King: A Power Players Novel

by Leo, Cassia

  She doesn’t answer me as she seems lost in thought.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I continue. “As I was saying, a gator isn’t going to leap out of the water to take a snap at your pretty little toes. Besides, aren’t any gators in this lake.”

  She blinks. “Actually, I saw a YouTube video with a couple canoeing in Lake Rhodhiss, and—”

  “Rhodhiss Lake,” I correct her.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Actually, we locals call it Lake Rhodhiss,” she corrects me, but she doesn’t give me a chance to respond before she continues. “Anyway, this couple, they were canoeing, and the girl was freaking out ’cause there was a gator under her canoe.”

  I smile at her sassy attitude. “You believe everything you see on YouTube?”

  She kicks my boot and lets out a soft yelp. “Ouch.”

  “Don’t mess with me, young lady. I’ll outsmart you at every turn.”

  She shakes her head. “That sounds like a threat. Are you threatening me?”

  “No more than that imaginary gator is threatening you.”

  She rolls her eyes, and I nudge her shoulder, which gets a gorgeous grin out of her.

  God, this girl is infuriatingly cute. She’ll literally be the death of me.

  There’s a lull in the conversation as the sun begins to sink closer to the horizon. Even with the music playing in the background, I’m the one who finds the silence between us uncomfortable this time.

  “When I was a teenager, our house was robbed, so I hid a gun in a hole in the side of my mattress to protect my family,” I say.

  She flashes me a tight-lipped smile. “So you saw my gun hole?”

  “No, but I would sure like to,” I chuckle.

  She gasps and smacks my arm. “Colton!”

  I continue to laugh as I lean away from her. “Is that where you keep your gun when you’re not waving it at strange men in bars? Do you even know how to use that thing, young lady?”

  “Probably not as well as you can, but I reckon I can do some damage. Would you like a demonstration?”

  I shake my head at her sass. “Someone needs to teach you about gun safety. A mattress is a terrible place to put your gun.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really. In case you haven’t noticed, it gets real hot out here in the summer. Memory foam mattresses retain a lot of heat. You should not be packing heat in something that retains heat. Let me buy you a proper gun case.”

  She laughs. “Is there anything you don’t want to buy me?”

  I smile as I think of the gift I have for Izzy inside my house. Maybe I should take it back. It’s an expensive gift for someone I supposedly barely know. But I sense our time together is coming to a close, and I can’t deny this intense desire to take care of her.

  Besides, if the gift doesn’t scare her off, it will definitely bring us closer together, which is the whole point of this fucked-up operation.

  Izzy snags something on her line — something big — but she doesn’t look very excited about it. In fact, she looks downright terrified.

  “We should just cut the line,” she says, pulling her hands away as I reach for her rod to give her a hand. “It’s probably too big for us to eat. What if it’s a gator?”

  I chuckle as I reach behind her and wrap my fingers around her tiny hand, which is coiled around the handle of the fishing rod. “I’ll help you reel it in.”

  She gives a half-hearted tug as she attempts to resist me, but it doesn’t take more than a couple seconds before she completely rescinds control. “Don’t let me fall into the water,” she whispers, allowing me to pull her body closer to mine.

  My other hand reaches over her thighs to provide support for the hand she’s using to hold the reel. I try not to, but I can’t help but take a heavy whiff of her brown hair. It smells like coconut and some kind of fruit I can’t quite put my finger on.

  Good enough to eat.

  Izzy clears her throat. “Excuse me, but I believe we were trying to reel in this river monster.”

  I chuckle as I re-exert my grip on her hands. “Right. Got a little distracted by your scent,” I say, tucking my chin over her soft shoulder as she easily turns the reel with my help. “Is that perfume?”

  “No, Mr. Versace Fancy Pants. It’s sunscreen. Banana Boat, if you must know,” she replies sarcastically, but the slight hitch in her voice tells me she’s struggling to breathe with me this close to her. Her heart must be pounding a mile a minute. “Oh, God,” she whispers. “I don’t want to know what I caught. Can we please just cut the line?”

  I temper my smile as I realize she’s definitely afraid of something in the water getting revealed. If it’s not the suitcase she’s hidden down there, I’ll sell my first-born to the devil.

  I lean in, placing my lips right next to her ear as I whisper, “Hold on, Jo-Jo,” I say, maintaining a firm grip on her hand as we slowly turn the reel. “This baby’s coming up fast.”

  13 Izzy

  August 4th

  Colton’s scruffy jaw scrapes my cheek as he squeezes my hand, clasping it firmly in place as he “helps” me reel in my catch. I don’t know if he can tell that I’m resisting his help. I don’t think my suitcase would have come unattached from the pylon on my dock and floated all the way over here, but stranger things have happened. Like pretty much anything that’s happened over the last two months.

  I try not to close my eyes and let myself give into him as he holds me so close, but it’s difficult. I want him to wrap those muscled arms around me, pin me down on the dock, and have his way with me.

  Finally, he winds the reel back enough, and my catch slowly emerges from the dark green water. It’s a soggy brown parka that looks like it came off the body of a man twice Colton’s size.

  I quickly let go of the fishing rod and squeeze my eyes shut in sheer terror. Colton barely manages to catch the rod before it falls into the lake.

  “It smells!” I protest as I hear the soft click of the fishing line being reeled in. “Leave it in the water!”

  The clicking stops and I feel Colton jostling around a bit before I hear the distinct snip of the plastic line being cut quickly followed by a sludgy splash. Opening my eyes, I see Colton’s hands in front of me, his arms still wrapped around me as he holds the fishing rod in his left palm and a large hunting knife in his right.

  “It’s gone,” he mutters in my ear as he tucks the knife away somewhere I can’t see. “I hope that didn’t scare you.”

  I shake my head, allowing myself to relax into him. “I’m okay. It just… It smelled like…like death.”

  He’s silent for a moment before he replies, “Not the kind of smell you ever forget.”

  My stomach sinks as I realize I’m not the only one here familiar with the dark perfume of death.

  I turn to face him as he uncoils his arms from around my waist and sets the fishing rod on the dock next to his. “Do you think we should report it to the police?” I ask tentatively.

  His eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Report what?”

  I glance at the ripples in the water. “The jacket. What if it belongs to someone…someone who’s missing.”

  I can barely bring myself to speak the words aloud, as if acknowledging that people sometimes vanish is equivalent to confessing I disappeared on purpose. The last thing I need is the cops sniffing around my property—especially my dock!—for clues to a possible missing persons case. But if that jacket slipped off someone’s body, and that body is still in the water, I’m sure their family would want to know.

  As soon as this thought occurs to me, I realize I’m denying my mother the closure she may be seeking by not contacting her to let her know I’m alive and safe. But how can I do that without being found by the people I stole the suitcase from?

  And just like that, I circle back to the question that kicked off this entire line of thinking: the police.

  As an adult, I have the right to disappear. As long as I’m safe and I haven’t committ
ed any crimes — and I doubt the people I stole the suitcase from reported my theft to the cops — then the police have no legal obligation to give my location to the person who filed the missing persons report in Las Vegas. If I contact the Vegas PD and tell them I’m fine, and I’m not actually missing, they’ll probably close the file.

  There’s nothing illegal about changing your name, dyeing your hair a different color, or gaining weight. Is it illegal to abandon a dead body in the bathroom of a brothel?

  Colton lets out a sexy chuckle. “Watching you have silent epiphanies is quickly becoming one of my favorite things to do,” he says, ignoring my question as he gets to his feet and offers his hand to help me up. “I won’t ask what you were thinking about right now unless you want to share it with me. Then I’m all ears.”

  I take his hand, and my heart skips a beat as his hard callouses rub against my palm. “More like all muscle,” I reply as he easily pulls me up.

  We’re face-to-face now, our noses inches apart as he looks down at me with a quiet hunger in his eyes. “How about you sit tight for a bit, and I’ll use these muscles to catch us some fish from my refrigerator?”

  I swallow hard as I nod. “Good idea. Can you catch us three pieces of fish? One for each of us.”

  Colton laughs as he lets go of my hand and bends over to pick up the fishing rods and tackle box. “There are three kinds of people in this world: Those who can count, and those who can’t,” he teases me. “Are you eating for two?”

  I roll my eyes as we set off down the dock toward the shore. “One for you, one for me, and one for Steve. But if you want to give me some extra protein, I won’t turn it down.”

  “I’d be happy to give you some extra protein,” he says with a sly grin.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter,” I reply, giving him a gentle shove. “I was referring to giving me some extra fish.”

  “Are you trying to bulk up?”

  I want to be honest with him and tell him I need it so I don’t lose weight, but no one can know that. There are a lot of things no one can ever know about me. Will I ever be close to anyone again?

  “Just don’t want to lose this,” I say, tapping my backside. “Then what will you spank when I’ve been bad?”

  He stops walking and stares at me as I look back at him over my shoulder. “I have a feeling that mouth is going to get you in deep trouble.”

  I wait until he’s caught up to me before I begin walking again. “Is that a promise?”

  Please let it be a promise. I don’t know how much more of this neighborly flirting I can take.

  He chuckles and nods toward some boulders near the fire pit. “Take a seat, young lady, before you hurt yourself. I’ll be back in a few.”

  I sigh as I watch Colton and his perfect ass walk away toward his cabin. As he disappears through the back door, I beckon Steve to join me by the fire pit. I have to plan my approach for the second half of this “date.”

  Colton obviously prepared for today. He bought some fish because he anticipated us not catching any.

  What else does he have planned for us?

  Nervous energy bubbles up inside me, and I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this giddy around a guy, and he hasn’t even kissed me.

  Why won’t Colton kiss me?

  I let out a deep sigh as I realize he’ll probably never make a move on me. He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, so I don’t think he’s married. But he might be separated and still trying to work things out with his wife. Or maybe he took a vow of chastity.

  I shake my head as I come to the painful conclusion that this gorgeous man is just not into me.

  The sound of feet crunching on dry grass gets my attention, and I turn around to find Colton walking toward me with a tray balanced on one of his large hands and a guitar clutched in the other. But not just any guitar. Even from this distance, I can see he’s holding a shiny new ivory Gibson Hummingbird acoustic-electric guitar.

  He sets the tray down on the boulder next to me and holds the guitar out to me. “This is for you,” he says proudly. “When I brought you home the other night, I saw the guitar in your living room. It looked pretty beat up, so I went to a little music shop in town, and the guy at the shop said you’d been in there admiring this thing. Made it easy to pick something out.”

  “You… Are you… Are you kidding me?” I stammer. “This is a $4,000 guitar.”

  “Are you serious?” he replies, looking surprised. “Well, shit. I didn’t know that. I guess I’d better take it back.” He laughs as I narrow my eyes at him. “Of course I know how much it costs. But you can’t really put a price on something you love. And that old guitar in your house looks like it’s been loved to death. Time for a new one, don’t you think?”

  I glance back and forth between Colton’s tentative blue eyes and the beautiful guitar. “Why? What did I do to deserve this?”

  His brow furrows in a concerned expression. “You didn’t have to do anything.”

  I press my lips together to try to keep from crying, but the emotions are too overwhelming. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, as I wipe tears from my cheeks.

  Colton sets the guitar down on the grass a few yards away, then he kneels down on the dirt in front of me. “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head as I sniff loudly. “It’s just that… Since my dad died, I’ve always had to do something to earn my mother’s love. I had to help her with the bills or the rent, or I had to do all the cleaning and cooking. I had to shut up and put up with her creepy boyfriends. I always had to prove my worth. I never felt like she loved me for me, only for what I could do for her. I guess I just… I didn’t realize that until now. And you giving me that guitar reminds me that… I guess… I forgot what it’s like to be taken care of.”

  He lowers his head and seems to stare at my feet for a moment before he finally looks up. “Well, you don’t have to do anything for this guitar,” he says, flashing me a warm smile. “But if you want to play me a song after we eat… Well, I sure would like that.”

  I smile despite the tears that continue to fall. “You’re just too good to be true.”

  His smile fades as his gaze falls again. “I’m not that good,” he mutters as he stands up. “You want to tune your guitar, or you want to help me cook?”

  I wipe the last sticky remnants of tears from my face and stand up straight. “I want to help you.”

  He holds my gaze for a long beat before he nods and turns his attention to the fire pit, where he begins tossing in firewood.

  Watching the muscles in his forearms move so fluidly sends a thrill coursing through me. I slice up a lemon and chop some herbs, then I hand them to Colton so he can stuff them inside the fish. As he places each fish on a bed of salt on top of a large piece of foil and drizzles it with olive oil, my mouth begins to water.

  “I’m so hungry I could eat the ass out of a dead skunk,” I remark, as he packs the top of the fish in a salt crust.

  He laughs out loud. “What the fuck?”

  I smile. “It’s something my dad used to say.”

  He shakes his head. “Have you checked out the subfloor under your kitchen, where you had that leak, to see if there’s any water damage?”

  I stare at him wide-eyed. “I kind of forgot. But I do think I have some damage in the bathroom. I think my toilet is sinking. It looks drunk; like it’s tilting a little to one side.”

  “A drunk toilet in your bathroom? Why does that not surprise me?”

  I roll my eyes as I watch him close up the foil around all three pieces of salt-crusted fish. The fire has burnt out, leaving behind a smoldering pile of charred wood, which sends waves of intense heat wafting in my direction with every slight breeze.

  Glowing embers explode into the sultry air as Colton uses a piece of wood to move the burning logs around and create a hole in the center. “Hand me those foil packs,” he says, as he straddles the fire pit.

  “Yes, sir,” I say, handing h
im each packet and taking a step back as I admire his work.

  He sets the packs directly on top of the small smoldering pieces of wood in the center, then he covers them with more charred wood. “You want me to take a look at your subfloor?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Subfloor’s not too much trouble,” he replies, poking the outer logs until they catch fire again. “But hanging out with you is a big inconvenience.”

  I let out a genuine gasp. “You’re so mean.”

  “You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says, his tone oddly serious.

  We wrap some herbed potatoes in a separate piece of foil, and Colton places the packet directly on the flames. Steve lays at my feet, chewing on one of her many squeaker balls, as Colton and I watch the flames lick the air in a fiery dance of smoke and light.

  My mind goes over today’s events, and I begin to wonder if I overreacted a bit when we pulled the jacket out of the lake. I don’t think Colton works for the people I stole the money from. If that were the case, I doubt very much that I would still be alive. But this doesn’t mean he doesn’t have ulterior motives.

  He could be related to Urs-Urs, my real estate agent. Maybe she began to suspect me after I paid cash for the house, and now she’s trying to find out where I keep the rest.

  But what’s preventing them from waterboarding me to get the location of the suitcase? I guess there’s no guarantee torturing me would work. It seems more prudent to try to find the money without any violence.

  At least, I hope that’s the case. Because no matter what Colton says, he is a good person. I just hope he’s not too good to be true.

  * * *

  “Where did you learn to cook like that?” I ask while sucking buttery herbs off my fingers.

  Steve takes my finger licking as her cue to sit next to my feet and wait for leftovers.

  “I did a lot of fishing and hunting as a boy in Tennessee,” Colton replies, placing his clean plate on the tray with the used foil. “My mom took us camping a lot as kids, but she and my sister didn’t like it as much as I did. So I used to go with friends and cousins, and sometimes I’d go alone. Pretty much taught myself how to hunt and cook my own food. Maybe I should take you hunting.”