The King

by Taylor Danae Colbert

  I swallow.

  But before I can answer her, and as I’m contemplating carrying her out of here on my shoulder, there’s a knock at her door. Carter and I make eye contact, and I reach behind my pants and pull my gun out. Her eyes widen as she looks at it in my hand, but I shove her behind me. Carter motions to me then tip-toes across the carpet, looking through the peephole.

  The look on his face confirms my worst nightmare: someone was sent here to take Scarlett.

  I reach a hand behind me and tuck her back further, giving her arm a squeeze before I put my hand back on my gun.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “Scarlett,” a voice calls from the other side of the door. “Come on out, honey.”

  I feel her body start to shake behind me, and I reach back again to take her hand.

  My blood boils in my veins, and I start fantasizing about blowing the fucking brains out of whomever is on the other side of this door.

  “Scarlett,” the man sings, “come on out, sweetheart.”

  But before we can make another move, a silenced shot goes off, blowing the lock right off her door. She jumps and screams, covering her mouth as I cover her with my body. Just as the asshole makes eye contact with me, Carter leaps out from behind the kitchen counter and whips him across the face with his gun, blood splattering on the wall next to him as he spins around and crashes to the ground.

  I turn to Scarlett, a shaking mess, and scoop her off the ground.

  She wraps her arms around my neck, burying her face into my chest. Carter scopes out the hallway then nods to me.

  “Scar, we gotta go,” I whisper in her ear. “I don’t know how many more might be coming.”

  She nods slowly against my chest but never lifts her head.

  “I’ve got you,” I whisper to her. “Hold on tight.”

  I carry her down all three flights of stairs and to the car, sliding her into the backseat as Carter fires up the engine and flies out of the spot. He follows our regular protocol, driving all around town for the next twenty minutes or so, in case we’ve got a tail. And all the while, she sits in a ball on the backseat, curled up against me.

  And Jesus, does it feel good.

  When I think about what might have happened if we had gotten there moments later, I want to fucking scream. I wrap my arms around her tighter, stroking her long honey locks as we ride in complete silence.

  Finally, Carter pulls up to the house and parks, and I open my door and slide out, holding out a hand for her. She takes it, and I pull her out, bending down to pick her up again so she doesn’t have to walk up the front walk barefoot.

  When we finally get inside, I set her down on the hardwood, and she looks completely helpless.

  “I’ll be in the study tonight, keeping an eye on surveillance,” Carter says. “And I’ll let Gio know when he gets in what’s going on.” I nod.

  “Thanks, Carter.”

  Before he walks up the stairs, he turns back to us.

  “You’re gonna be okay, Scarlett,” he says then turns and jogs up the stairs.

  Scarlett and I stand in the foyer of the brownstone, perfectly still for a moment, before I motion to the kitchen.

  “You hungry?” I ask her. She shakes her head slowly.

  She just almost got killed, you jackass. Of course she’s not hungry.

  She looks around the foyer, her eyes trailing across the room and up to the crystal chandelier that hangs in the middle. She wraps her arms around herself.

  “Everything looks exactly the same,” she says. Then, I see tears start to spill from her eyes. “I guess everything they were afraid of is finally coming true.”

  Then, she brings her hand to her mouth to cover her cries, and I rush to her, wrapping her in my arms as she sobs on my chest.

  After a few moments, I pull away from her, taking her hand in mine and gently leading her toward the stairs. We climb the first set, then the second, until we’re on the floor where my suite is. I lead her to the right, where the guest room sits directly across from mine, and pull her inside. I close the door behind us and walk toward the big guest bathroom in the corner of the room. I turn the bath on as warm as it will go and walk back out to her.

  I lead her into the bathroom, stopping right in front of the tub. She looks up at me, her eyes red and filled with tears. I lean forward and kiss her forehead then reach down for the hem of her shirt. I feel her breath catch in her throat, but she lifts her arms straight up, letting me tug the cotton up over her head.

  I almost pass out when I realize she doesn’t have a bra on, but I stay focused. I reach down and tug on her pajama shorts, letting them slide down her legs along with her lace panties that I pretend not to see.

  I take her hand again, help her walk up the steps to the tub, and let her step into the water, sliding down until she’s completely submerged. She leans her head back against the tub and closes her eyes. I bend down and leave a kiss on her forehead then, with all my will, pull myself out of the bathroom and close the door.

  I walk across the hall to my room, trying to calm myself down before I combust. My God, she’s completely perfect. I haven’t seen her naked in more than a decade, and it did not disappoint. If her world wasn’t crumbling before her and she wasn’t in imminent danger, there’s not a chance I would have been able to walk out of there like that. But I need to be exactly what she needs me to be right now.

  I run a hand over my face as I dig through my drawers for an old shirt for her to wear, then I walk back across the hall and lay it on her bed. Back in my room, I slide my phone open and re-dial her father at the number he called me from.

  “Hello? Dominic? Hello?” he answers frantically after just one ring.

  “Sal,” I say.

  “Did you get to her? Was she okay? Oh, God, did you––”

  “She’s here with me, safe,” I tell him. I hear him blow out a sigh of relief on the other end.

  “Thank you, Jesus,” he says. “Thank you, Dominic, I don’t know––”

  “Tell me what’s going on, Sal,” I say, my tone deep and impatient.

  “I can’t...I can’t tell you everything. Not over the phone. Not right now,” Sal says. “Just please, keep her safe. Please. We will meet up tomorrow, okay? Meet me at Birk’s around noon. Don’t bring her.”

  “Sal––” I say, but he hangs up. I throw the phone down on my bed in frustration. I could strangle the bastard. Whatever he did, he put her in danger, too.

  After twenty minutes or so, I hear the water start to drain, and I lift my head from my pillow. After another minute, there’s a knock on my door, and I sit up.

  “Come in,” I say, my stomach tying itself in knots when I see her with my old t-shirt on, her wet hair dangling down off one shoulder.

  “Hey,” she says sheepishly.

  “Hey,” I say, sliding off the bed and walking toward her.

  “Thanks for this,” she says, tugging on the shirt. Then, her eyes flick up to me. “And for the bath.”

  I nod.

  “Of course. The guest room should have everything you need for tonight, but if you need anything else, just holler. When we know it’s safe, we will get you back to your apartment to get whatever you need.”

  She tilts her head to the side and cocks an eyebrow up.

  “You mean I’m...staying here? Like, for more than one night?”

  I nod slowly.

  “For how long?” she asks.

  “I really don’t know, Scar,” I say. “I just know that it’s not safe at your apartment, and wherever your dad is, that’s not safe either.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “I just did. He couldn’t tell me much, but––” I pause for a moment, deciding not to mention that I’m going to meet Sal tomorrow. If she knows, she’ll want to come, and I can’t be certain it’s safe. “I’m sure he’ll call back soon. If he does, I’ll let you know.”

  She draws in a shaky breath and nods, her head hanging t
oward the ground.

  “I can’t believe, after all this time,” she says with a brief smile, “that I ended up back here, back in this life anyway.”

  She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want you.

  Our eyes lock, and I swallow.

  “I wish I could have saved you from it,” I say.

  She flashes another quick smile.

  “Thank you again,” she says. “Goodnight.”

  “Night.”

  I collapse back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how the fuck I got here. How the girl I will always want, the girl I fucking live and breathe for, is lying in the bed across the hall, and I still can’t have her. I still can’t be what she needs. And I never will.

  5

  Scarlett - Senior Year

  I saw him one more time today at school before the day ended, when I was getting the last of my books out of my locker and walking out to meet the car that my dad sent for me.

  He was standing in the middle of a swarm of people, conversations going on all around him, but he was looking at me over his shoulder. And when he realized I was looking back, he gave me that panty-dropping half-smile that made me want to melt into a puddle.

  Now, I'm sitting at the dining room table in our new apartment, staring down at the blank computer screen in front of me. I have an essay on the three branches of government due on Friday, and all I can do is keep my finger on the "D" key then erase it and start all over.

  "Hey, sweetie," I hear my dad's grumbly voice roll in from the front door. "How was it today?"

  He bends down to kiss the top of my head like he does every day, then he goes on to look at his phone or the mail in his hand instead of actually listening to me.

  "It was fine," I say. "I only joined two gangs and did a handful of drugs."

  He pauses for a minute, then when the words click, his head snaps up to me. He narrows his eyes when he sees the playful smile on my face and shakes his head.

  "Well, good, baby. So listen, we're headed over to a new friend's house this weekend for dinner on Sunday."

  I tilt my head.

  "What friend?"

  He shrugs.

  "Just a friend, sweets. A mutual friend. We might do some business together. He said to bring the family, and since you're all I've got left, I'd love it if you'd come with me, hon."

  I swallow and nod my head in agreement. The guilt card always works on me, and he knows it—no matter how many times I've asked him to keep me out of whatever "business" he does that makes it so he's gone for days at a time, hasn't filed taxes in years, and sleeps with a gun next to his head every night.

  But he used my mom and sister against me. And he knows it's my weak spot.

  When they died in a car accident last year, it crushed us both. For Dad, he lost half of his heart. For me, I lost my companions. I lost the two people I spent every day with. Every hour. Those nights when Dad would be gone, I'd always have my mom and Camilla.

  And now they're gone, and the nights he's gone, I spend alone.

  And now, I spend them alone in a new borough, in a new penthouse apartment, by myself. He disappears into his office and closes the door, and I let my head fall to my keyboard, wondering who it is I'll be required to charm this weekend and pretend that I'm living that perfect Melucci life.

  Friday rolls around, and I'm leaving my AP Government class after having turned in what I'm certain was at least a B+ paper. Definitely not my best work, and I have a certain six-foot-something guy with big brown eyes to thank for that. We've passed each other a few times in the halls, and each time, he gives me a nod of that perfect headful of caramel-colored hair and that same sultry smile.

  But that's it.

  As the last bell of the day rings and I walk back down the huge flight of stairs in the middle of the school toward the main doors, I feel a nudge on my shoulder.

  "Where ya off to, Melucci?" Dom asks, making my heart patter in my chest.

  "Oh, hey," I say, tucking a blonde curl behind my ear. "Just home."

  "Fun," he says. "Got any good plans this weekend?"

  I shake my head.

  "Not much. Probably catching up on all the studying I didn't do this week and then going with my dad to some boring dinner on Sunday."

  Dom smiles as he nods his head.

  "Homework on a weekend and dinner with your dad? You didn't tell me you were a nerd and a family girl, Melucci," he says with that same sly smile. I laugh and offer an innocent shrug.

  "Ya caught me," I say as I get out to the Cadillac that's waiting for me. He nods in my direction again.

  "Have a good weekend, Melucci," he says as his eyes narrow on me. And just as I nod back and slip into the car, I see him bite his bottom lip.

  My dad's been gone all weekend, per usual, and when he walks back in on Sunday afternoon, he's carrying a box of cannolis from Mary's, my favorite restaurant back in Manhattan. I look down at the box then back up to him.

  I recognize the patterns in our relationship—if you can even call it that anymore—and I realize they're unhealthy. I'm just not sure, as a teenage girl, what I'm supposed to do about them. I live in a penthouse apartment with a full suite to myself. I have every item a teenage girl could possibly want. I have a personal driver, and we have a housekeeper who makes us amazing meals every single day.

  There's not much I could argue I'm in need of, except maybe some fucking attention from my father. Some goddamn time.

  "You went into the city without me?" I ask him. He purses his lips and shoots me a look.

  "I think what you mean to say is, 'Thanks for going to my favorite bakery and getting me my absolute favorite dessert, Dad,'" he says, crossing his arms over his chest. I reach a hand out toward the box and pluck one out, then reach for another.

  "Want one?" I ask him. He pauses for a moment, but to my surprise, he snags it from my fingers and drags the chair out next to me, sitting down and taking a bite.

  We don't say much, just chomp away at the creamy goodness in silence. When we're done, he looks up at me as he claps the crumbs off his hands.

  "I'm sorry things are so different now, hon," he says, and I'm overcome when I see the regret on his face.

  "It's okay, Dad," I say, even though it's not.

  "It's not," he says with a shrug and a sad smile. "I just...I don't know what else to do. I know I'm not here enough. I know that. I'm just trying to keep it all together. Your mother...she was the one who knew how to do the rest."

  I reach out and take his hand, my heart splintering in my chest.

  "You're doing fine, Dad," I whisper. He squeezes my hand and smiles.

  "Well, let's get going before we're late. I'm hoping this will set me up to be able to be around more for you," he says, standing up from the table and holding a hand out to me. And suddenly, I'm much more okay with going to dinner.

  The Cadillac pulls up to a big row of giant brownstones, and I look up at the one we're parked at with wide eyes.

  Money recognizes money, and I recognize it.

  Dad slides out of the back, and I follow. We walk up the big front steps that make me feel like I'm walking into some sort of castle in the middle of Brooklyn.

  As Dad raises his hand to knock, a petite woman with dark hair pulled back in a bun opens it.

  "Evening, Mr. Melucci," she says. "I'm Silla. Come on in."

  "Thank you," he says, letting me in first. She takes our coats and hangs them on the rack next to the door then leads us into the dining room.

  A man sitting at the head of the table sees us and practically hops up from his seat. He claps his hands together in joy then shakes Dad's hand vigorously.

  "Sal!" he says. "So glad you guys could make it!"

  "Thanks for the invite, Marlon," Dad says, turning his charm way up. "We're happy to be here. This is my daughter, Scarlett." He nudges me forward a bit, and Marlon takes my hand.

  "Nice to meet you, Scarlett. Your dad tells me you started at Kellerton Prep?"


  I nod my head.

  "Yep, about a month ago," I tell him.

  "What year?"

  "I'm a junior."

  "Ahh, you may know one or both of my sons. Speaking of which...where are they?" he asks, looking at Silla who shrugs her shoulders. A beautiful middle-aged woman walks into the room, wearing an impeccable black pantsuit. Her hair is pulled back in some sort of barrette, and she smiles at me as she approaches. Marlon puts his arm around her.

  "This is Sal Melucci and his daughter, Scarlett," Marlon tells her. "New associate of mine." He and the woman exchange some sort of look, and she just nods slowly then sticks out a perfectly manicured hand.

  "Scarlett, it's so nice to meet you. I'm Marlon's wife, Irene," she says.

  "Hello," I say, taking her hand. "It's nice to meet you, too. You have a beautiful home."

  "Thank you, darling," she says, putting a hand to her chest. Out of the corner of the room, a skinny little girl walks in through the doorway. She's the spitting image of Irene, with long caramel-colored hair but with an attitude on her face that looks to far outweigh her age.

  "Avianna, where are your brothers?" Marlon asks.

  "Upstairs, wrestling, as usual," she says with an unimpressed eye roll. Then, her eyes land on me. "Who are you?"

  I look from her, to my father, to Marlon, then back to her. She only comes up to my chest, but it seems like she is the type of girl to command any room she walks into. I'd be willing to bet she can't be older than ten or eleven, but I'd also be willing to bet that, someday, she's going to have a lot of people working for her.

  "I'm Scarlett," I say. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Avie," she says. "But since I don't know you, you should call me Avianna."

  "Avianna," Irene warns with an eyebrow. I smile and nod in her direction.

  "You got it, Avianna."

  Marlon excuses himself and walks across the foyer to the bottom of the huge staircase.

  "Boys! Get down here. It's dinner time," he calls up. Within moments, there's a loud rumbling, like someone cut a line of barrels loose at the top of the steps. There are smacking sounds, thumping, and laughing until two wild and unruly teenage boys appear at the bottom of the steps. "We have guests, you animals."