Vengeful King

Vengeful King CORRUPT KINGDOM #3 SOPHIE WINTERS Copyright © 2022 by Sophie Winters All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. For the readers and dreamers out there. Contents 1. Katrina 2. Lachlan 3. Katrina 4. Lachlan 5. Katrina 6. Lachlan 7. Katrina 8. Lachlan 9. Katrina 10. Lachlan 11. Katrina 12. Lachlan 13. Katrina 14. Lachlan 15. Katrina 16. Lachlan 17. Katrina 18. Lachlan 19. Katrina 20. Lachlan 21. Katrina 22. Katrina 23. Lachlan 24. Katrina 25. Lachlan 26. Katrina 27. Lachlan 28. Katrina 29. Lachlan 30. Katrina 31. Katrina 32. Lachlan 33. Katrina 34. Lachlan 35. Katrina 36. Lachlan 37. Katrina 38. Lachlan Epilogue: Katrina Also by Sophie Winters CHAPTER 1 Katrina Light shines through the window next to me. There are birds chirping, trees shivering in the breeze. It’s picture perfect. A good day. I want to enjoy it. Despite the antiseptic smell around me, the unmistakable aura of impending death, I want to just enjoy this day. I look at the bedside table next to me. The name of the facility is there, on a notepad one of the orderlies must have left behind. Green Hills. There aren’t really any hills here, but it can be green when there’s been enough rain. It is now. Now, with the green and the sunshine, I’m sitting beside my mother’s bed. The bed she’s been in for years. And if I really think about it, I know she’s not going to leave ever again. But I try not to think about that if I can help it. I watch her face as she looks out the window, smiling. She’s more lucid than normal today, her gray eyes almost as clear as mine. The color is almost all gone from her hair; she’s fading out, but this isn’t one of those moments. Right now, she’s here. Solid. It’s hard to describe to someone who doesn’t know what Alzheimer’s is like. How it sucks the color out of you. It sucks the color out of my world, too. It just sucks. I try to push the thoughts away. I know I should savor this moment, now, with her. She’s awake and aware, which is more than I can say for most days. I have to try to enjoy this right now. Even if I know it’s going to end. “Robert didn’t come with you?” My eyes dart up to her face. I hold my breath for a second, looking for that loss—a glazing over in her eyes, an unsteady cadence to her words. I don’t see anything. I shake my head and try to think of what to say. “No. No, Dad’s working. But he’ll visit soon.” She smiles, turning back to the window. Maybe she’s remembering something about my dad, about their youth. About their marriage. I wish I could ask her about it. I wish she could give me some reason why my father left both of us, years ago. But I don’t count on men anymore. Or people. I know everyone will screw you over given the chance, and I can’t say that I care that my father is gone. For all I know, he would have screwed over my mother and me. No. It’s fine like this. I’m the only one I can trust. “He should visit,” my mother says, nodding once, definitively. “And bring Casey. He should meet your father, don’t you think? You’ve been dating long enough.” Not anymore. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll see if we can come together next time.” It’s a lie. I broke up with Casey two months ago; he was an asshole. He was always asking why I visited my mother at all if she was ‘gone.’ As if I was supposed to stop caring about her just because she got sick. “Whatever happened to his cat?” “She’s fine, mom.” “I wonder if they’d let him bring her. I’d love to see her.” I try to smile; it feels stiff and achy. “I’ll ask. That would be nice.” Casey’s cat was hit by a car. He was one of those crazy people that believed cats belong outside, and his cat was always narrowly escaping death. Cars, wild animals, and whatever other threats roam the streets of Boston. I wasn’t surprised when it happened. I was surprised when he laughed about it. That’s around the time I broke up with him. “What was her name?” This time, I stop breathing. I look at my mother, and I can see it start to happen. She’s fading. I swallow hard and try to push down my despair, fear, and anger. I watch her eyes grow hazy. She’s trying, struggling to access a memory that probably feels just out of reach. But for her, it’s gone. Like she is. She’s gone. I never used to think about what made people who they are. Now, with my mother fading more every day, I know. She’s not herself anymore; she’s not the same woman. The memories that made her who she was are gone, permanently. They’ve disappeared. She’s only an echo of herself now. It’s a prolonged death, and it feels like hell. It feels like I’m watching her die a little bit day by day. My mother turns to look at me, and I know in a second that she doesn’t see me for who I am. Her eyes slide right over me. She smiles vapidly, patting my hand where it lies on the corner of her bed. She doesn’t keep eye contact; she turns to look out the window. I’m a stranger to her now. But still, I try. “I’ll ask. About the cat,” I say. She turns