The Fearless King

by Katee Robert

  “Reinforced bumper.” Mateo leaned forward and frowned. “Hard to tell, but it looks like a rack you’d find on a cop car or armored vehicle.”

  “Not something you see around here a lot.” Frank dropped into the seat across from the desk. Those kind of aftermarket bumpers weren’t exactly rare, but they were usually on trucks or SUVs that spent a lot of time on roads where wildlife was an issue—hit something with it, and the bumper would save the front end of the car in most cases. There were pavement princesses who had their shit all geared up like they thought they were some kind of badass, but…Coincidences upon coincidences. Too many to write off.

  “They planned this to do the most damage they could.” He stared at the screen. “If they wanted her dead, better to hit from the driver’s side, but there is the chance someone might jump the green light and get in the way, lessening the impact. He didn’t try to stop, didn’t try to slow down. How did he know she was going to be at that intersection at that time?”

  Mateo tapped a few keys, bringing up a different window on the screen. “She was staying a few blocks away while she was in town. Had a meeting with her father and oldest brother midafternoon, and came back all flustered looking.” When Frank shot him a look, he shrugged. “Come on, boss. You didn’t order the other siblings watched, but you would have eventually. I just anticipated your order.”

  Since he would have ordered it if he wasn’t so damn preoccupied with Journey, he just nodded. “Something upset her enough at that meeting to bolt. Ten to one she was headed for the airport.” She wouldn’t have gotten far without the private jet, but easy enough to buy a commercial ticket this time of year. It wasn’t as if Eliza King was hurting for funds.

  “She called to have help bringing her luggage down to the car.”

  Which was how they knew exactly when she’d be at the intersection. She took the most direct route to the airport, and it was late enough that traffic wasn’t a huge issue. Child’s play to plan an ambush.

  He tapped the arm of his chair. “Her old man didn’t like that she wasn’t going to play ball.” The was the only explanation. Unless…Wonder if Journey knows what that meeting was about? It was entirely possible that Elliott had put out the order to stop his youngest daughter from leaving Houston by whatever means necessary. But if that was the case, why not just arrange to have her nabbed off the street? She wasn’t an active part of Kingdom Corp. She held no value as far as the company was concerned, inherited shares aside.

  So why was she in a meeting with Elliott and Anderson?

  Frank ran a hand over his face and made a mental note to ask Journey about it when he saw her. “Let’s treat this as a separate incident for the time being and assume it’s not part of Elliott’s overarching plan.” All of Elliott’s actions up to this point had been directed at removing his children through bullying and intimidation. While he was more than capable of violence, murder was still a big step to take—and it was attempted murder. There were a thousand different ways he could have stopped Eliza from getting to the airport without endangering her the way the hit-and-run had. Elliott was too smart to escalate on this scale.

  Unless he was desperate.

  It still doesn’t make sense. I need more information.

  Frank’s phone buzzed, and he frowned when he saw Beck’s name. “Hey.”

  “You got time for a drink?”

  He checked his watch. “It’s not even noon, Beck.”

  “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

  That much was obvious. His friend wasn’t the type to grab a drink in the middle of a workday, no matter how stressful life got. And he sure as fuck wouldn’t call Frank to do the same without cause. It was just as obvious that Beck didn’t want to talk about it over the phone. “Yeah. Normal place?”

  “See you there.”

  He hung up and found Mateo watching him. “What?”

  “That’s some cloak-and-dagger shit right there, boss.”

  Frank rolled his eyes. “No more so than what we were already doing.” He sat back. There were a couple of options available moving forward, and he didn’t like any of them. Elliott’s determination to take control of Kingdom Corp stemmed from either one of two places—him owing money to someone scary, or the Bancroft family finally utilizing him in their quest to devour any and all lucrative businesses in Texas.

  He could have Mateo keep pulling the financial string, but at this point it was unlikely anything new would pop. Frank could arrange a meeting with Esther Bancroft and try to get a feel for the woman, but without more information and an ace or two in his pocket, that would tip their hand without any real benefit. All while keeping a close watch on Journey and hoping like hell he could counter Elliott’s next move before someone else got hurt.

  Fuck. No good options.

  The look on Mateo’s face said he’d realized the same thing. “What’s next?”

  That was the question. “We need to know what went on in that meeting with Eliza and Anderson. I’ll talk to Journey King, but I want secondary confirmation.”

  “Consider it done. I have a friend whose cousin works at the Cellar. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks.” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  It was time to get some answers. What the fuck was Elliott up to?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eliza still wouldn’t see them. It didn’t matter how much Journey argued with the nurses and doctors, she was turned away every time.

  In the end, there was nothing they could do about it.

  She almost called Frank, but she was feeling too damn raw to handle the intensity that arose from being around him. Not from being around him, Jo—from being with him. It wasn’t the sex that changed things for them. It was the fact that she’d ripped herself open in front of him time and time again and it didn’t seem to faze him or make him think less of her. Journey didn’t know how to handle that. Frank was so damn overwhelming, and it would be so incredibly easy to just roll with it and let him guide them to wherever he wanted to go.

  She couldn’t.

  She refused to.

  The one thing she needed most was control, and it was the one thing neither of them had around each other.

  She called Samara instead. Her friend arrived in record time, and Journey barely waited for the car to slow for her to jump into the passenger seat. She frowned at the buttery-soft leather. “Wait a minute—you don’t have a car.”

  “Correction—I didn’t have a car. But since I’m driving out to Thistledown Villa a couple times a week and Beckett and I have such insane schedules, I bit the bullet and bought one.” She checked her blind spot and pulled into traffic. “How’s Eliza?”

  “She won’t see us. Not even Bellamy.” She crossed her arms over her chest and slouched deeper into the seat. “He’s crushed that she won’t let him in the room.”

  “Hmm.” Samara took a turn, heading in the direction of Journey’s apartment.

  “Don’t hmmm me. She’s my sister. She’s hurt and she’s vulnerable and she shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  “I’m not arguing with you.” Samara’s tone was as dry as the desert. “Though you’re obviously pissed about something. Is it a belated freak-out over Eliza or is it something else?”

  Too many things to list without a couple of bottles of wine and a conversation she wasn’t sure she wanted to have. Frank knowing the truth about her history was different from telling Samara.

  “Journey, you know you can talk to me, right?” Samara huffed out a breath. “Something is bothering you and has been bothering you for a long time. You’ve lost weight and you have this look in your eyes…” She pulled into the parking garage of Journey’s building. “If you don’t want to talk to me about it, I understand, but you have to talk to someone about it. I’m not going to sit here and let you waste away.”

  Samara was the best of friends and Journey didn’t deserve her.

  “I love you
.” The words just burst out.

  Samara parked. “I love you, too.”

  Did she really think that Samara would look at her differently if she knew the truth? Journey closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Maybe it was time to stop treating her abusive childhood like her dirty little secret and thrust things out into the sunlight. “Can we talk? Really talk?”

  “As if you have to ask.” Samara held up her phone. “Takeout?”

  “Yes, please and thank you. I just need a shower and to change and then I’ll tell you everything.” They headed upstairs, and it wasn’t until Journey unlocked the door that she remembered Frank’s concern about her security. It’s fine even if whatever new upgrades he ordered haven’t been finalized yet. Frank fired the guy who let Elliott up and replaced him with someone trustworthy. The knowledge didn’t stop the small hairs from raising along the nape of her neck, but she still opened the door and stepped into her apartment.

  It was untouched.

  She blew out a breath. “Wait here for a second, okay?” Journey walked into the room and waited until Samara closed and locked the door behind her. Then she did a full sweep of the apartment. It didn’t take long to ensure no one was lying in wait. As best she could tell, no one had been in there since she left. She hesitated in her bedroom, and then unlocked her gun case and took out her .22. Journey had a license to carry concealed, but she rarely hauled her gun around with her.

  That changed now.

  She popped out the clip, checked to make sure there wasn’t a round in the chamber, each move as automatic as breathing. When she was fifteen and her grades and mental health were suffering because of nightmares, her mother dragged Journey to a private shooting range every day for a month straight. It was a nontraditional method of dealing with her fear, but learning to control her breathing and narrow her focus as she sighted down the barrel at the target had helped.

  Time with her mother had helped more. That month cemented Journey’s determination to make herself a valuable asset for Kingdom Corp—for Lydia.

  Satisfied everything was in working order, Journey replaced the clip and walked back into the main room to set the gun next to her purse on the kitchen island. She had a holster around here somewhere, but she’d find it later. “Okay, we’re good.”

  Samara watched her closely. “Beckett said it was serious, but he doesn’t know as much as he wants to about what’s going on.”

  No, he wouldn’t. Her siblings and their cousin had been kept apart from birth by virtue of their parents’ vendetta against each other. Beckett had hardly grown up with an idyllic childhood, but he didn’t know the dirty details about what went down in Journey’s household those first ten years.

  No one did.

  Journey smoothed her hair back. “Just give me fifteen minutes to jump in the shower.”

  “Take your time.” Samara started typing on her phone.

  Journey knew herself well enough to know that if she waited too long, she’d chicken out and she might never gather up the courage to take this flying leap again. So she washed up as quickly as she could, pulled on a pair of faded jeans and her favorite tank top, threw her hair into a ponytail, and walked back out into the main living area of the apartment.

  Samara sat at the kitchen island, her dark brows drawn as she read something on her phone, an array of takeout food in front of her. She looked good. Her black hair fell in thick waves around her shoulders—a style she’d rarely worn when she worked for Kingdom Corp—and her brown skin had a healthy glow that only seemed to come alongside true happiness. Being in love obviously agreed with her.

  She looked up when Journey approached, and gave a soft smile. “Feel better?”

  “As good as can be expected.” She took the seat next to Samara and pressed her hands flat to the marble countertop. “My father abused me as a kid—he abused all of us, though Eliza was young enough to be spared the worst of it.” The words felt like stones dropped into the still silence of the room. She took a slow breath, but the sky didn’t come falling down around her, and Samara didn’t jump to her feet and flee the room. That made it easier to keep going. “I don’t really know when it started. I was that young. It was just the way things were. He stayed home with us while Lydia traveled and spent most of her time in the office, and so he had free rein. He was ruler in our fucked-up little kingdom, and he got off on the power he held over us. There was…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what was worse—the mind games where he had us convinced that we were the ones forcing him to take these measures, and then playing one of us against the others to get us to do what he wanted. Or the punishments that we invariably earned by not being good enough.”

  Next to her, Samara had gone so still, Journey wasn’t sure she drew breath. “I’m so sorry, Jo.”

  “My mother caught him in the midst of one of the punishments when I was ten. I…” She stared hard at her hands. “I know Lydia is a monster. I’m not an idiot. What she did to Beckett and Nathaniel was fucked up beyond all reason. But she saved us, Samara. She ran him out of the house, out of the damn city, and she ensured that he didn’t come back. I don’t know what would have happened if he’d stayed. Maybe he would have killed one of us eventually. I just don’t know.

  “I went to therapy. Lots of therapy. I was…I was muddling along just fine, but he’s back and he’s setting me up to get fired on account of being unfit to hold the COO position.” It was as if the past had been a festering wound inside her and last night with Frank had lanced it. The words weren’t easy—never that—but she could actually give them voice. “I went to Frank for help.” She let loose a hoarse laugh. “Which, in hindsight, seems like a weird choice.”

  That should have been the end of it, the worst of the dark secrets she’d been carrying inside her for far too long. But Journey found herself continuing. “He’s more than helping me. It was supposed to be a pretend relationship, a way to get him near the family without anyone suspecting anything. But it’s turned into something that might be real if we could get out of each other’s way long enough to see if it’s possible.” She shook her head. “That might be the craziest part of this.”

  “Journey.” Samara reached over and covered her hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

  She knew that tone, the gentleness covering a fury that rode far too close to the surface. She’d felt it on Samara’s behalf more than once over the years, and she knew what would happen if she didn’t defuse it right at that moment. She turned her hand over and laced her fingers with Samara’s. Sure enough, her friend’s hand vibrated with little shakes, betraying how deeply affected she was. “I can’t let anyone else stand between me and this mess. Not Anderson. Not Frank. Not even you, Samara.”

  Finally, her friend sighed, and it was as if the tension left her body. “You’re sure?”

  She wasn’t. All evidence pointed to this blowing up in her face, but between her suspicions about Eliza and what Elliott threatened to do to Frank, Journey wasn’t willing to risk anyone else getting hurt. “I’m sure. I’m done letting other people fight my battles. It never felt like I had the courage or strength to stand on my own, but I’m going to jump and figure my way out on the way down.”

  * * *

  Frank walked out of the bright Houston sun and into the dimness that was the Salty Chihuahua. The little bar had been a favorite of his and Beck’s since they were old enough to drink, and it always felt a little like coming home. The vintage pinup posters on the walls and the stylized table legs that looked like women’s legs were just the icing on the cake to the strangeness here. Nothing had changed in the last thirteen years, and he imagined he could walk through those doors thirty years from now and it would be like entering a time warp.

  He made his way back to their normal table, but stopped short when he realized Beck wasn’t alone. Anderson King sat next to him, and the man looked up as Frank approached, his blue eyes not showing any emotion. “Evans.”

  “Anderson.” He nodded. “Beck.�
��

  “Sorry, Frank. Anderson called me when I was on my way over here, and I figured it would be better to cut through all the bullshit and lay our cards on the table.” Beck waited for him to take a seat in the booth before he continued. “We all want the same thing—Elliott Bancroft out of Houston and away from Kingdom Corp.”

  Frank didn’t give a fuck about Kingdom Corp. If Elliott wanted to drive that goddamn company into the ground, he was more than welcome to it. But Frank knew Journey well enough by now to know that she’d go down with that ship, and that he couldn’t allow. Elliott had already hurt her enough; she wasn’t going to lose the company she loved because of him, too. “I’m listening.”

  Beck shot him a look, but it was Anderson who spoke. “I couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on with you and Jo, but she asked you to help, didn’t she? That’s the only goddamn reason I can think that you’d even be part of this conversation.” He leaned, every move telegraphing arrogance. “We’ve got it covered, Evans. You’re no longer needed.”

  For fuck’s sake. He forced himself still, smothering any physical reaction that showed just how close to the mark Anderson had hit. “From where I’m sitting, you need all the help you can get.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, brought up the video, and spun it around to face the other two men.

  Anderson watched it all the way through twice and cursed. “I knew it wasn’t an accident, but they set it up to do as much damage as possible with that single hit.” His composure dropped for the breadth of a moment, but he regained control quickly. “I should have known she’d try to run. Eliza wasn’t going to let anything threaten her freedom—not even Elliott.” He shook his head. “I’d be proud of her under other circumstances.”

  Beck leaned forward. “Why did Elliott bring her back to Houston?”

  Frank owed his friend a bottle of his best scotch for asking the question. Anderson would bristle and bitch if Frank had broached it, but Beck was different. They might never be friends, but King blood ran thicker than most—at least when everyone got out of their own damn way. Without their parents in the picture, Frank suspected the King cousins would mend the bridges burned thirty years ago and move forward as a unit, even if they retained their competing businesses.