Royal Distraction by Lucy McConnell (love story novels in english TXT) 📗

beneath his chest and called her names that would make her mother blush. She clawed at the carpet in an effort to get away, but he was too heavy.

Chapter Seventeen

Tatum wasn’t trying to kill Mahana—though he’d considered the option was available and he might want to take it. As soon as the purple-faced man went slack, he relaxed his hold, allowing enough oxygen into his system to keep him alive but not let him wake up. The would-be murderer would be out for a few minutes, and when he came to, he’d have a massive migraine.

He lifted his pounding head to find the brute lying halfway under the table, one small brown foot poking out from under his arm. Without even thinking, Tatum pulled his gun and shot the brute in the back of both knees. His firearm was quieter than the other two that had gone off in the room that absorbed sound. The thick carpet, the paneled walls, the heavy drapes were all meant to absorb sound and keep it from seeping through the walls. Unless a staff member was on the other side of the door, they were unlikely to be alerted to the emergency by the thundering nose that accompanied a bullet.

The brute screamed like a muddy pig, his hands flying towards his legs.

“I never liked you,” Tatum growled. Neese’s foot was still trapped beneath the man. “Let her go or I’ll shoot again.”

With as much noise as he could make, the brute rocked to the side. Tatum couldn’t see his face because of the tablecloth. He could only imagine the hatred pouring from those black and soulless eyes.

The foot disappeared, giving Tatum’s strained heart a break, and a moment later Nyssa popped up on the other side of the table, her hair a mess and her eyes wild.

Relief like he’d never known before filled his limbs with sparklers. He spied her purse on the table and tossed it in her direction. “Call the queen—there may still be time.” He darted across the room and hit the panic button, then hurried back.

Neese’s hands were surprisingly steady, considering what she’d been through. He’d seen men crumble at less. His princess was made of tough stock. He yearned to gather her into his arms and check over every inch of her for injury.

He circled the table and took her elbow, moving her out of the reach of the brute, who moaned. She dialed the number and clicked on the speakerphone, then sent a text while she waited.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Each ring killed Tatum’s hopes that they’d be able to stop what was happening. He put an arm around Neese, knowing she may be the only surviving member of her family. He couldn’t imagine.

“Heaven help them,” she pleaded, and hit redial.

Tatum released her and fished his phone out. He called 911 and requested police and ambulances, describing the wounds as best he could. There was a loud bang on the door. The staff couldn’t respond to his call. Mahana must have locked it when he came in.

The prince moaned, moving his hand to his eyes.

“Thank goodness,” breathed Neese, her hand on her chest. She hurried to the prince and Tatum let her go, uncertain if she ran out of concern for a friend or a lover. She leaned over Marius, her hair pooling next to his cheek, and spoke softly. “Help is on the way.” Her phone continued to ring on speaker.

Tatum’s eyes bounced back and forth between the princess and prince. Were they meant to be together? She’d known of his brother’s wedding, and he suspected they’d grown up building sand castles and chasing crabs.

Tatum bent down to roll the prince over. The sticky stain on his clothing began at his shoulder, strangely close to where Tatum’s scar resided. “It’s a shoulder wound. He should be fine.” He handed the princess his gun and used a cloth napkin to staunch the bleeding. “He needs help.” He felt sick to his stomach, wondering if he was saving Nyssa’s future husband.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall with such force the sheetrock splintered. Breathing became harder. The assassin stood in the doorway, brandishing a long knife and a smile full of payback.

Tatum came to his feet. He was so mixed up about what was going on with Neese, that he had no patience for this guy. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“You know him?” Nyssa asked, the gun tucked behind her back.

“He tried to kill my assignment four months ago and shot me instead,” explained Tatum as she turned.

“You cost me two million dollars that day, and I’m gonna take it out of your skin.”

Tatum shook his head. “Look, it’s been a long day at work.” He waved to the bodies littering the floor. The assassin’s forehead wrinkled, and once again Tatum was surprised by how strange that looked when he didn’t have eyebrows to move.

“This is normal for you?” asked Nyssa.

Tatum wagged his head from side to side. “Basically.”

“When were you going to tell me you are a bodyguard?” she demanded.

Tatum gave the assassin a shrug that said, What can I do about her?

The assassin stared at them, confusion painting his face the color of stupid. Their argument wasn’t something he counted on and it was messing with his head. He also had to be thinking of that awful cut on his arm. There was no way he had full use of it yet, though he didn’t wear a sling like Tatum had had to do for the first six weeks. The guy was out for blood and he was desperate and sloppy—two things that made him dangerous but also made him dumber than a box of rocks. Tatum didn’t want to engage with the man because it wouldn’t be a fair fight. But if the guy started something, Tatum would finish it.

“When were you going to tell me you’re a princess?” Tatum shot back.

Nyssa bobbed one knee and cocked her hip. “I didn’t want to tell