King Me

by Season Vining

  Gable finally looks to King. “Nah, man. It should have been listed there.” I let out a breath I’d been holding and slump against the bar. “Unless it’s not in Orleans Parish.”

  _______________

  Twenty minutes later, we whip through New Orleans streets, King taking turns so fast my hand grips the door handle to hold me in place.

  “How did I not think of that?” King says, though it comes out as a growl. “It could be in any parish on the lake. We have no idea where they brought Emma back then or how long the trip was.”

  I place my hand on his on the gearshift and squeeze, but it doesn’t seem to cool him down a bit. I understand his anger, but I think it has more to do with Gable than with the parishes surrounding Lake Pontchartrain.

  We pull into King’s driveway and park. The car sits idle as the wipers swish back and forth, pushing water across our view. The headlights light up the wooden fence like two glowing eyes looking back at us. King stares straight ahead, silent.

  “You ready to go inside now?” I ask, after a full minute. He nods, kills the car and the lights, but doesn’t move. My eyes jump from King to the house and back to him. “King?”

  “I hate the way he looks at you,” King finally says. His voice is back to normal, smooth and cool, but his words are far from it.

  I turn in my seat to see him better. “You know he was only doing that to fuck with you, right? It’s like he was baiting you to pull out your dicks right there to compare size. It was ridiculous.”

  I pop the door handle and haul myself out into the rain, running for the house. King is right behind me, but we are soaked by the time we reach the porch. My wet clothes are a relief in the summer heat and the way King’s shirt clings to him now steals all my brain power.

  He presses me against the door, one leg slips between mine as his lips make contact. My head makes a thump sound as it hits the wood, but I am lost in this kiss. It is demanding and desperate with a hint of an apology.

  When King pulls away, there is a hunger in his eyes that fuels the ever present desire inside me.

  “I know he was fucking with me. I don’t care. I can’t stand that he’s been with you, seen all of you, tasted your skin, kissed your lips.”

  “We never had sex, but I don’t know what happened that night. What I do know, is it meant nothing. I can’t even remember it,” I say.

  King turns away and frowns. “But he does.”

  I grab his chin and turn his face toward mine, catching his pretty green eyes. “He is nothing, King. You are… everything.”

  A small smile appears and he places a quick peck on my lips as he unlocks the door behind me.

  “And if we did pull out our dicks right there to compare size?” he asks with a grin.

  I roll my eyes and pull him inside. “No contest, babe.”

  _______________

  With my eyes still closed, I slide my hand over to King’s side of the bed only to find the sheets cold. He’s been up for a while. I look to the window and see that the sun is just now coming up. Grinning at the soreness in my body, I raise my hands high and stretch across the bed. Last night, the sex was raw and primal. King claimed my body in every possible way. And when we were both spent, he covered me in sweet kisses and soft touches.

  This man is such a conundrum—a complicated, beautiful creature who fills his space in the universe with purpose and love. I roll over and sigh. Love.

  On one hand, it seems too soon to define what we have found in each other. On the other hand, what I feel for him is meaningful and filled with more passion than I’ve ever experienced. He pulled me from a dark place and showed me that there was a life worth living. He made me believe that I’m not the evil monster I thought I was. I may never forgive myself for taking that little girl’s life, but it doesn’t define me anymore. He gives me courage and light without even trying.

  I hear the front door close and lift my head as soft footsteps approach the room. King walks in wearing a t-shirt and gym shorts. He’s soaked in sweat.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” he says before lifting the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. Those green eyes rake over my body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I say, pulling the sheet over myself. “You’re all sweaty and I’m sore.”

  King’s crooked smirk appears. “Then my work here is done.” I laugh. “I’m going to hit the shower. Those offices should be opening soon and I’ll start calling around to see if any of them have land listed for Bondye, Inc.”

  He disappears into the bathroom and I’m a little sad that I miss him getting naked.

  I’m dressed and eating buttered toast at the kitchen counter, my feet swinging back and forth to the music playing on the radio. King is in his office on the phone, trying to get us a lead on the land used for the ritual.

  My phone rings from somewhere in the house and I hop down in search of it. I find it in the bottom of my messenger bag.

  “Hello?”

  “May I speak to Miss Mills?”

  “This is she,” I say, climbing back onto the barstool.

  “This is Detective Zander with the New Orleans PD. We have some new information in the case of your attack and break in.”

  “Oh,” is all I can say. Flashbacks to that night fill my head and I squeeze my eyes shut to force them away. The fear and pain push through anyway and it’s all I can think about. I place a hand over my thumping heart in an effort to calm it.

  “Yes, ma’am. We’ve acquired video from one of the businesses on the block that contains who we believe to be the assailants. We’d like you to come down to the station and take a look.”

  “Umm, sure. Yes. I can do that.”

  He gives me the address. I jot it down and end the call, abandoning my toast and heading for King’s office.

  “Okay. Thank you,” he says into the phone before hanging up.

  “Any luck?”

  “Not yet.” I lean against the door frame, my arms wrapped around my middle. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “The police called. They want me to go to the station to look at some video. They think it’s of the men who attacked me.”

  “Damn,” King says. “I didn’t think anything would ever come of that investigation.”

  “Me neither. And I don’t think I can tell them anything anyway. I didn’t see much.”

  King stands and approaches me slowly. I keep my eyes on my bare toes against golden hardwood floors and hope that I am strong enough to survive this. It’s one more dark spot on me, one more thing to bring nightmares. I blow out a breath and wonder how much more I can take.

  “Come on. I’ll take you down there. No harm in taking a look, huh?”

  He wraps his arms around me and squeezes. I inhale, taking in all of Valentine King—his earthy scent, his calm.

  “Let me get my shoes on and we can go,” I say.

  _______________

  We wait an hour for Detective Zander after getting to the police station. Sitting in hard plastic chairs, surrounded by the bustling office only makes my anxiety grow. I don’t know why I’m nervous. I know my attackers aren’t here. Just the thought of reliving that night sends my pulse soaring.

  “Miss Mills?” a pretty gray-haired woman in a pencil skirt asks.

  “Yes.”

  “They’re ready for you now.”

  King and I follow her through the maze of desks, down a hall, and into a room. The fluorescent light above flickers. The woman flips the switch off and back on again and the flickering stops. There’s a television set up on a rolling cart, a table and four chairs, and a single window with bars. The sun pushes through creating a striped pattern on the floor.

  “Detective Zander will be in shortly,” she says with a sweet smile. “Please have a seat.”

  We both sit on one side of the table. The scrape of the metal chairs against the tile floor is loud and jarring in the otherwise quiet room.


  “Why do I feel like the criminal right now?” I ask.

  Before King can say anything, the door swings open and in walks the younger officer who came to my apartment the day after the attack. He gives us a smile, extending his hand across the table.

  “Miss Mills,” he says, shaking my hand. “Good to see you again. And?” he asks, turning to King.

  “Valentine King,” King responds, gripping the detective’s hand.

  “Mr. King,” Detective Zander acknowledges. “Thanks for coming in today. We just have some footage we’d like you to take a look at.”

  The detective turns his attention to the television. His hair is cut short and smoothed down with some kind of product. The back of his neck is very tan, so I’m guessing he spends a lot of time outside. He presses some buttons and the TV comes to life, a blurry black and white image of the block where my apartment is displayed.

  “It’s not much,” the detective says. “But anything you can tell us would help.”

  I nod my head, my eyes fixed onto the screen. The detective sits across from us now, a remote in his hand. He presses a button and the time stamp on the video starts to roll. Two men stroll into view, but all we see is the back of their heads. Just the sight sends a chill down my spine. When they are out of sight, we see the light grow dark and a minute later, the picture gets even darker.

  “This is where we believe they were knocking out those street lights near your apartment,” Detective Zander says. He presses a button on the remote again and the video fast forwards. “Here, we see you pass through the frame. And about six minutes later, they leave.”

  The video slows again and I see the two men walking toward the camera, though the picture is darker now, so I can’t make out much. The video freezes, the two of them on the screen. I don’t have a reaction to the sight of them and I’m surprised by this. But it’s not their faces that I would know. It’s the sound of their voices, the way their rough hands feel against my throat, the smell of cigarette smoke on their clothes. I take a deep breath and blow it out toward the ceiling.

  “I can’t tell you anything new,” I say, twisting a lock of hair around one finger. “Except that is definitely my bag he’s carrying.”

  “Well, that’s something,” Zander says. “At least we know we’ve got the right guys.”

  King leans closer to the television, his eyes never leaving the screen. “The one on the left. He looks familiar to me, but I can’t remember why.” I study the man’s face—as much as I can see—but he doesn’t look familiar to me. I shrug.

  Detective Zander stands and slides his business card across the table. “Well, if you do remember, please give me a call. I’d love to nail these guys,” he says with an enthusiastic grin.

  I want to warn him that he shouldn’t get involved with this at all. I want to tell him that this is way bigger than these two men, but I don’t say a word. King slides the card into his pocket as Zander escorts us from the room.

  “Thanks for coming in,” he says with a wave, as we push through the doors into the heat.

  Once we’re back in King’s car he shakes his head, and slams his hand down on the steering wheel. The muscles in his neck pull tight like cords of rope. “Damn. Why can’t I remember how I know that guy?”

  “Hey,” I say. “It’s not important.”

  “It is important, Laney. Those men hurt you. They stole your research. Aren’t you just a little angry about that?”

  “I was. But now, in the bigger picture, I’m more angry about a little girl alone and scared somewhere. I’m angry about a sacrificial ritual that’s going to happen in two days if we don’t find a way to stop it. Two days, King. I’m angry about the murder of two people who did nothing wrong.”

  King sighs. “You’re right,” he says. “I need to finish making those phone calls so we can move on to another angle if this is a dead end.” He twists his arm and checks his watch on the thick leather band. “Half the day is already gone.”

  Two hours later, I jump, when King comes barreling out of his office.

  “We got them!” he says. “St. Tammany Parish. One plot of land listed for Bondye, Inc.”

  “Really?” I say, jumping into his arms.

  “Yeah. We’ve got to go down to the office for the map and location. If we leave now, we can just make it.”

  We take Interstate 10 across the lake to a city called Slidell. When we exit the interstate, King looks back and forth between his rearview mirror and his side mirror.

  “I hate to say this, but I think we’re being followed,” he says.

  I instantly try to turn and look, but his arm stops me. “Don’t look,” he scolds. “They’ve been weaving in and out of traffic staying behind us since we left my neighborhood. It can’t be a coincidence.”

  The traffic light changes to green and we turn left. The car behind us follows.

  “Is this real life right now?” I ask.

  “Afraid so,” King answers, shifting the car into third and speeding us through a yellow traffic light. The car keeps up. “I’m going to try to lose them.”

  I clutch my seatbelt as King turns onto a side street without slowing down. The tires screech as the back end of the car swings around. King floors it when the other car turns and speeds up to catch us. I turn to look at them now. It’s an older model car, very square looking, painted matte black. The windows are dark, but I can make out two people inside.

  We take another sharp turn, past a park, and into a neighborhood. The black car keeps up.

  “What do they plan to do with us if they catch up?” I ask.

  King whips us around another turn and the motion presses my body against the door. “I don’t intend to find out,” he says.

  We make so many turns, I am dizzy. I have no idea where we are and I’m starting to believe King doesn’t either. The car is still behind us, but two cars back. We make a sudden turn into a parking lot and pull into a spot facing the street. I look to King about to ask why we are stopping, but then notice where we are—Slidell Police Department.

  King jumps out of the car in time to see our followers drive by without even giving us a glance. He flips them off and falls back into his seat.

  I press my hand to my chest and slump back against my seat. “What the hell?” I ask. “I feel like I’m in an episode of Law & Order or something.”

  “They seem to be getting desperate,” King says. “They’re not even trying to be discreet anymore. They don’t care if we see them. Maybe because we’re getting too close.”

  “How did you know where this place was?” I ask, looking around at the patrol cars parked in the lot.

  He lifts one shoulder like he’s not going to answer, but then the words spill out like a confession. “I was arrested and brought here as a teenager.”

  “For what?” I remember him telling me about getting into trouble before his dad died, but it still shocks me to hear. I can’t imagine the man I know being able to do anything worth arrest. I’m unable to connect his past with his present.

  King reverses out of our spot and pulls back onto the street. “For being a teenage asshole basically—vandalism, destruction of property.” He drives at a normal speed now, but his eyes check the mirrors often. Mine do too.

  In a few minutes we pull up to the Clerk of Court which is where the assessor’s office is located. The lot is empty. King throws the car in park and hops out, running for the door. I follow, but by the time I catch up, he’s already rattling the locked doors.

  “Shit,” he says, dropping his forehead against the glass door. “They’re closed.”

  19

  WE PULL INTO KING’S driveway, both of us silent the entire ride home. Defeat sits heavy in my heart and though I try to push it away, it is a ghost sitting on my shoulder telling me we’ve already lost. The Bondye Saints definitely have us on their radar and they are doing everything to keep us away. I know we can’t let that happen. I will do everything humanly possible to save Emma�
�s baby girl, to stop that ritual. I just hope it’s enough.

  Following King up the steps of his front porch, I run into his back, when he stops short. My hands wrap around his waist to steady myself before stepping around.

  “What is that?” I say, my eyes finally landing on the reason he stopped.

  Nailed to the front door’s frame are two dolls, made of burlap and moss, stitched together crudely. It is easy to see that one is male and the other female. Both are burned and charred.

  “It’s us,” King says, motionless on the top step.

  I look back and forth between his glaring eyes and the dolls, unsure of what to do. Before I can react, King leaps forward and rips the dolls from the house. The nails holding them in place stay put as the fabric rips. He turns and throws them into the yard, his chest heaving, his eyes scanning the street.

  “We’re not scared!” he yells. The anger in his voice is terrifying even though I know it is not meant for me. He stands there for a few more seconds before turning and unlocking the door. I follow him inside.

  In the kitchen, King fills a glass full of whiskey and swallows down half of it. I guzzle down a glass of water and wait for him to cool off. When I can’t take the silence anymore, I finally approach him, sliding my hands over his shoulders. He turns and pulls me into his arms. It’s the first time I feel safe all day.

  “Why were they burned?” I ask, my face pressed into his chest.

  “I don’t know,” he answers. “A warning? A message? They’re desperate to stop us. It’s just a scare tactic.”

  “So you don’t believe in the dolls’ power?”

  King looks down at me and shrugs. His eyes are so intense that I can’t look away. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

  “Me either,” I admit. “But if they were trying to scare us, then they succeeded on my end. I am seriously freaking out right now. I mean, did you see that doll? It really looked like me.”

  King shakes his head. “We’ll be fine. But you know what we need if we’re going to take these assholes on?”