King's by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
No, I knew my brother better than anyone. Even in high school when most brothers and sisters avoided each other, especially if one was a super geek—Justin—and the other had a pretty fabulous social life—me—we always hung out. I had Justin’s back, and he had mine. When we both went away to college, him to Stanford, and me to the University of Pennsylvania on a partial scholarship, we still managed to talk or email at least once a week. Justin was more than a brother; he was my best friend, even closer than Becca.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I quickly dug it out. Shit. It was my mother. I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t tell her about Justin. She’d be devastated. I’d simply have to let her continue thinking I was still in Mexico visiting Justin.
I slid the phone back inside my cold, damp coat and palmed the crinkled slip of paper the young receptionist had given me. I stopped in another doorway and used my phone to illuminate the writing. The guy’s office was back downtown, near the Financial District and about a ten-minute walk from my apartment. I looked at my watch. It was almost seven o’clock, but perhaps someone might be working late.
I came up onto the main avenue, and as if an angel were watching out for me, an empty cab stopped. Grateful for the heat and dryness, I jumped in and used the short ride to rehearse my words. Whoever this King guy was, he’d want to discuss “his price,” as the receptionist said. I had some money set aside, but not much. My student loans still sucked up a hefty portion of my income. I figured I could sell off some things—what little bit of furniture I owned and a few pieces of jewelry—but without involving my parents, it wouldn’t amount to much. That meant I’d have to negotiate.
The cab pulled up to the mouth of a dark, dead-end street that had been permanently barricaded with cement posts. It looked like one of those alleyways used for touristy outdoor cafés and restaurants during the day.
I paid the driver and found the address near the very end. There was a small lobby with nothing in it other than a directory and a stainless steel elevator. The woman hadn’t told me which suite, but two businesses occupied every floor except for the sixth, which only had the letter “K” written in the directory.
I got inside the elevator, shivering to the bone, and stared at my shabby reflection in the gleaming stainless steel door. I was a mess. My blonde waves dripped like wet spaghetti, and my camel-hair coat was in no better shape.
“Great.” I grabbed a rubber band from my purse and quickly wound my hair into a little knot at the nape of my neck. I shrugged off my coat and tucked my blouse back into my black skirt.
When the elevator doors slid open, I stepped out into another small lobby, completely empty, with only one door. I eyeballed the gold-plated plaque beside it with the letter “K” in a big bold font. This had to be it.
I tried the handle, relieved to find the door unlocked. “Hello?” I poked my head inside the empty loft with exposed pipes along the painted, white ceiling. The only light came from a lonely lamp atop an antique desk at the far end, just a few feet from another door. “Hello?”
I stepped all the way inside and instantly felt an arctic-like chill sweep through the room. Fuck. Why did I come here? The vibe was far more depressing than the space inside my head.
Suddenly, the room filled with a delicious scent. Spice with citrus and something else.
“You’re late,” said a menacingly deep voice.
“Crap!” I swiveled in my squishy red heels toward the shadow of a man lurking in the obscured corner. I couldn’t see much, but he was tall, his frame lean, but not thin. His muscular silhouette immediately put me on edge.
He stepped into the faint sphere of light radiating from the desk lamp, allowing me to get a look at some of him. He wore a nicely tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, and dark silk tie—navy blue?—however, those little details were not what my brain chose to hone in on.
His lips were full and sinfully sexy, framed by a thick, well-manicured patch of coalmine black whiskers.
“Are you K-K-King?”
“You’re dripping on my fucking floor. Don’t you own an umbrella?”
Something about the way he spoke, that heavy voice, the way it carried a certain authority, had an instant effect; it scared the shit out of me.
“Put your coat on the chair,” he demanded.
“But I—”
“We both know why you’re here. So just do it.”
Had the receptionist who’d given me his number called him? Hadn’t she said she didn’t want him to know she’d sent me?
“Is something the matter with your hearing?” His rich, syrupy male voice hadn’t risen above a shallow whisper, but the tone was more powerful than any threat.
I glanced over at the lonely desk. The only chair in the room was behind it. I walked over, thinking that this had been a mistake in a long line of mistakes I’d made that day. Still, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to save Justin, including giving my life.
I laid my coat over the back of the chair and set my purse down atop the desk. I glanced back over toward the corner—
His hot breath bathed the back of my neck, and the heat of his body pressed against me, paralyzing every muscle in my body. Oh shit.
“You’re not my usual type,” his low voice crawled into my ears, “but I think I’ll make do.” His hot hands brushed a few loose strands of my wet hair to one side, leaving behind an icy trail of tingles.
My mind quickly went into self-preservation mode. Weapon, Mia. Find a weapon. Lamp. Phone. I had a sharp heel on my shoe, I could—
He placed a slow kiss on that little spot just behind my ear. I wanted to scream; however, my instincts told me to keep calm. And when his tongue began massaging that spot, it didn’t matter what my brain said; it was as if he held some power over me.
“Mmm…” he said. “I bet you taste sweet.”
Mia, you have to fight him off. A quick blow to his ribs with my elbow or a thrust with my heel to his groin. Either would buy me time to make it to the stairs.
Shit. Where are the stairs?
His hand slipped around and cupped my breast through my damp shirt, which triggered me to make my move, but he blocked my elbow and somehow caught my wrist. I felt my bones bending from the pressure of his grip. Then, with a swiftness my mind couldn’t process, he twisted my arm behind my back and pushed me face down onto the desk.
“What are you doing?” I cried.
“What does it look like?” He pushed on my arm, and the sharp, unbearable pain of my shoulder pulling from its socket made me moan in agony.
He chuckled softly, and I felt the hardness of his stiff cock pressing into my ass. His free hand slid under my skirt, between my thighs, and cupped me from behind. His hot fingers forcefully stroked me through my panties. “How did you know I wanted to play rough tonight?”
“Please,” I begged. “I’ll do anything for Justin. But not this.”
His hand froze. “Justin?” he snarled. “Who the fuck is Justin?”
“My little brother.”
“Who sent you?” he growled.
“I—I heard about you through a friend.”
Without relinquishing his grip on my arm, he removed his hand from between my legs. He decided that grinding my head into the desk was a better option. “Who. Sent. You?”
“I’m not going to tell you,” I mumbled, half my face plastered against the polished, antique wood that smelled of stale cigars and varnish. “Do you want to talk price or not?”
He laughed, a sinister, cruel laugh, and released me. I quickly spun, ready to beat the man with my fists, but he caught my arm again, and when I looked into his eyes, I knew I’d never forget them. Not in my dreams, not in the daylight, not on my deathbed. They were a light shimmery gray, fringed with black lashes, and filled with something ominous. I suddenly didn’t see a dangerous, and perhaps violent, thirty-year-old man with a flawlessly masculine face standing before me in an expensive suit. I saw a man with deep trenches of scars on his soul
I continued to stare, now seeing a storm of raw pain, loneliness, and anger raging behind those eyes. An unwelcome wave of sympathy washed over me. What had happened to him?
The man’s cold gaze wandered down to my lips as if committing every crease to memory. “What’s your name?”
“M-M-Mia? Mia Turner?” Why had I made it sound like a damned question?
There was a faint knock at the door, and we both turned our heads. In walked a woman, legs as long as my entire body, wearing a short black trench coat. Her brown hair was swept up into knot, and her lips were blood red. She regarded King, then looked at me. “Am I interrupting?”
“No. Miss Turner was just leaving,” said King.
“That’s it?” No apology? No inquiry as to why I was even there?
“Not unless you plan on laying yourself back over this desk, Miss Turner.” He shamelessly glanced down at his obvious erection.
My jaw dropped.
“I thought not.” He shrugged, and then his eyes flashed to the door. “Good night.”
“Asshole,” I hissed under my breath.
His bitter gaze dropped to my face, and he smiled, two deep grooves appearing in each cheek. If that smile had been my first glimpse ever of this man, I would have melted from its charm. But now I knew that any civility or good manners were a shallow façade.
“That was uncalled for. You came here and flaunted your wet little self. How was I supposed to know?” He looked amused.
I grabbed my coat and purse and stepped around the desk. I suddenly wanted to cry. My nerves were far beyond sizzled, and my ability to think rationally had abandoned me long, long ago. Yet, when I reached the door, I couldn’t leave. I’d come there for a reason. A damned important one.
I turned and looked at him. “I was told you can find anything or anyone. Is that true?”
His brows flinched with wicked joy. “For a price. A price I already know you’re unwilling to pay.”
Sex. The asshole had been serious? He wanted sex?
I looked down at my soggy, red heels. Could I do that for Justin? Barter with my flesh and bones to save him? How far would Justin go for me if the roles were reversed? He wouldn’t likely object to someone demanding sex; however, he would put his life on the line for me. In fact, he had. When we were in high school, he’d saved me from a couple of drunken shitheads at a party. I was young and stupid and had too much to drink myself. Luckily, Justin had been there, but it had landed him in the hospital. He’d been beaten within an inch of his life, and I’d never forgiven myself. Not even to this day.
But Justin was always there to look after me. Always. So, yes, I’d do anything for him. My only question was, could this man, King, truly help me?
I lifted my chin and stared King down, resisting the urge to topple over and faint. “Fine. If you save Justin, I’ll-I’ll…” I swallowed. “Do that. If that’s what you want.” I couldn’t say the word sex or anything close to it.
King laughed. The beautiful, elegant woman, who’d been standing there the entire time, also looked entertained as hell.
“I have her for sex,” King glanced at the woman, “and I’m sure for the six hundred I’m paying, she’ll satisfy all my needs. You, on the other hand…” He paused, and one side of his mouth turned up. “You look like you’d break.”
The way he’d said “break” made it sound like he’d enjoy doing it.
Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any more helpless and weak, this bastard proved me wrong. I wanted to crawl inside a hole and die. How had I gotten to this place in my life? One week ago, I’d been a strong, independent woman with her whole life ahead of her. The perfect job. Happy. In control. Now…
Crap. What was wrong with me? Maybe King was right; I would break. It took less than a handful of days for life to show me how fragile I was. Yet I couldn’t help but pretend I still maintained some semblance of self-respect. Even if it was a lie.
“Did you see me crumble a few moments ago when you tried to screw me over your desk?” I reached for the door handle. “So don’t flatter yourself.”
“My price is you.”
I stilled halfway out the door and gazed back into those predatory, hypnotic, gray eyes. He terrified me. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll find your brother, and in exchange, I own you.”
“Own me?”
“Those are my terms.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his thick biceps stretching the black fabric of his expensive blazer. “You want me to find someone dear to you, Miss Turner. Then I ask for something dear in return. Your obedient servitude. Indefinitely.”
What a sadistic bastard. He’d already stolen my last soggy crumb of dignity.
“To do what?” I asked.
He laughed, causing deep creases to form on both sides of his gorgeous, wicked mouth. “As you are told, Miss Turner. As you are told.”
“I’m in advertising. What use would I be to you?”
The scowl on his perfect, handsome face chilled my blood. It said, Don’t ever question me again. But his lips said something different: “Yes or no, Miss Turner. Yes or no?”
He couldn’t be serious. This had to be some sadistic game of chicken. Because clearly he was the sort of man who enjoyed controlling people, breaking them down. Yes, we’d already established that. So perhaps he didn’t think I had the balls to accept his terms. But I did. I’d do anything for Justin. Anything.
“Okay. Fine.”
King dipped his head as if he were a gracious gentleman accepting a duel. “Very good. Now, if you’ll excuse us; please shut the door behind you,” he commanded. “And Mia?”
“Yes.” I glanced over my shoulder one last time.
“Be here. Monday. Six a.m. sharp. And don’t be late, or the deal is off.”
~ ~ ~
Hyperventilating, I made my way outside, where the rain greeted me once more. What have you done, Mia? Something isn’t right with that man, I told myself, trying to wipe away my tears with my sopping wet coat. Lord, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I stumbled and nearly fell, at which point I decided to take a moment in a nearby doorway to catch my breath. Meanwhile, my mind raced in sickening loops to make sense of everything that had just happened. “I own you,” he’d said. What did he really mean by that? What sort of person even said that?
Suddenly, I caught a whiff of that addictive smell from King’s office. I leaned forward a bit to see who was on the sidewalk.
Oh my Lord. It was King. Alone. Had he sent his company home?
Or maybe the jackass is really a jack rabbit.
Not likely. Men like that would never compromise their egos by being a two-second wonder.
So what made him change his mind and forgo his “date”?
In any case, I decided to follow him. I needed to know who I’d bartered away my life to—if that’s what had really just happened. Was he the devil? A psychopath?
Doing my best to stay hidden in the shadows, I followed King as he walked toward the heart of the Financial District, not too far from the renovated loft he called his office. When he turned off the busy downtown street and disappeared inside a building just down another alley, I had to see what it was. A strip club, perhaps? A sports bar for arrogant, sadistic bastards? I froze and stared at the solid black doors. No signage. No numbers. Just a plain red welcome mat to match the red bulb dangling overhead. I reached for the handles and stopped. What if he was inside? What if he saw me? He’d know I’d been following him, and he didn’t seem like the sort of man who would appreciate it. But I needed to know something, anything, about this man who scared the hell out of me and who I’d promised to practically enslave myself to only moments earlier, simply based on a hope that he might find Justin.
What was I thinking? So stupid. The man is completely insane. I wasn’t going back there, I decided now that my head
“It’s members only, Miss Turner,” King’s voice projected from behind me. “And I sincerely doubt you’ll find what you’re looking for inside. Justin was last seen in Palenque, was he not?”
“But how-how-how…” I could do little more than stutter like a fool. I’d just seen King go inside seconds earlier. Had he known I was following him and come back out through a side door? And how did he know where Justin had disappeared from? “You—but—how…?”
King’s straight black brows bowed into beautiful little arches as he laughed. It was the second time I’d seen those deep smile lines, and they were just as captivating as the first. And if I were only some random woman walking by, I would probably trip. The way he stood there, arms crossed, his broad, square shoulders draped in fine fabric, he could be mistaken for a real man. A perfect, stunningly good-looking man.
But I wasn’t random. And he terrified me. So I ran like a coward, his deep laughter mocking me until I was out of earshot.
Once home, I spent half the night trying to talk myself out of ever going back to see King, but I couldn’t help wondering how he’d known about Justin’s location. Perhaps I’d said something? No, I hadn’t. I’d gone over that bizarre and disturbing scene at his office a hundred times. So how had he known? Was he really able to “find anyone or anything?” And if I returned, what would happen to me? “I own you”? He couldn’t have meant that literally. Could he?
Thankfully, he’d made it clear that it wasn’t about sex. So exactly what was the deal? What would I be doing for him if I went back? Scrub his toilets? Arrange hookers to come to his office? His words, “As you are told,” left a lot of latitude.
Don’t be a coward, Mia. You have to go back. Because if this man was truly able to help, I owed it to Justin. Okay, I’ll go Monday morning, like he said. But only to ask questions.
He would have to explain how he would find Justin. If he was really a missing persons badass, then he’d have to convince me. And first thing tomorrow morning, I would go right back to that building King had gone into and find out what it was.