The Dead King

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  “No. Fuck no. This is as far as I go.”

  Before I could react, Jack had me by one of my braids and dragged me through the warehouse door.

  “Jack! You piece a shit! Let go!” I clawed and pushed, but his hand was like a vise. I couldn’t pry him off.

  Suddenly, the lights in the warehouse came on, and he let go. I stopped fighting, too.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The warehouse was huge, filled with empty heavy-duty steel racks that reached the ceiling. Like most things I’d come to associate with Jack, this too made no fucking sense.

  “Sonofa…” He marched off toward a set of stairs at the back of the football-field-length room.

  Despite my need to punch him in the face, I stayed by the door. Something wicked occupied this building besides Jack. It was time to run. There was no other choice.

  Stay, Jeni… a voice whispered in my head.

  I jumped and did a three-sixty. “Who’s there?”

  No one replied, of course.

  I bolted for the door and didn’t stop until I was outside in the middle of the empty street. And lucky me, my mind thought that would be the ideal moment to rehash what Jack had just said about my special relationship with death.

  You know how sometimes a person tells you something and a lightbulb comes on? Then suddenly you see a truth that had been staring you right in the face?

  This was not one of those moments.

  I didn’t feel the truth in his words. I never pushed people away because I was afraid of hurting them. I was afraid of them hurting me. So where he’d come up with this story?

  It’s bullshit.

  On the other hand, Jack seemed to know things—impossible things. Was it possible that I had killed Randall merely by wishing it?

  “Yes. It’s fucking possible.” Jack emerged from the warehouse. “And it’s time you start accepting what you are.”

  My breath hitched. Jack looked deadlier and more sexually addictive than ever before. His beautiful gaze was fierce, unwavering. His rigid posture exuded authority. Even his lips seemed more sensual. Whatever this place was, it gave him power.

  I swallowed down a dry lump stuck in my throat. “I know there’s a lot about you I can’t explain, Jack, but that doesn’t mean you’re right about me. Or telling the truth.” Maybe he was the devil, sent to tempt me into his own personal hell.

  “No. Not the devil.”

  “But you want to suck me into a world only you see.”

  “Dammit, woman,” he growled. “I am through with these games.”

  I will show you, said the same deep voice I’d heard back at the police station in Tampa.

  Suddenly, Jack’s strong hand was wrapped around my neck. “I told you I was not a nice man. And since you refuse to accept what you are, you are of no use to me. Except to bring the pleasure of watching you die.” He smiled down, his blue eyes filling with sadistic delight. He was enjoying this, just like Randall had.

  He lifted me like a ragdoll and brought us nose to nose. “Maybe I’ll give you a good fuck, like Randall was going to. I know you’ve been thinking about getting my big cock inside you. Isn’t that right, Dorothy?”

  The terror inside me began shifting. I wasn’t going to let him do this. I wasn’t weak. Not anymore.

  Jack grabbed my breast with his free hand. “Mmmm… I’ve always wanted to strangle a woman while I fuck her. Sounds fun.”

  Suddenly, he dropped me and doubled over, pressing his hands to his eyes.

  I stumbled and righted myself, hacking for air, the skin on my neck burning. Meanwhile, Jack didn’t make a sound. He just…fell over.

  I was too occupied with breathing to care, but when I glanced at his motionless frame on the asphalt, blood poured from his eyes.

  “Motherfucker!” I walked over and kicked his side.

  He didn’t move.

  “Jack?” I bent down and touched his neck. No pulse. “Jack?” I checked again. Dead. He’s dead. Had I done this?

  “Ohmygod.” He wanted me to kill him. He wanted to show me he was right.

  I began to bawl. Not out of sadness, but as a release. This was insane. This wasn’t happening to me.

  But it was.

  I didn’t know what else to do, so I dragged Jack’s heavy body, one inch at a time, into the warehouse. He’d come back from the dead before. I prayed he’d do it again.

  Or maybe I didn’t.

  I didn’t know what to think anymore, but when I watched him die, I felt no connection to the action.

  So what happened?

  Jack said I wielded death. So was death some sort of force that had its own will, and I simply made it do things?

  I sat down on the cold concrete floor next to Jack and placed his black coat over his face. I couldn’t stand looking at him like this. He was a beautiful man, exquisite even, like a statue of some ancient god come to life. To see blood where his blue eyes used to be was horrific.

  “Well, well, well. You are quite the predictable creature, King,” said a shrill female voice. “I knew he’d come here.”

  I looked up to find that blonde woman from Tampa standing in the open doorway, which I had closed and locked. She wore a long black leather coat and had a red satchel over her shoulder.

  I hopped to my feet, unsure of what to expect.

  She walked over to Jack and pushed his limp leg with her spiked red heel. “Dead, but not forgotten, old friend.”

  I stared, feeling the fine hairs on the back of my neck rise. Jack was right. This woman was different from him. More evil—if that was even possible.

  “Who’d he piss off this time?” she asked.

  I didn’t reply. Why should I? She could read my thoughts if she really wanted to know what had happened.

  “What do you want?” I growled.

  “Well, obviously, I’ve been looking for this sorry fucker. Nice touch warding her house, by the way,” she said to Jack. “You always did know how to protect your things.” She sighed. “People, not so much.”

  I blinked at her.

  “So how long ago did this happen?” she asked.

  Again, I said nothing.

  “Fine. Doesn’t matter. I can wait until he pops back.” She looked down at him again. “And then you and I have a score to settle, asshole.”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  She smiled slyly. “Let’s just say I am a collector. Like our friend King here. And my, my, my, aren’t you a rare find.” Her eyes washed up and down my body. “Fresh and spanking new, too.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. And why do you call him King?”

  “He hasn’t told you who he his yet?”

  “He can’t remember.” I wasn’t sure why I told her that. Maybe I just wanted to see what she knew.

  She burst out laughing, cackling into the air above her. “Well, isn’t that rich? And so like the bastard.”

  “What was done to him?” I asked.

  “Who knows?” She sighed and shook her head. “Look, Jeni. I won’t lie. I’d planned to kill him—for real this time. No take-backs. But it wouldn’t be any fun if he didn’t know why.”

  “Of course,” I said sarcastically.

  “But now, I have a proposal.” She reached into her red purse and pulled out a silver cuff. It looked rough, like it had been molded in a primitive fashion. The edges were bumpy, and the surface had pits. “I will let you live so you can continue to look after that sweet father of yours.”

  The way she said “sweet” gave me the impression that she hated anything related to the word.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked.

  “When Prince Charming here wakes up, I want you to place this on him.”

  I glanced down at the cuff. “Why don’t you do it?”

  “I doubt he’ll allow me.”

  “And if he did? What would happen?” I asked.

  “It creates a barrier. Nothing can hold power over the person who wears it.”

  She
just happened to be walking around with that? “So if Jack puts this on, he’ll be free of whatever’s keeping him from remembering.”

  “You’re smarter than you look, little Seer.”

  Jealous?

  She narrowed her mascara-caked eyes. “Watch it, girl, or I’ll cut out your tongue.”

  I didn’t doubt it for a second, and I bet she’d enjoy it, too. “Exactly what do you want him to remember?” I knew she wouldn’t give me an honest answer, but I wanted to see what she’d say.

  She chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

  That didn’t sound good. On the other hand, “If I do this, then you’ll leave my dad and me alone?”

  “Scout’s honor.” She held up three fingers.

  She didn’t come across as even marginally trustworthy, but here was the thing: Jack would want this cuff. He wanted his memories back. If it happened to come with the bonus of protection from this psycho cunt, then even better. Either way, it was a win.

  “Fine. Deal,” I said.

  She smiled with a glibness that troubled me.

  “Just make sure he puts it on.” She handed over the cuff and turned to leave.

  “Hey. Once he remembers who he is, what will he do exactly?” More importantly, what would happen to me? I would never admit it, not to her, me, or Jack, but the thought of him disappearing from my life bothered me.

  “A man like King has no need for a weak little nothing like you.”

  Her words stung. I wasn’t nothing. “I’m not weak.”

  “Your kind is equipped with some unique gifts. I’ll grant you that. But you’re about as useless as they come.”

  I guessed she was referring to these “Seer” people. And how could she tell what I was by looking at me?

  “Wow. You really are a fresh find,” she said. “You don’t even know what a Seer really is, do you?”

  I remained silent. She knew the answer. No.

  “King can fill you in when he wakes up,” she said with a smirk.

  She called him King again. Was that Jack’s real name? Last name?

  She then added, “And when he does, ask him to teach you how to mask all those interesting colors swirling around you. It’s a dead giveaway to people like me.”

  “Colors? What colors?” I glanced down at my chest and legs. I saw nothing.

  She rolled her eyes and turned to leave. “Tell him I will be back in a few days to settle up.”

  She left the warehouse, and a gust of cold ocean air swirled around the room. I raised my arm to block my face from the dirt and dust. When I opened my eyes again, for one split second, the warehouse was filled from floor to ceiling with…stuff—crates, cars, enormous vases, and sculptures.

  With the blink of an eye, it was all gone.

  What the hell? God, I hated this place.

  “Jack? Jack? If you can hear me, please hurry and wake up.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I must’ve dozed off, because I woke to the sensation of someone kicking my thigh. My eyes fluttered open to find Jack standing over me.

  “Impossible.” I sat up and stared at his elegant, masculine face. As good as new.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  Confused.

  He offered his hand to help me up.

  I stared at it. How could he be so calm and cordial? I’d murdered him and punched in his eyes. Yes, he’d provoked me—he’d been willing to die, to endure horrible pain simply to show me the truth—but that didn’t make the situation any better.

  “Not to worry, I have been through worse.” His hand remained extended.

  I took it, and warmth surged through my body when we touched. He pulled, and I got to my feet, placing us toe-to-toe. He didn’t let go of my hand.

  I began feeling sick remembering I had the cuff in my bag. If I gave it to him, I didn’t know what would happen. Would he still need me? Would he ditch me like that woman said? As twisted as it sounded, I didn’t want that. It had only been a few days since he came into my life and changed everything.

  No, this wasn’t a statement of love or affection or even that I couldn’t bear to part with him. Truthfully, I felt like Alice in Wonderland, only this world had quicksand instead of rabbit holes. This world was filled with scary fucking shit that was slowly eating away at my sense of reality.

  I’d lived my entire life believing in things, like people died and stayed dead, or bad people got arrested and went to jail, not maimed by death. Everything I knew wasn’t real anymore, and the only person I felt safe with was a man who couldn’t die and couldn’t remember exactly who he was. Yet he had the answers. This new dangerous, frightening world was his domain, and he seemed to rule over it.

  So yeah, as fucked up as it sounded, I didn’t want the only person who understood what the hell was going on to abandon me when the walls of my reality were crumbling. Better the devil I know than to be left alone in hell.

  “You are frightened that I am going to leave you?” His deep voice was tinged with amusement.

  I looked away, ashamed of my clingy thoughts.

  He dropped my hand and grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his intense blue eyes. “Jeni, I cannot stress this enough: I am a very bad man. You have no business feeling anything for me aside from fear, suspicion, and hate.”

  “But you don’t even know who you a—”

  “No.” He cut me off sharply. “I have already explained this. Good people do not feel what I feel. They do not hold such rage. And never forget that I would betray you in a heartbeat if it served me.”

  I blinked up at him. “You don’t scare me.”

  His dark brows pulled together. “Why the hell not, woman?”

  Good question. “I have walked through life being afraid of people, feeling like a victim waiting to happen. When I’m with you, I feel…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I felt terrified every second of every minute being by Jack’s side, but that was a thousand times better than the mental prison of helplessness he’d broken me out of. Bottom line, I was starting to realize how much I hungered for the changes happening in my life, and he was the only one who could take me all the way.

  “You are a peculiar creature, Jeni.” His gaze slowly sank down to my lips.

  I would let him kiss me if he wanted. I would let him do so much more, just as long as he didn’t walk away.

  “So much more?” He arched an inquisitive brow.

  “I just…I want…to see where this goes.”

  “Then you shall see.” A wicked smile flashed across his sinful lips, and then he bent his head, pressing his mouth to mine.

  I felt the heat pulse on my lips and course down my neck. It worked its way into my chest, then lower. A horrible, frightening, and fucking delicious ache stirred deep inside me.

  He slowly pulled back, a look of surprise on his face as our eyes locked. I didn’t know what his expression meant, but I knew what mine did. That kiss felt familiar. Like my body knew his.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  All signs of emotion melted from his face. “I will let you know when I find out.”

  See. There. That was what I was talking about. This man was completely in his element, dealing with the strange and inexplicable. I was drawn to his strength because he made me feel safe in a very unsafe world.

  He shook his head. “You are anything but safe; however, you have been warned.”

  “I can handle myself, Jack.”

  He laughed. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

  This time I called an Uber to take us to the small boutique hotel Jack had booked on his own, about a half a block from the entrance of China Town. I’d never been to this city, but something about it suited Jack. Maybe because there was a darkness to San Francisco I couldn’t quite explain. The Victorian homes, painted in bright colors, felt like they were watching us as our car passed by. The narrow steep streets we drove down and the old church we passed gave off an energy, too, like they were old s
ouls monitoring our presence. All around us, I felt it. Unsettled business. Secrets. Memories seeping from the brick and plaster of every old building.

  Jesus, this is weird.

  “Stop,” Jack said to the driver. “I want you to turn here.”

  The driver tried to explain that Ubers didn’t work like taxis, but then he shut up and started driving. Whatever Jack did to him, the man simply obeyed. It was unnerving how Jack could control everyone around him.

  “Not everyone,” he muttered, staring ahead with an intense gaze.

  I knew he meant me, but that wasn’t true. So far, I’d done everything he asked.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “I recognize this street.”

  I tried not to think of the cuff in my bag that could explain why the street felt familiar. I tried not to think of my sick attachment to this man.

  “There. That house.” Jack pointed up the winding street.

  I looked out the window at an imposing blue Victorian, with purple and green turrets, perched atop the hill overlooking a small ocean of rooftops and the Golden Gate Bridge off in the distance.

  The sun was just coming up, but the fog and drizzle gave the home an unwelcoming vibe. The dark windows seemed too dark, like the glass was painted black on the inside. The air around it seemed coated in heavy shadows. Even the pristine red roses in the front seemed wicked with their huge jutting thorns.

  A chill crawled up my spine as the car parked at the curb, just at the end of the walkway leading to the enormous stained-glass front door.

  Jack got out of the car. “Wait here,” he told the driver.

  I got out, too, but stayed near the car on the sidewalk. Suddenly, my feet were freezing. No, not cold. Freezing. Like standing barefoot on ice.

  I’d experienced the same dark energy back in the warehouse. Only, this place was much worse.

  Shivering, I got back in the car and waited while Jack rang the doorbell. Whoever lived here must’ve recently put a lot of money into restoring the place. The paint was perfect, each detail in the woodwork highlighted with a contrast of white, green or purple, like a real live dollhouse. The scalloped woodwork under the eaves reminded me of fine lace.