Slay King (Georgia Smoke #2) Read Online Abbi Glines

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: Georgia Smoke Series by Abbi Glines
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Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
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“Go to the back,” Maeme demanded.

Turning, I saw her walking down the stairs with a hard look on her face I’d never seen before.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as panic slowly began to unfurl in my chest.

Her eyes were locked on the door, then quickly swung to the front windows. “Get away from the windows!” she barked at me.

Scratch that. I was now scared. No, make that panicked.

I moved, but I didn’t leave. I waited on Maeme. I wasn’t going without her. If there was danger outside, I had to protect her. She wasn’t just King’s grandmother; she was my family too.

“Rumor! Go!”

I shook my head. “Not without you.”

With a firm set of her mouth, she studied me for only a moment, then waved a hand toward the stairs. “Get in the closet under there.”

I shook my head again. “Not without you,” I repeated. “Do I need to call the police?”

The expression that flashed across her face looked as if I had just asked her if she’d like a piece of pie. “Lord, no. That ain’t gonna do no good. Don’t call anyone. Just get under them stairs.”

“I’m not—” I started, but she cut me off, waving her hand as she swung her gaze to the door as the bell rang.

“Shit,” she whispered, moving toward the door. “Stay there. Do not move,” she said quietly before she lifted her other hand, and I saw it then. A gun. She’d had it the entire time, but I hadn’t been looking at her side.

There was a click as she aimed it at the door with one hand, then used her other to open it.

As I stepped back, my eyes widened. What was she doing?

“Can I help you?” she asked in a hard tone that made me shiver and wrap my arms around my waist.

“Yes, ma’am,” a deep voice replied. “I hope so.”

“Better make it quick. I don’t want to be stuck cleaning up blood off my porch.”

The gunshot that went off wasn’t from Maeme. It was farther away.

“Fuck,” the man said.

“Not quick enough,” she drawled. “Seems one of my boys is already here.”

“I’m just looking for someone,” he said, no longer sounding friendly.

“Only person here is me. Now, you can go before that one out there decides to aim at you instead of just giving you a warning. He’s not what we consider sane.”

I couldn’t move. I was glued to the spot. Unsure of what was happening, but no longer worried about Maeme, who clearly had it under control.

“You got two goddamn seconds to get off that porch.” Thatcher’s voice carried in the house from outside.

I sank against the wall beside me then, letting out a sigh of relief. Although Maeme had a gun, the fact that Thatcher was outside made me feel a million times better. The man at the door should run like hell.

Maeme stepped outside, closing the door behind her. What was she doing? She wasn’t needed out there. I moved toward the window, trying to make sure she was okay.

By the time I made it to the window, all I could see was Thatcher walking away with his gun pressed against the man’s head. Searching for Maeme, I found her on the top porch step with her gun still aimed as her gaze scanned the yard. I sucked in a breath as the sound of a gun went off. Maeme’s shoulders moved with the sound, and her arms barely jerked. A dark figure in the distance dropped to the ground.

“Get that out of my yard,” she shouted before she turned and came back toward the door.

Stunned, I stood there as she stepped inside, scowling.

Her eyes found me the moment she closed the door, then narrowed. “I told you to get away from that window. They’re bulletproof, but there ain’t no need to test it.”

I opened my mouth and closed it, then turned back to the window, staring out at the body in the yard. “Is … is … he dead?” I asked in a whisper.

“Of course he is. I don’t shoot to maim,” she replied. “Now, get away from the window, and let’s go get you a cup of warm tea, then get you to bed.”

“Bed?” I asked, my head still spinning.

“I reckon it’s past both our bedtimes,” she replied. “How’s chamomile sound to you? Or did you like that peppermint tea I made you earlier?”

Tea? She was asking me about tea? There was a dead man outside in her yard that she’d killed. And Thatcher had another one with him that might be dead by now. I blinked several times.

“Come now,” she replied. “They knew better than to come here. It’s what happens.”

“What happens?” I asked, stunned. “But … he … was asking about … he could have been lost. Or … ” I couldn’t seem to make my words come out clearly.



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