King's

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “You want me to go with you to a party tonight?” Was he out of his mind?

  “No,” he replied, “not with me. I cannot attend. In fact, that is why I’m here now, to explain there is a change of plans. But as usual, you’re late, and had you arrived on time, you would see the look on my face is one of respectful insistence.”

  Respectful insistence. “You mean, you’re asking me?” I continued walking down the steep hill toward one of the main avenues to catch a cab back to Becca’s.

  “Yes, I’m asking. In an assertive manner, but I’m asking.”

  King was asking. How odd. It definitely piqued my curiosity. “Who’s throwing the party?”

  “10 Club.”

  “You’re joking. Why the hell would I want to go to a party with your billionaire yachting buddies?”

  “I do not own a yacht,” he said blandly. “I own an ocean freighter line.”

  Sure. Of course. “Why do you want me to go?”

  “I need your help, and helping me is always in your best interest.”

  I wanted to tell him to take a long hike down a deep, dark hole, but the fact that he was asking—not forcing—made me wonder. King never asked. He demanded.

  “Will going help find Justin?”

  “Yes or no, Miss Turner?” he replied impatiently.

  Again, I wondered why King was asking when we both knew he could force me. Was this some sort of olive branch? “Fine. I’ll go.”

  “Very good, Miss Turner. I will leave instructions on the plane. I will see you as soon as I’m able. And, Miss Turner?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do not deviate in any way from my instructions, and do not leave Mack’s sight tonight. Not for a second.”

  Oh, goody. That sounded promising.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When I finally returned to Becca’s apartment, Arno was indeed waiting to take me straight to the airport, and Becca already had several of her dresses laid out for me on the bed. Most of my clothes were in storage.

  “I can’t believe you fell for King’s bullcrap, Becca,” I said, shoving my makeup and hair products into a small overnight bag.

  She shrugged. “I didn’t ‘fall’ for anything, Mia. His argument made sense; that’s all.” She held up a blue dress. “How’s this one?”

  I pointed to a sleeveless, black dress. I hoped it would be nice enough. “He’s dangerous. Didn’t you hear a word I said about him? He killed people right in front of me.”

  “Okay. But didn’t you say those men were about to attack you?”

  I slipped on the dress, and she zipped up the back. “Yeah, but—”

  “Sounds to me,” she said, “like King is just the sort of man who can save Justin from whatever shit he’s mixed up in.”

  Dammit. I didn’t have time to debate Becca on the merits of King. The man was bad news.

  She reached down in her closet and handed me a pair of black strappy heels. “Take these.” My foot was about a half size smaller than hers, but they fit.

  “How do I look?” I couldn’t believe I had agreed to go to this crazy party.

  Becca looked me over. “Lose the bra and underwear. I can see everything.”

  I slipped them off and then held out my arms. “Now?”

  “You look nervous.”

  “That’s because I am.”

  And, call me even crazier, but I was just as nervous about seeing Mack again as I was going to this mysterious event. He hadn’t been very happy with me the last time we’d seen each other only two days ago—not nearly enough time for his anger to dissipate. Now, the angry man would be my date. And my bodyguard.

  “Use the clear deodorant and lots of it,” she suggested.

  “Thanks.” I grabbed my bag; I’d do my hair and makeup on the plane. “Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need luck. You just need King.” I wanted to throttle her. Literally throttle her. What the hell did she know about King? For the love of God, she’d seen the tattoo and had heard every gory detail of my month. Didn’t she get that the man was the devil or, at the very least, some evil sorcerer from the dark ages, sent forward in time to destroy me?

  Really, Mia. Really? Why don’t you call Gandalf and ask him to loan you his staff to fight King off?

  “King is dangerous, Becca. Stay the hell away from him.”

  “Mia Turner, I think you’re actually jealous.”

  What the…ugh! I shook my head, bit my tongue, and headed out the door.

  When I arrived at the jet, I spotted Mack in his pilot’s uniform outside, checking the gear. I don’t know what caught my attention, exactly, but maybe it was the intense look on his face as he surveyed the plane, clipboard in hand, that boyish expression nowhere to be found. In that moment, I could easily visualize him in some sort of military garb, camouflaged face to match his clothes, black boots, night vision goggles, jumping out of a plane over enemy territory. He seemed fearless, competent, and loyal. I still couldn’t understand why a man like that would work for King. Who had King found for him?

  Mack caught me staring. I waved to him, and he jerked his head in my direction. I took that as a sign his anger towards me had improved.

  I trudged my way up the Jetway steps, and it dawned on me how, under alternative circumstances, flying around on a private plane with a hot pilot would be cool. As would seeing a giant rectangular box with my name on it sitting on the front row of seats. In said box was a horribly expensive, satin red gown with intricate red crystal beading. It was a red-carpet-worthy Valentino.

  “Uh. Wow?” was about all I could say when I held it up. The strapless, tapered bodice started with a push-up bustline and hugged its way down to the hips, where it flared out, giving it an upside-down trumpet shape. A deep slit up the middle would certainly show off my legs. It was elegant and sexy and—

  “Like the dress?” Mack stood just inside the jet’s doorway.

  “Yeah. Sure. I just wish I knew why we’re going to this party.” And how it would help me find out what happened to Justin.

  He slipped an envelope from his pocket. “Here are your instructions.”

  “I feel like La Femme Nikita. Do I get a gun to strap to my thigh?”

  Mack shrugged his brows. “Just what we need: Mia with a gun.”

  “What? I’m sure I could handle one. I went to the arcade when I was younger. Point and shoot.”

  Mack smirked and flashed a little bit of that soft underbelly I found so appealing. “Uh, yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of. You, your temper, and the pointing and shooting.”

  I laughed.

  He removed his pilot’s hat and finger-combed his blonde hair. His fierceness moved down another notch. “Besides, you won’t need a gun. You’ll have me.”

  “And…you’re carrying a gun?”

  “I don’t need one.”

  Why the hell not? I wondered. Before I could ask my question, he shoved the envelope at me.

  “Stop asking so many questions and read the letter, Nikita.”

  ~ ~ ~

  As soon as I was strapped into my seat, Mack had us cleared for takeoff, down the runway, and into the air. I held the letter in my hand the entire time, almost too afraid to read it. That’s when my arm started to tingle. I looked at the intricate “K” design and stroked the skin, wondering how King could use it to track and control me.

  I didn’t know, but the thing had power, and it was not my imagination. Even then, as I touched the mark with my palm, weird prickles blossomed over my body as if King were right there, standing over me with his menacing frame and strikingly handsome face.

  I closed my eyes and again felt his breath tickle my cheek, as if he were leaning down to whisper in my ear. “Read the fucking letter, Miss Turner.”

  I gasped and looked around. The cabin was completely empty.

  You’re obsessed with him, Mia. Don’t let him get inside your head.

  Right. A little too late for that.

  I begrudgingly tore o
pen the envelope and read:

  Miss Turner,

  Once again, my apologies for being unable to attend the event in person. I will, however, be there in spirit, and Mack will ensure your safety. You are to stay by his side throughout the evening, and under no circumstances are you to speak to anyone unless Mack requests it of you.

  However, should anyone insist you engage with them, you are to simply tell them you are mine. I understand that this may sound repugnant to a woman such as yourself, but I am confident your ego will survive the tarnish.

  I lifted my eyes from the letter to digest the words. What sort of frigging party would this be? I couldn’t speak to anyone, and if they spoke to me, I was only allowed to say that I belonged to King?

  I steadied my hand and returned to reading.

  Do not let the civilized appearance of the attendees deceive you, Miss Turner. They are anything but. They are savages, above any law, and they live only by the code of “might makes right.”

  While you are there, Mack will be acquiring new resources on my behalf. You are to use your abilities to sweep the room.

  You know what to look for.

  Stay out of trouble.

  – K

  I blew out a breath and mentally chewed. Basically, it sounded like I’d be going to a party of Kings. Lots and lots of mean, dangerous, civilized-only-on-the-outside Kings.

  “This ought to be fun,” I mumbled to myself. I grabbed the dress and headed to the bathroom. The dress fit my frame like a glove, as if it had been hand-sewn for my curvy body, right down to the way it pushed up my breasts. King had even managed to procure a pair of slinky red Valentino heels to go with it. Yeah, they fit perfectly, too. Yeah, it creeped me out.

  My hair was its usual challenge, so instead of trying to tame the blonde beast, I teased it out a little to give it that wild bohemian look. After throwing on some red lipstick and covering up the circles under my eyes, I had to admit, I didn’t look half bad for someone that had been through what I had in only seven days.

  I shook my head in the mirror and braced myself on the sink. Seven days. Had it really only been seven days? I’d been detained and threatened in Mexico, tattooed by some eccentric, medieval billionaire—King—discovered I had a sixth sense, seen a ghost and a dead body, been taken to London, almost stolen by a serial killer who trafficked humans, saw King kill two guys, ran off to Edinburgh, saw another dead body, and had basically lost all hope I’d ever find my brother. “You’re still standing, girl. Don’t you forget it.” And when this was all over, because there was no way in hell I would stay with King forever, I’d write a damned book about this nightmare. Fiction, of course.

  I stepped out of the bathroom and ran right into Mack. His normally disheveled hair was combed back, and he wore a very expensive-looking tuxedo. The man looked frigging gorgeous.

  He stilled, and his eyes swept over my body—head to toe and back again. He swallowed. “You look, uhhh—nice.”

  I swallowed, too. “You clean up pretty well, yourself.”

  A bit of playfulness flickered in his blue eyes. “If you like this, just wait until you see me tune up the jet’s engine. Grease monkey is my best look.”

  I smiled. I liked this version of Mack.

  “I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore, Mack.”

  “No worries. I have a temper, but I get over things quickly. I’m not big on grudges.”

  “Is that what happened to your face? Your temper?” Mack still had that bruise on his cheek, obviously.

  “King and I had a little disagreement over who should retrieve you after you took off in London. He won.”

  That made me feel like complete crap. “I’m really sorry, Mack. I didn’t mean to cause you problems. I was afraid. I still am.”

  He stared at me for a quiet moment and then shook his head. “I, uh,” he forced himself back to Serious Mack, “just wanted to tell you we’ll be landing soon. Time to strap in.”

  “Thanks. I’m all ready to go.”

  “Read the letter?” he asked.

  “Yep. I am to be seen and not heard.”

  His eyes swept over my body once again. Then he shook his head.

  “What?” I asked.

  Mack’s eyes flashed to my cleavage. “I don’t know what the hell King was thinking putting you in that dress. That’s like marinating you in blood, then dropping you in a shark tank.”

  Dammit. I knew going to this party was a mistake. “I thought I’d be safe with you.”

  “You’ll be safe, but it’s just going to take me a hell of a lot more effort.”

  “But you were some sort of assassin type, special-forces-whatever, right?” Honestly, I knew nothing about the military other than the basics: army, navy, air force, and marines.

  “I was a navy fighter pilot for a few years. Then I moved to a special assignment. I don’t like to talk about it.”

  That last part of his comment made me wonder why. Maybe something bad happened to him.

  Mack looked me over again. “Sometimes I think King does this sort of shit just because he likes to keep me on my toes.”

  “Ya think?” I smiled. It was funny to hear Mack call King on his BS antics. And it was good to know I wasn’t the only one who objected.

  “Yeah. I think.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I gotta land the plane. Just try to relax tonight and…” He scratched his unshaved chin with a day’s worth of golden-brown growth.

  “What?”

  “And don’t fuck it up.”

  I watched his elegantly dressed, broad back disappear into the cockpit. “Thanks.”

  Within the hour, Mack and I were down on the ground and into a black stretch limo. I felt like we were living on some twisted reality show where everything looked like a spectacular Cinderella-like dream on the outside, when really, it was the story of Dante’s Inferno.

  “So, where are we going?” I asked.

  “Bel Air.”

  I hadn’t been to Bel Air, but I knew it had the most expensive homes in L.A. Who hadn’t watched The Fresh Prince? “And who’s throwing the party?”

  “The host is more or less the president of 10 Club.”

  They had a president?

  “Only,” Mack added, “no one holds any allegiance to him. This is pretty much his only function.”

  “Having a party?” I asked.

  “Consider this like a swap meet.”

  Now I was lost.

  “I thought this was a party,” I said.

  “It looks like a party, but really, it’s an annual event where people of like interests barter for things they need. It’s also an excuse to get together, check out any new members.”

  My mind started to add up all of those tiny crumbs that had been left in my bed, digging under my skin. Vaughn and King trying to barter for me and the Artifact. King mentioning he collected “things” and acquired certain “abilities.” The strange secretiveness. And the bizarre code of ethics King seemed to live by—thou shall obey me, I am your master, etc. It was like he didn’t live in this world, but in some uber-wealthy alternate reality.

  “10 Club isn’t just a club for billionaires,” I realized aloud.

  Mack nodded. “So King told you?”

  “No, not exactly. I’m just figuring it out.”

  “I heard you’re good at that,” Mack said.

  “That and running away, getting myself knee-deep in shit I don’t understand, and occasionally hanging with people I shouldn’t.”

  He chuckled. “How about following people you shouldn’t? Is it true? Did you really follow King the first day you two met?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Your balls are bigger than I thought,” he said. “I’ve seen King kill for less.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you to work for someone like that?”

  Mack looked at me and tilted his head, grinning. “Who’s to say I haven’t done the same?”

  “Have you?”

  He looked away. “I�
��ve done many things that would shock you, Mia.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He looked at me, and I caught a glimpse of his pensive face as a car passed by. “I’d kill for him, and he’d do the same for me.”

  I had the feeling that what Mack really meant was they already had. “What exactly did King do for you?” I just couldn’t figure out how someone like Mack could be so happy working for a sadistic bastard like King.

  “He…” Mack took a shallow breath, “acquired me. At a party like this one, actually.”

  “What the hell?”

  “It’s a long story. All I can say is that after I served in Iraq, I wasn’t the same person. I did things I’m not proud of and got mixed up with someone who took advantage of me.”

  How anyone could take advantage of a man like Mack boggled my mind.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. But they weren’t kind to me. Once the fog began to clear, I knew I needed to get away. King helped me.”

  So Mack had been looking for his freedom from someone. That was the deal he made with King.

  I sighed to myself. “How does someone ‘acquire’ another person?” It was morally repugnant.

  “The world is full of some sick people. As for 10 Club, once you make a deal with any of them, you’re in for life. They own you, just like King owns you.”

  “He doesn’t own me,” I protested.

  “You really believe that?”

  Yes, I did.

  “So,” I said, “you’re trying to tell me this 10 Club is really some secret society of demented, wealthy people who go around making deals, ‘acquiring’ people, and then trading them like baseball cards?”

  “No. They are a group of very rich, very powerful people who collect things, all kinds of things. To some it’s a game—entertainment. To others, it’s about power—the more, the better. And some play because they genuinely need something.”

  “Need. Like what?”

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. No one wears their true intentions on their sleeves. Anything you care about is a weakness, and the members will exploit it if they figure out what it is.”

  Frigging insanity! Was he serious?