“What cuff?” His voice came from the other side of the shower curtain.
I looked down at the water pooling around my feet. “It’s supposed to bring back your memories. I was going to tell you.”
“What?” He pulled back the curtain.
Oh God. I shut off the water, and he handed me a towel, sneering at me with those sinful lips.
I wrapped it around my body but stayed in the shower. There was nowhere else to go. “That woman from Tampa showed up at the warehouse while you were…were…” I couldn’t say the word dead. “She said she was there to kill you, but when I mentioned you couldn’t remember who you were, she offered a deal. I’d get you to wear the cuff, and she’d leave me and my dad alone.”
Jack was on me faster than I could process. “You lied to me?” he snarled, wrapping his hands around my neck.
“Don’t. Touch. Me,” I snarled back.
His blue eyes shifted to his hand. He dropped it. “My apologies. I did not—”
This time, he seemed disturbed by his reaction. “You must go. It is unsafe to be near me.” He left the bathroom, and I followed.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Where the hell do you think this is leading? To a happy place? Even if I have decided not to pursue my past any further, there is no question that my past will pursue me.”
“I don’t care, Jack,” I said quietly.
“You should.”
“I agree with what you said the other night; our paths were meant to cross.”
He shook his head. “Perhaps so, but—”
There was a knock at the door. He went over to check. “Breakfast.” He pulled the door open and took the tray from the man.
He closed the door and set everything near the window on top of a small table.
The room filled with the scent of coffee and bacon. My mouth watered. I was starving.
With his back to me, I could see him inhale sharply. “Stay for breakfast; then you must return home.” He began dressing, putting on black slacks.
“Lost my appetite. But thanks.” I dug through my purse and handed him the cuff. “Here. Take it. If you change your mind someday, I don’t want to be responsible for losing it.”
He looked at the cuff and set it beside the breakfast tray. I grabbed some clean clothes from my duffel bag. Honestly, I was pissed. He knew there was more to “us,” and he had no right to open a door, leading to a place I never asked to go to, only to slam it shut in my face.
I slid on my jeans and sweatshirt. I had no idea where to go from here.
“I am sorry, Jeni. I never should have brought you along.” He pressed a hand on my shoulder.
I ignored him and packed up my things, most of which were still damp from running around in the rain all day yesterday.
I slid on my boots and purple coat.
When I turned to say goodbye, I noticed him just standing there, staring at the newspaper that had come with the breakfast tray. His eyes were dark, his expression morbid, his lips flattened into a hard line.
A sense of doom washed over me. “What?”
“Is this today’s date?” He pointed at the top of the paper.
“Yes. Why?”
He set down the paper, looked at the cuff, and picked it up.
“What are you doing?”
He slid it on and closed his eyes. I stood motionless next to the door, waiting for the sky to fall.
Then, without a word, he opened his eyes.
Jesus, his eyes. They were no longer blue, but a haunting silvery gray.
“Are you…?” I didn’t know what to ask. Was he okay? Was he still himself?
His eyes slowly moved to my face, a quiet rage brewing behind his icy gaze.
I swallowed hard. I could feel the darkness, the hate, the power radiating off him. This was not the same man who’d taken me to bed last night.
“Jack?”
He walked straight for the door, forcing me to move out of his way. “My name isn’t Jack. It’s King. And you will wait here.” He left the room without another word.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Holy shit. Holy shit. So that was King, the man hidden away inside Jack. And if what I’d just felt wasn’t my imagination, then he was a thousand times more powerful and dangerous.
The question was, would he harm me?
I plunked down on the bed and covered my face, whooshing out a slow breath. I didn’t want to believe that Jack would hurt me, but that man was not Jack.
Not anymore. I needed to get the hell out of San Francisco.
I grabbed my stuff and exited the room, hoping I’d find a way to get home to Florida. It might require taking a plane to somewhere cheap and then catching a bus the rest of the way. I didn’t know, but my instincts were screaming to run.
I pressed the elevator button and got in. By the time I reached the lobby and stepped outside, my heart was having an entirely different conversation with my brain.
Nothing had really changed. I was still trying to figure out what the deal was with my “gift,” and Jack—crap, I meant King—hadn’t told me what I was dealing with when it came to Blondie.
Bottom line, my wagon was hitched to King’s. I had no choice but to trust that the little bit of good inside him would keep me safe. It had so far.
A black Mercedes sedan with tinted windows pulled up. The window in the back lowered, revealing those silvery eyes.
“Thought I told you to stay the hell here, Jeni.”
King. What was he doing in the back of that car? “Where’d you go?”
“Went to get my kingdom back. Get in.”
Huh? I hesitated, still having that debate between my head and heart. Meanwhile, a group of tourists passed us, doing several takes at King. It was hard not to look at him. He exuded power, like a living god.
Do not make me ask twice, he said inside my head and pushed open the door.
Strange how I was getting used to him intruding in my head. It almost felt natural. On the other hand, that familiarity had been with Jack. I needed to be on my guard with King.
“Wise choice, Miss Arnold,” he said.
He slid over, and I got inside, placing my bag at my feet. I shut the door, cocooning us in a quiet bubble. In the driver’s seat was an older man, with gray curly hair and a husky build. “Who’s he?”
“Niko Spiros. He’s an old friend.”
“Okay. Mind telling me what’s going on?” I had no idea who King really was—what he did for a living, how he suddenly had a chauffeur and an expensive car, or what he remembered about the people or person responsible for putting him in that box.
“Yes. I do mind.” King turned his attention to the front. “Head to the warehouse. From there we’ll go straight to my plane.”
“Very good, sir.”
Plane? He had a plane? Not that I cared, but it was difficult to reconcile Jack—no money, no identity, no memory—to King, the man who used to live in that blue Victorian with a vibe so dark, it had literally given Jack second thoughts. Why did Jack change his mind? Why did he put the cuff on? It had something to do with today’s date.
“All in good time, Miss Arnold,” said King.
“You need to give me some answers, or I’m not going anywhere with you. This time I mean it.” He couldn’t force me again. I wasn’t that weak fearful woman any longer. I could fight back.
A sadistic smile danced on his lips. “I’m beginning to like you, Jeni.”
Beginning? What about last night?
“That was fucking, not liking.”
“Well, I’m beginning to hate you. Again,” I added.
“Does my new suit frighten you?”
He didn’t mean the sleek black Italian thing he had on. He meant his new persona. Yes.
“Good.”
I shook my head. This cryptic crap was getting old. “So, are you finally going to tell me who you are?”
He smiled again. “You are about to find out.”
We
arrived at the warehouse in silence, but this time, the sun was shining bright, the sky blue. I almost believed that King willed it.
Without any fanfare, he left the car and headed for the building, not bothering to bark instructions. He expected me to follow like his loyal dog. I wasn’t sure I had a choice, so I did.
I stepped inside the well-lit cavernous space, unable to believe my eyes. Those empty racks were now filled, just like I’d imagined. Cars, crates, paintings, sculptures, barrels of whisky, and cases of wine.
“I don’t believe it,” I muttered.
King didn’t bother looking over any of the stuff and headed toward the back to the stairs. I followed, trying to let it all soak in. King was a collector, like that woman said.
How had he hid it all? I bet he used one of his famous wards.
Very good, Jeni. Are you coming? his deep voice bellowed in my mind.
I followed the stairs to the second floor and found him up on a tall ladder. “Don’t touch anything. There are many dangerous objects in here.”
My gaze floated along the rows of shelves reaching the ceiling. On this floor, the objects were smaller. And possibly scarier.
I passed by a planter with Venus flytraps the size of bagels that seemed to be following me.
I scooted away, accidentally colliding with something on the shelves across from them. I yelped.
“Do not touch anything. I mean it.” King was already up to the very top of one shelf, rummaging around for something.
Right beside me, a gurgle came out of whatever I’d just bumped. I slowly swiveled my head and looked at the big jar with green bubbly stuff inside. “What’s that?”
King ignored me, too busy with his search.
I leaned in closer, bending down a little. Something was living inside there.
Suddenly a pair of eyes met mine. “Jesus!” I stumbled back, pointing. “There’s a head in there!”
King said nothing and kept to his task, but I knew the bastard heard me.
“Why is there a fucking human head in that jar?” I yelled. “And why the fuck is it moving?” That was when I noticed another one next to it. Both were watching me, their mouths opening and closing, as if crying out for help.
Dear God. Dear God. What the fuck?
“God has nothing to do with those two, Miss Arnold,” King called out from his perch. “And do not feel sorry for them. If they still had bodies, they would rape you or sell you as a sex slave if given the chance.”
I covered my face and turned my back, unable to look at them. “Are they alive?”
“Yes.”
Heads. Living heads. Screaming in pain. “Jack, you can’t leave them like that.” My request had more to do with me than with them. Something so gruesome and terrifying had no business existing in the world.
“King. My name is King. And I may do whatever I like. Ah! Here it is.” He held out a small wooden box in his hand. “Catch.”
I held out my hands and caught it. The thing was about the size of a shoebox. I wasn’t going to ask what was inside because I didn’t care. I just wanted him to start giving me answers. Who erased his memories and threw him in the ocean? Why? Was he as evil as he believed? What was in that newspaper that changed his mind about walking away from his past life?
“You ask too many questions,” he said.
“Yeah, well, you don’t give enough answers,” I threw back.
He climbed down and faced me. “How is this for an answer: If you do as you are told, I will make you a very wealthy woman, Jeni. Wealthy and powerful.”
Do what? I frowned with confusion. He kept skipping over critical information. “Wait. Never mind. I don’t care. And I have no interest in being powerful or wealthy.”
“You genuinely mean it.” He sounded surprised. “You do not wish to have money, to be the sort of person who fears nothing?”
I wouldn’t flush a winning lotto ticket down the toilet, but I didn’t want to be some sort of supernatural mob boss, which was what I assumed he was getting at.
I shook my head no.
“You are lying to yourself.” He grabbed my chin and gazed down into my eyes. “If you could punish the man who killed your mother, would you do it? How about the person who broke your father’s legs? Having power means making sure those who harm you or your family pay with their lives.”
“I’d rather see them go to jail.” As I said those words, I knew it was a lie. We’d both witnessed what happened to people who hurt me.
“You would never feel helpless again, like you do about your mother.”
Her death caused the sort of pain that never really went away, especially because there’d been no justice. However, even if I wanted that sort of power, which I didn’t, I’d come to learn a few things over the past several days. “What’s the price?”
He dropped his hand and lifted his chin. “My little Seer is catching on.”
“Yes. And?”
“I want you to help me kill the people who murdered my wife, son, and unborn daughter. Then I want you to kill the person who put me at the bottom of the ocean.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The news couldn’t be more shocking. King had a wife! He had children. I never imagined him with a family, but the fact they had been murdered was awful. Just awful.
And I slept with him. Technically, there was nothing immoral about that, but it just felt wrong. Had he known why there was a huge hole inside him, I doubted anything would’ve happened between us. He was still in mourning, still angry. And me? I didn’t know how I felt about him.
Jesus. I speared my fingers through my hair, feeling like I’d somehow defiled his poor wife’s memory or, at least, I’d been an accomplice.
My heart grew heavy. Did I dare ask what happened? Did I want to know the gory details?
No. It would make it all too real. That didn’t stop my mind from teeter-tottering between wanting to offer my deepest sympathies and flat out deny his request to kill the murderers. Besides, why did he need my help? He was a thousand times more powerful than me.
He shook his head of thick dark hair. “You behave as if you have a choice, Jeni. You do not. As for why it must be you, I have my reasons.”
“You can’t force me to kill a bunch of people, no matter how bad I feel for you.” But make no mistake, I felt pretty bad. I knew what it was like to lose people.
“I can force you,” he said, giving me a pointed look, “but I will go the more pleasant route first and shed a light on why it would behoove you to assist me.”
I guessed King meant that he still had leverage over me. He could revoke my father’s protection. He could put my head in one of those jars and leave me to rot.
He continued, “What if I told you that the man who killed your mother was a member of a very exclusive club? What if the reason he did not go to prison was because he has friends—fellow club members—in powerful places who look out for him, just like they look out for all the members.”
Now he had my attention. “Like some sort of crime country club?”
“In a way. They are called Ten Club. It is a group that protects people like Victor Escorcia who enjoy running over young women for kicks. That is his name—the man who killed your mother—is it not?”
Victor Escorcia. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d Googled him, fantasizing about showing up at his house in Miami with a cleaver. While I grew up without a mother, and with a dad with a broken heart, Victor Escorcia was sipping martinis on his yacht. If I lived a million years, I would never forget that fucking name.
“Yes. That’s him.” I nodded, trying to digest what King was telling me. Was he saying the truth about Ten Club and my mother’s killer, or was he using information he’d dug up in my head to manipulate me?
“Victor had a blood alcohol level four times the legal limit,” King said. “I did not dig that up from your head, Miss Arnold.”
“Anyone could know that. It was in the court records.”
“Correct. But who else knows that after the court dropped the murder charges, Victor came to your house one morning, drunk, claiming he wanted to make things right by taking care of you—putting you under his roof, sending you to school, paying your way.”
I covered my mouth. I didn’t know about the “taking care of me part,” but my dad had mentioned once that “the fucker who killed Mom” came to our house completely inebriated.
“Go ahead,” King added, “call your father and ask.”
My mind was spinning. How could all this be true? I mean, what were the odds that this Ten Club helped free the man who killed my mother?
King scoffed dismissively. “This is all new to you, but soon you will learn there are no coincidences.”
That was a lot to unpack. “If what you say is true, that this Ten Club protects bad people, why wouldn’t we want to expose them? Call the FBI or police or something?”
King chuckled and shook his head. “Ten Club is a group of bored, depraved, and extremely wealthy individuals from all over the world. They run major companies and governments. They own everything. Their only interest is in maintaining power and abusing it. They are untouchable.”
That sounded bad. Really bad.
“No, Jeni. It is far worse than bad, because these people use their influence to sate their dark, morose hobbies—torture, slaves, rape, mutilation, murder. And when they tire of that, they turn to the time-honored sport of the acquisition of rare objects. He who has the most toys wins. And I am not referring to train sets.”
I frowned. “You mean—”
“People like you, and objects like the ones here in my warehouse.” His free hand swept over the room. “Some search out immortality, some seek items that give them powers, and others collect people.”
“Then why do you own all this shit? How do you know so much about them?”
He cocked a dark brow, giving me the answer I didn’t want to hear.
No. Please tell me you’re joking. Because I could only think of one answer: He was a member too.
He shook his head slowly. “Not a member, Jeni. The founder. The leader—or so I used to be. Now I will be their demise—with your help, of course.”
The Dead King Page 10
