But not this woman.
She got him banned from the hospital she worked in. Silly woman, she'd turned it into a challenge for him. It became a game, finding new and interesting ways to annoy her. Discovering different ways to get into the building. It got so even the guards and her superiors didn't care. He made her patients laugh with his antics.
“Surely you must be warming up to me,” he teased her one night as he followed her to her car. She rolled her eyes.
“Not really. How old are you?” she asked, glancing up at him.
“Twenty-five. And you?”
“Never ask a woman that question, soldier.”
“Sensitive! You don't look a day over twenty, if it makes you feel better.”
“It doesn't.”
They arrived at the side of her vehicle, but before she could open her door, he put his hand flat against it. She went to glare at him, then looked surprised when he simply held out his free hand.
“Law,” he gave his name again. “Kingsley Law.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I know your name.”
“And I know yours, but that doesn't mean we've been introduced,” he explained.
“What game are you playing now?”
“No game. Just a man, wanting to meet a woman.”
She stared at him for a while. Glanced at his outstretched hand. Looked back up at his smiling face. Then back at his hand. Finally, she let out a long sigh and put her hand into his own, her fingers warm as they squeezed him.
“Fine, Mr. Law. Fine. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said through clenched teeth, shaking his hand.
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. But I didn't catch your name,” he said. Of course, he already knew her name. He knew her social security number, her mother's maiden name, and how her first dog had died. Still. He wanted her to give it to him. He smiled when she let out another pained sigh.
“Mai. My name is Mai Johansen.”
THE PRESENT ...
Kingsley woke up with a start, completely drenched in sweat. He sat up straight, breathing heavy as he glanced around the room. All the lights were off, but sunlight peeked in through the blinds. He wasn't sure what time it was; jet lag had knocked him out, and the moment he'd gotten to his room at Damiano's house, he'd fallen asleep.
The dreams didn't bother him anymore. The memories. He had them often. Old ghosts coming back to haunt him. After a particularly stressful job, or a dramatic move, or sometimes just a certain scent or sound, he'd have the dreams. They'd start, and then they wouldn't stop, taking over his brain until he did something to purge them. “Something” usually meaning sex, drugs, and/or alcohol. Until he could procure those things, though, he had to make do with keeping himself busy.
He got out of bed and started stretching. Quickly moved into a work out routine. Spent an extra hour on martial arts. By the time his head felt clear enough to continue on with his day, he was even sweatier than when he'd woken up.
He took a long shower, mentally naming off every English monarch going back to William the Conquerer. A silly trick, one he'd learned as a child, but had retained because it did the trick. It kept him focused, even distracted. He kept reciting names as he got dressed, pulling out one of his favorite suits, a shiny gunmetal number. When he had his tie neatly knotted and his cuff links just so, he finally let out a deep breath.
“One foot in front of the other,” he grumbled to himself. “Keep moving. Just have to ...”
He paused, and Lily's words floated back to him.
Just have to find a purpose.
When Kingsley walked out of his room and saw a woman tip toeing down the hall, his first thought was that some higher power was reading his mind and delivering distractions right to his door step. He tilted his head to the side and watch her for a moment. She was hugging the wall and hurrying along, obviously not wanting to be seen.
She must have been one of the prostitutes Damiano always kept in abundant supply. Some people liked fresh cut flowers in their home. Damiano liked a fresh supply of beautiful women. But Kingsley also knew the women weren't allowed to wander around at their leisure. He smiled to himself and started following her, keeping his footsteps light.
It wasn't till he was almost on top of her that he realized she was familiar to him. She was wearing tight pants which showed off a phenomenal figure, as well as a sheer breezy blouse and a bikini top. The curve of her hips brought back fuzzy memories, and then she went to turn around. He ducked into a doorway, but not before catching sight of her profile.
Thick, dark hair. Round, blue eyes. Fair, clear skin. Pouty, full lips.
Oh my, she is tenacious. I am intrigued.
The woman from the bar, the one who'd drugged him, was sneaking around Damiano's home. How had she gotten in? She was dressed for a pool party, she must've been masquerading as a prostitute. Or maybe she really was a prostitute, who knew. Regardless, though, she was clearly up to no good, and Kingsley felt he was owed some sort of retribution for what she'd done to him.
Unacceptable to lure a man in with the promise of sex, and then not deliver. She could've drugged me after we'd slept together. It would've been the polite thing to do.
He lengthened his stride and was on top of her before she even knew anyone was there. He had one arm around her neck and his other hand across her mouth, stopping her from making any sound. She jumped at his touch, but then held still in his grasp.
“Darling, I know we had a good time, but really, stalking is never attractive,” he teased her, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear.
He could feel her freeze at the sound of his voice. Watched as her eyes moved to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of him. She began mumbling from behind his palm, but of course he couldn't understand her. Then there was the sound of a door around the corner opening. He didn't relish giving her up to security before he had a chance to question her on his own, so he simply backed into a room, shutting the door before anyone could see them.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed the moment he moved his hand away.
“Really, I think I should be the one asking that question. I was invited here. What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I'm ... I'm with the girls downstairs, I was -, what do you think you're doing?” she demanded when he pressed his hands against the sides of her breasts.
“Frisking you, of course. You had a very small gun on you last time we met, if I recall correctly. I don't particularly feel like seeing it again,” he explained as his hands moved over her body. He was making a production of it, getting a kick out of making her nervous, but it was also the truth. He didn't want to have to hurt her.
“Look, I'm sorry about everything that happened the other night. It got a little crazy,” she managed a laugh when he finished searching her. “I came with the girls downstairs, that's it.”
“Oh really? Then what are you doing up here?” he questioned her.
“Looking for a bathroom. I really have to -”
Enough.
He slapped her across the face. Not hard – just enough to get her attention. Enough to let her know that though he loved a laugh and liked to flirt, he wasn't someone to fuck around with; Kingsley knew his personality was disarming. It was meant to be, and often worked in his favor. But sometimes it caused people to not take him as the threat he was, and it was time she learned.
It's time she met the real Law.
“Do not lie to me,” he said, keeping his voice hard and even.
“Did you just fucking slap me?” she sounded shocked as she pressed a hand to her cheek.
“I won't ask you again. What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Go fuck yourself!”
He slapped her again.
“As fun as it is to play with you, I do have things I have to do today. Now, you can either answer to me, or you can answer to Mr. Ledo's personal guards. I believe their standard policy is a 'shoot first, ask questio
ns later' kind of one. Would you like to find out?”
She swung at him, which didn't surprise him at all. He blocked a jab to his throat while at the same time deftly side stepping a kick to the groin. He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her forward before getting a fistful of her hair. Then he spun her around and slammed her against the wall. She let out a cry as her cheekbone smacked against it.
“Do you treat all your exes like this?” she complained, putting her hands flat next to her head.
“Oh my, I wasn't aware that we'd been in a relationship. There must have been a lot of drugs in that flask you gave me. Look, I don't particularly enjoy hurting people if they don't deserve it, but I also don't like someone fucking about with me. I will ask you one more time, what -”
An elbow hit him in the jaw, and absurdly, his first thought was, “she's actually rather quick”.
It turned into a dance after that – she could spin and move and stay out of his grasp, but she wasn't good enough, nor brave enough, to get close to land any solid hits. He ducked a second attempt at a punch, only to be kicked in the knee. He managed to grab ahold of her blouse and yank her close. She stomped on his toes, so he returned the favor by tossing her over his head. She landed on the bed, bounced a couple times, then fell to the floor, taking down a night stand as she went. While she floundered around, he straightened his suit jacket.
“You're not a very nice man,” she grumbled.
“Of course I'm not, what on earth gave you the impression I was? Are you done?”
“Not quite.”
The leg of the end table came flying at his face, and while Kingsley jumped out of the way, she managed to rip the top blanket off the bed. He started stalking towards her, but when she jumped to her feet, she held the twisted ends of the blanket in her hands. A lump swung around as she moved away from him, and he realized she must have wrapped something up in the material.
Clever.
“Darling, please. I don't want to fight, I promise. Just calm down and we can discuss this like rational adults,” he assured her, holding up his hands. She glared at him.
“Really? Because when we spoke a minute ago, I got slapped. Twice,” she pointed out.
“Yes, and if you're very lucky, next time you'll get a spanking.”
The lump of blanket came flying at him. He leaned away and she struck the wall. There was the sound of breaking glass – she must have wrapped up a lamp. Now her ball of fabric had shards of porcelain sticking out of it. Lovely.
“Look,” she was panting. “I want to make a deal.”
“Sorry, love. Fresh out of deals,” he replied, creeping towards her, staying light on the balls of his feet.
“I have information I'm sure you, and your boss, would love to know,” she promised. He laughed at her.
“My boss? Clearly, if your intel is so shit that you think Damiano is my boss, then I can't possibly be interested in anything you have to say.”
“You won't think that when -”
Kingsley lunged for her. She jumped back, practically throwing the mess of blankets and broken glass at him. He felt one of the shards slice the side of his jaw, but he pushed through it.
She went to give him a kick from the hip, and her form was decent, but she had no clue who she was dealing with – he grabbed her by the ankle, yanked her off balance, then back handed her. She went down on the bed again, hard, and as she slid to the floor, he grabbed her by the back of her hair. She jerked upright in his grasp, again surprising him by holding a weapon in her hand, a tiny knife she'd had hidden god knew where. Her outfit wasn't exactly built for stealth.
“Cheeky little girl!” he laughed, stopping her and twisting her arm so the blade was pressed against the side of her neck. She wasn't going anywhere. He had no intention of hurting her – no, he would leave that to Damiano – but she had caused him a lot of problems. He pressed the blade down harder, drawing blood.
“You have a spy!” she all but shrieked. Kingsley stopped pressing.
“Yes, I'm well aware of that, I caught her red handed,” he pointed out. She went to nod her head, then clearly thought better of it. She was holding herself so tense in his arms, she started to shake with the effort.
“No, not me. A man, in the kitchen. He's not supposed to be here, he's an FBI agent. Something strange is going on, it looks like he's been working in there for a while. He freaked out when he saw me,” she explained in a hoarse voice.
“And that's why you're here? Tracking down this guy?” he questioned her. She hesitated for a second, then managed a small nod.
“Yes. I'm ... I know I shouldn't be here, but I have to find out what's going on with him,” she insisted.
She was lying, that much was obvious, but about what, Kingsley couldn't tell. He didn't doubt there was a spy in the kitchen. Damiano was constantly purging people from his staff for providing information to law enforcement agencies and rival gangs. But Kingsley didn't believe for one second that's why she was in the house.
“So you didn't come here for me?” he double checked.
“No. I didn't even know you'd be here – I've been watching the house for over a week. I figured you'd left. I wouldn't have come if I'd thought you were here,” she said quickly.
“You obviously weren't watching too closely last night. I got in on a red-eye flight.”
“Are you gonna turn me over to Ledo?” she cut to the chase.
“That is the million dollar question right now. He's not my boss, you know. He is a friend whom I do odd jobs for on occasion, but in no way is he my 'boss'. I don't owe him anything, so there's really no need to turn you over,” he explained. She visibly relaxed.
“Oh, thank god, cause -”
“However, he is a very good friend, and it would be rude of me to just let you go gallavanting about his house, uninvited. Shameful, really.”
She tensed up again.
“Look, either turn me in, or kill me, or let me go, or whatever, please, but just end this,” she hissed.
“Do you know what I am?” Kingsley suddenly asked, dipping his head down so his mouth was right by her ear.
“Assassin?”
“No. We discussed this once before, remember.”
“Please,” her voice was a whisper.
“I am a man who has, over the years, developed a very impressive set of skills. I can track you down and find you wherever you go, I can make you feel pain in ways you didn't even know were possible, and I can make you wish you'd never met me,” he growled.
“Too late – I already wish that,” she joked, and he actually smiled.
“Good. I don't believe anything you've said. I think if anyone here is with the FBI, it's you. You smell like Quantico,” he kept talking. “I think you're some lost little bunny rabbit of an agent, who hasn't the faintest idea what she's gotten herself into, or how to get out of it.”
“You're very good, but I promise you, there is an agent in the kitchen, and he's not supposed to be there,” she insisted. He stared at her profile for a second, absorbing her words.
They could spend the afternoon like this, talking in circles. Or he could turn her over to Damiano, let her see his dungeon-basement first hand. Or Kingsley could let her go and he could follow her. See what was really going on, because it was obvious she had no clue.
Intrigue. Suspense. Adventure. Finally.
He let her go so abruptly, she stumbled forward, planting her hands on the mattress. He kept her knife, yanking it free from her grasp. She spun around quickly, backing up until she was pressed against the closet doors.
“I'm giving you a gift. There aren't many people who see my face and are allowed to live,” he informed her.
“Do they drop dead at the sight of it?” she taunted. His eyebrows shot up.
“Darling, I've just told you I'm going to let you go, and your first instinct is to hurl insults – and salacious lies – at my appearance? My god, you are bad at your job,” he started laughing at her.
> “Fuck you.”
“I'd be delighted.”
“I'm going to walk out that door, and you're not gonna stop me,” she told him, then she began sliding towards the wall. He moved to block the exit.
“Oh no, I'm afraid that's a terrible idea. Didn't they tell you the rules? If you're found up here, you will be shot. It's not a hollow threat – I've seen it happen. You'll come with me,” he suggested, holding out his hand. She guffawed.
“Are you joking? You just beat me, knocked me down, and cut me with a knife! Why should I trust you?” she demanded.
“Because of the two of us, I'm the only one who hasn't told a lie.”
She glared at him for a moment, then snorted and took his outstretched hand.
It was a good thing, too. When Kingsley opened the door, a guard was about three feet away, a semi-automatic rifle in his hands. Kingsley smiled, wrapped his arm around the woman's hips, and led her down the hall. She stared straight ahead and he almost laughed. She couldn't have looked more guilty if she'd been actively trying to.
“Thank you,” she breathed when they finally turned the corner to the stairs.
“You're very welcome. By the way, we've gone through all this foreplay, and I don't even know your real name,” he teased. She rolled her eyes and tried to step out of his arm, but he held her closer as they made their way to the lower level of the house.
“Jesus, you're annoying, and I don't know your name, either,” she pointed out.
“You haven't earned it yet. Smile big now, love, we're about to run the gamut.”
They were back on the main floor. Staff were scurrying back and forth from the kitchen, delivering drinks and food. The guard detail seemed to be double its usual amount, which Kingsley knew could only mean one thing. When he pushed open the door that led to the courtyard and pool, he smiled, knowing Damiano would be out there.
“I began to wonder if you were ever coming down!” the drug lord laughed, clapping his hands together.
Kingsley could feel the woman tense up again. She was really terrible at disguising her emotions – no wonder she wasn't a full fledged undercover agent. She was horrible at it. He just hugged her tighter to his side, almost laughing when she stumbled as his hand smoothed over her ass.
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