole body aches–part from exhaustion, part from holding myself together by sheer fucking willpower.

I glance at the single bed shoved against the wall, sheets still tangled from last night’s insomnia spiral. The tiny kitchenette that barely fits a stove. The cracked plaster ceilings with cigarette burns from the last tenant.

Fresh start, my ass.

This city isn’t a clean slate–it’s a graveyard.

And I walked straight into it, hoping I could bury the ghost of him here.

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes until colors bloom behind my lids. My breathing hitches when the necklace around my throat digs into my skin–the one thing I couldn’t bring myself to throw away.

“He left this… for you.” I remember Kallias muttering as he handed me this. It stayed in my drawer for months until I had the courage

to take it out

The chain is warm where it rests against my pulse, the small iron pendant heavy between my collarbones.

His mark.

His fucking claim–even if he never knew what it meant.

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Chapter 53

I should have left it back in Riverstone. Or had it tossed it in the woods where he left me.

But I didn’t.

Because I’m still the same pathetic girl who clung to him as he was the first person who ever wanted me—who ever saw me -only to watch him walk away without a backward glance.

“Fuck you,” I whisper to the empty room, the crack in my voice betraying me.

He’s not here.

But somehow, he’s everywhere.

I strip off my clothes on autopilot, leaving them in a trail to the bathroom. The hot water kicks on after a few violent sputters, steaming the cracked mirror.

I stand under the spray long after the heat leaches out, letting it scald my skin red–as if I can burn him off me if I stay under long enough.

The memory slams into me before I can stop it.

His hands on my waist, pressing me into the creaking mattress of that shitty cabin bed. His breath hot in my ear. The sound of his voice when he forgot to hold himself back–when he wanted me and didn’t know why.

“Taryn…”

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it only makes it worse–makes him sharper.

His large caging me in. The scratch of his stubble against my neck. His hard erection on my back then. The way his fingers bruised into my hips while he dragged me down onto him, as if he couldn’t get close enough no matter how deep he fucked

1. me.

I was still wet from the first time when he rolled me onto my stomach, pinned my wrists to the bed, and pushed back inside -slow and deep, until I was biting the pillow to keep from screaming.

God.

I brace my hands against the tiles, the shower spray pounding down between my shoulder blades.

I shouldn’t still want him.

Not after everything.

Not after he left me.