I shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I’m just the middleman.”
Miranda shook her head. “Uh-uh. I know King. He’s a lot of things, but he’s never desperate, and he never makes deals with such a short deadline.”
“I’m sure King has his reasons.” I was sliding fast. Hang on. Don’t panic.
“Doubtful,” she said bitterly. “What the fuck are you trying to pull on me, you little bitch?” She stepped in closer, and I felt the air begin to charge with static.
I tried to maintain my game face, but it was almost impossible. What would King do?
He’d laugh.
So I did the same. “I heard a lot of things about you, Miranda, but paranoid or frightened wasn’t one of them.” I glanced at my watch. “I’ve got to go make some deliveries. I’ll let King know you’re not interested.”
I walked around her, avoiding her toxic gaze as I passed, and headed for the front door.
“I want to speak to him,” she said.
Damn. The woman was calling my bluff.
Or is she? Perhaps it was another test.
“Pfff…” I looked her up and down. “Call him yourself. But you and I both know King doesn’t discuss business over the phone. Knock yourself out, though.” That was not something I knew for certain, but Mack had mentioned that Club “deals” were generally done in person.
“Fine. Deal,” she blurted. “But tell King, if I do manage to get a hold of that hand, he has one week to kill Vaughn after I deliver. And I want to be there. I want to watch.”
I smiled at her provocatively to buy some time. Really, though, I was thinking about how Mack and King would handle this request. They never gave or got anything for free. “Watching wasn’t part of the offer.”
She threw out her hip and parked her fist. “What do you want?”
Crap. Crap. Crap. What do I want? It has to be something 10 Club-worthy, something demented and inappropriate.
I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head. “Have your boy-toy deliver the hand to King’s office in San Francisco, six hours.”
“You want Edward?” she scoffed.
Oh my God. Why did I say that? What would I do if she said yes? I’d be the owner of a boy-toy. Please counteroffer. Please say no!
She cocked her head slightly to the right and crossed her arms. “Why? He’s got no backbone, and he’s only good for one fuck a night.”
I cringed inwardly. This was a sick conversation. “Who says I want him for sex? I have King for that.” A lie. “But I’ve got some gardening I need done, and your boy will look nice in a pair of cutoffs.”
She shrugged. “Fine. Deal.”
Dammit! No! I didn’t want to own anyone. Why had I said that? I could’ve asked for whisky. Or champagne. Or shoes. But I asked for her guy?
I’m an idiot.
Yes, and you really need to leave now before you say anything else wrong.
I nodded as if dismissing her. “Nice doing business with you.” I was about to add “don’t be late,” but I didn’t want to push my luck, so I simply headed out toward the SUV with Arno on my red designer heels.
As soon as we were in the car and pulling out of the driveway, I let loose a, “Holyfuckinghell. That lady is so frigging scary! Did you see the look on her face? I thought she was going to bite off my ears or something.”
Arno made a little shrug, but said nothing. His cage wasn’t the least bit rattled?
I sighed. Clearly, I was behaving like a rookie. “Never mind. Thanks for staying close.”
He bowed his head. “You are welcome, Miss Turner.”
All right. One hand down. One spell and two murders to go.
I winced, realizing how casually that dastardly thought had flowed through my head. Who was I becoming? A liar? A murderer? A person who would do anything to get what they wanted?
You’re becoming like them, Mia. Only without a horrible fetish or public office.
I glanced out the window, attempting to morally navigate my way through this mess as we made our way down the winding road back toward the airport. It was ironic, in a way, how severely I’d judged King when we first met. I assumed so much about him—he was a sadistic, arrogant, cold-hearted man who cared only for himself—though, I suppose some of my assumptions were justified. After all, the first night we’d met, he practically forced himself on me after mistaking me for a call girl. But when I stepped back and took a good, hard look, the scenery before me was beginning to take a different shape. The things King did were no longer as shocking as I’d once thought. Okay, lots of his little tricks and turns were still pretty frightening, but I almost felt like I was purposefully being placed in King’s shoes.
Within the span of a few hours, I’d negotiated to own a person and planned to murder two. All because I wanted to save those I loved, those I cared for and felt loyal to, while avoiding being tortured myself.
Maybe I wasn’t so different from King after all.
Oh, come on, Mia. You would never remove a couple of guys’ heads and plunk them in jars.
Really? But you’ll bargain to kill someone just to get a hand?
Yeah, but Vaughn is evil and…I shook my head. There I’d gone, justifying my horrific actions again.
Well, if I took away any one thing from these last few hours, it was that judging others before you’ve taken the time to fully understand their circumstances only made you an arrogant bastard. Because now I’d begun to see that the line between good and bad was far more blurred than I’d ever imagined.
So where was the real line? Was it murdering a good person versus someone who might deserve a horrible fate? Was the line a jagged illusion, only dictated by one’s own moral compass?
I didn’t know. But I was about to find out.
How far could I walk in King’s shoes before I was the person searching for salvation?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Callias has made me a happy woman. Last night, he promised to take the life of Draco so that he and I can be united. Yes, Callias will be my king, and I the queen of the brother who was truly meant to rule. All that remains to be done is ensure Draco’s death.
I begged Callias to slip hemlock into Draco’s drink or food, but true to Callias’s fearless nature, he will challenge Draco publically. A fight to the death. Though equal in size and build as my mighty Callias—after all, they are twin brothers—Draco does not have the heart of a warrior. He will not last but a few breaths before Callias takes his head.
I thank the gods for blessing me in finding Callias.
“I’m impressed, Miss Turner. You did well back there,” said a deep voice coming from the airplane seat beside me.
“King.” I placed my right hand over my accelerated heart. “You scared the crap out of me.”
Of course, it wasn’t really him. Why did my brain insist on doing this?
I thought about it for a moment. I suppose I still struggled to accept this new reality, which is why my brain kept inventing these little fantasies. Regardless, did he have to look so incredibly irresistible? He still wore black slacks and that partially unbuttoned tux shirt, which gave me a glimpse of his heavenly chest. And the way his large body took up the seat beside me—large, muscular thighs wide open, broad shoulders and a straight back—exuded an alluring confidence.
“Not my intention, I promise you.” He looked ahead, the muscles in his square, unshaved jaw ticking away. “Have you thought through the next part of your plan?”
I shrugged. “Well, I have to wait and see if Miranda delivers. In the meantime, I need to go through your catalog and find the serum—by the way, is it really Cleopatra’s blood?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Why would it be?” I countered. “Never mind. Not like you’d know anyways since I’m making you up.”
He flashed a grin. “Yes, indeed.”
“And it’s not like you could tell me where to find it. Or the ‘magic hands’ recipe. Or the poison. So I guess that’s wha
t I’ll be doing for the next few hours.”
He scoffed. “You should be running. Miranda will double-cross you or kill you if you don’t deliver on your end of the deal—which you will not because you are not strong enough to kill Vaughn.”
“I’m going to ask your powerbroker guy to take him out in exchange for the stuff in your warehouse.”
King’s nostrils flared, and his dark brows pulled together. “You’re going to do what?” The made-up King appeared genuinely mad. And why wouldn’t he be? That’s exactly how the real King would react.
“It was Mack’s suggestion. Not mine. By the way,” I said casually, almost enjoying this strange therapy session with…well, myself, I supposed, “did I tell you how hard it is being you? I have no clue how you keep track of everything—all of the deals and debts and who has what and who to ask to do what. It’s crazy.”
King nodded in agreement. “I have a lot of practice.”
“Speaking of crazy—aside from the fact I’m sitting here on your plane, speaking to a pretend version of you that looks just like the real you—why am I reading this book? Is this your story? Are you Callias?”
King simply stared at me. “Why do you think I wanted you to read the book?”
“My best guess?”
He nodded.
“I think there’s something in this story you’re hoping will teach me a lesson or convince me what a horrible person you are. I think you want me to see that you’re not worth saving so that I’ll turn my back on you and try to save myself.”
“That would be a very good guess.” King ran his large hands through his perfectly combed, thick black hair.
“And you’d be right,” I said. “How in the world could you brand me as your…your…”
“As mine?” he asked and looked away toward the window. But there was nothing to see. It was pitch black out, and the sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or so. It annoyed me that he wouldn’t look me in the eyes, even if he was just a fantasy.
“Yes,” I seethed. “But the ‘mine’ part in your mind insinuates more than just being your property, which was bad enough.”
“You are referring to the sexual aspects?” He finally looked at me with those luminescent gray eyes, and it nearly stopped my heart. There was something about his directness that always unsettled me.
“Yes.” Now I was the one who had to look away, but King wasn’t having it. He gripped my chin and turned my head, forcing me to close my eyes.
“Look at me, Mia,” he commanded in that deep, angry voice that sent goose bumps soaring over my skin. “Look at me,” he repeated.
I sighed and opened my eyes. King’s powerful, hypnotic gaze instantly took hold and hobbled my ability to think straight. It felt like the rest of the world simply melted away, leaving him and me, and no one else.
“I want you, Mia. If you do not want me back, then I cannot force you. However, I will not share you with another.”
It wasn’t rational or something I felt proud of, but hearing such a powerful man—even this made-up version of him—say those possessive words produced a potent, sinful heat that charged straight through my core and between my legs. Being near him broke down my resolve and my ability to rationalize. It decimated my determination not to touch that flame, despite knowing its dangers. All of a sudden, I wasn’t Mia Turner—a thinking, breathing, real-life person with a family—I was simply…his. Nothing more. And I was all he ever wanted or needed.
“That’s what doesn’t make any sense, King,” my voice trembled. “How did you go from me not being your type to wanting me like this?”
His eyes focused on my lips as he took a moment to form his words, scratching the thick, black stubble on his angular jaw, something King always seemed to do when he battled inside his brain.
“I knew,” he finally said, his eyes locking onto mine, causing slight heart palpitations in my chest, “that I wanted you from that first moment. Something about the way you resisted me, that defiant look in your eyes—you should’ve been afraid of me, but were not. And when I saw my own reflection in your gaze, the colors of my soul staring back, I knew what you were. I knew I would have to make you mine.”
Don’t get sucked in, Mia. You know this isn’t really what you want.
“I’m not yours, King. That’s the point. You put a tattoo, without my permission, on my wrist. That doesn’t entitle you to anything.”
King’s voice deepened, sounding more determined to make me hear the truth in his words. “I did not take placing my mark on you lightly, Mia. I struggled for weeks with my conscience. I could let you go or take the steps to make you mine—something you had already agreed to.”
“I didn’t understand the terms,” I argued.
“You should have asked. But now you know who I am. And now you know that being in my world will ruin you. Now you know that I didn’t care. I marked you anyway.”
The horrible, unsightly point to this conversation wasn’t something I didn’t already know. He was selfish and uncaring. However, deep down inside, I really wanted to believe that King could be a good man.
Maybe that’s what your mind is wrestling with, Mia. King could be good or bad, but not both.
King stood in the center aisle, head touching the cabin’s ceiling. He cleared his throat, and his body language stiffened. “And now you’ve accomplished what I’d hoped.”
“Which is?” I looked up at him from my seat, feeling the full effects of his intimidating size and presence.
“You’ve argued yourself into a corner that clearly establishes why you must run. You cannot beat Vaughn at his games, but if you succeed and manage to save me, you’re only fighting for a fate you do not desire: being mine. Because I will not let you go.”
Ugh. I shook my head. “I can’t run, you moron.”
Anger flickered in his eyes. “And why not?”
“I know you disagree, but I think Vaughn will come after me. Then there’s the fact I can’t leave my family, especially my mother. I have no choice but to try to fix this. And…” I felt ridiculous saying my next thought aloud.
“Yes? Go on, Miss Turner.”
“A part of me feels obligated to save you after what you did for her. And my brother.” Yes, I understood he had ulterior motives—to win me over—but he’d done the kind deeds, nonetheless, including being there to defend me against Vaughn when I needed him. “I’m even grateful for what you did for me. Although, I never would have needed your help if you hadn’t sent me to that stupid party in the first place.”
King sighed. “I concede that I underestimated Vaughn’s ferocity. My ego sometimes blinds me.”
“Ha.” I chuckled. “That’s because it’s so damned huge.”
King shot me a look. “I thought you were through judging me.”
Yes. That’s what I’d been thinking about in the car to the airport after leaving Miranda’s. And, of course, made-up King would know that because he’s a product of my imagination.
“I’m not judging,” I argued. “I’m stating the obvious; there’s a difference. Saying you have a big ego is like saying you have beautiful eyes.”
“You think my eyes are beautiful?”
I began twirling the diamond ring on my finger. “Yeah. Most of you is pretty gorgeous. But I’ll try not to hold it against you. Especially the part about you living on champagne and cigars.”
His eyes flashed to the ring. “Do you like it?”
I made a noncommittal shrug. “Why did you give it to me?” I asked.
“Why do you think?”
“King? Can you answer the question?”
King leaned down, placing his hands on the armrests on either side of my lap, and kissed me. His lips were hot and sensual. His tongue was soft and warm. At first, I didn’t kiss him back. It felt strange allowing this fantasy to go in such an intimate direction, but as his sensual mouth moved over mine, I still melted for him as I had every other time he’d kissed me.
King slowly pul
led back and gazed into my eyes. Made up or not, he was still sinfully handsome, especially those pale gray eyes.
I sighed. “If only the real King were this sweet.”
“Maybe he is after you get to know him.”
I laughed. “King is many things, but sweet is not one of them.”
“Right you are. And yet another reason you should run, Miss Turner.”
“You sound like Mack, but I’m not running, so drop it.”
King made a little nod. “Very well, then. But just remember what Mack told you, Mia. I will never share you. I will never trade you. I will never leave you. You are mine, and I will not let you go.”
Those words felt like a ton of bricks, filled with lust and adrenaline and fear, dropped on my head. The thought of him wanting me in such an absolute manner felt terrifying, yet at the same time, sparked a deep, dark satisfaction.
I took several moments to catch my breath and clear my throat. “You’ll have to. Because my saving you doesn’t mean I accept being yours.”
“Accept being whose?” asked a deep voice.
I glanced at the large man standing in the cockpit doorway, then towards King, who had disappeared and couldn’t be seen by Arno anyway.
Because you’re crazy and talking to yourself. “I’m crazy and talking to myself.”
“Very good,” Arno said in that unusual accent and then dipped his head. “We will be landing shortly.”
“Thanks.” He turned to leave. “By the way, where are you from, exactly, Arno?”
“I am from the island of Crete. Same as King.” He disappeared into the cockpit.
King was from Greece?
~~
“Did you know that King is Greek?” I asked Mack, who squinted at me with one eye from his hospital bed.
“My surgery went fine. Thanks for asking.”
I shook my head and pulled up a chair alongside his bed. “Sorry. I’m really spacy. I need sleep.”