King for a Day (The King Trilogy #2)(17)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“Yes! Why do you keep asking me that?”

He looked away for a moment. “I want you to have a chance before it’s too late. Look what happened to me.”

“There’s nothing you can say, Mack. So drop it.”

“Then pass me my phone,” he grumbled.

“Sure.” I got up and dug through his bag of clothes. “Here you go.”

He made a few taps.

“Who are you calling?”

“Arno, so he can fly you to L.A.”

“What?” I stood up. “You want me to go see Miranda?”

“We still have sixteen hours, and if you’re not throwing in the towel, then this is what has to be done.”

“I can’t look her in the face and commit to…” I leaned in; we were in a private room, but I didn’t want to risk anyone hearing what a horrible person I’d become, “killing her husband in exchange for that hand,” I whispered.

“You’re committing King to have her husband killed,” he whispered back. “No one said that you’re the one who will do it.”

“You want me to retrieve a hand, figure out how to make it,” I cringed, “alive again, deliver it to some powerbroker guy, then find a serum and kill Talia. All this while looking for King. You see how impossible all of this is, don’t you?”

“Yes, which is why—”

“Don’t say it, Mack,” I barked, knowing he was going to mention I should get out now. “What about killing Vaughn?” I whispered again.

“You need to have him killed to void the deal he claims he has in play with King. You’ll ask Strong to do it,” Mack said.

The powerbroker guy who wanted the hand? “What? You want me to ask him to…” I quieted my voice. “Off Vaughn?”

“Yes. You will make Strong an offer he can’t refuse.”

“What?”

“Anything he wants in King’s arsenal. Give him the whole damned thing if he wants it.”

“You want me to give him everything in that warehouse?”

“It’s an offer he won’t turn down.”

“So this is your plan?”

He winced. “Yeah.”

“And you realize that if we free King, he will kill us for giving away all of his stuff, right?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” Mack dialed and held the phone to his ear. “Hey, it’s me. Where are you?” He listened. “Because I need you to take Mia to see Miranda.” He listened for a few moments. “Yes, I know, but we don’t have a choice.” Pause. “Thanks. Oh, by the way. Steer clear of Talia if you happen to see her coming.” He listened again. “I’m in the hospital. She broke a few ribs and some other vital organs, I’m told.”

Arno was actually having a real conversation with Mack? I thought he never spoke. Maybe he just doesn’t speak to you.

Mack chuckled. “Thanks, man. And be careful. You know how Miranda is.” He ended the call and looked at me. “Arno will be outside in ten minutes.”

“He’s ten minutes away?”

“Guess he didn’t want to go far in case we needed him.”

So Arno hadn’t run either? “Errr…okay.” I began wringing my hands.

“You can do this, Mia. Just be firm. Pretend that King is right there with you.”

I looked down at the tattoo on my wrist and rubbed my fingertips over the mark. It made a little tingle, and I guessed, in some weird way, I always felt like King was with me. Not sure that would make this upcoming task any easier, however.

“There’s an ice chest in the belly of the plane,” Mack said, “in case Miranda can deliver right away.”

“Seriously? You keep a hand-cooler handy, ‘just in case’?”

“What? You don’t expect me to hold the thing on my lap, do you?”

These people were so very demented. “Air Magic-Hands.” I wiggled my fingers. “Ready for takeoff.”

Mack laughed and then coughed. “Good luck, Mia.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

3:00 A.M.

Arno, a stout man with curly, dark hair and dressed in a black sweater and slacks, was not the world’s most talkative person—with me, anyway—wasn’t sure why. However, today he was unusually quiet, answering my questions—like, “Hey, I didn’t know you fly. Where did you learn?”—with a scowl and an incoherent grumble in a foreign language I didn’t recognize. Maybe he was peeved because he preferred driving his SUV. Or perhaps he felt annoyed that I made him swing by my parents’ house (thankfully, no one was home—probably at the hospital) so I could change into my red heels and a black skirt suit. After all, I needed to look less like a hobo and more like a representative of King’s if I were to be doing deals on his behalf.

In any case, missing Mack’s more outgoing personality, I decided to curl up on one of the large black leather seats in the cabin instead of sitting in the cockpit, to take advantage of King’s stash of fine scotch. Yes, I’d finally eaten a sandwich at the hospital while waiting for Mack to wake up.

Glass tumbler in hand and wrapped in a warm blanket from the overhead compartment, I flipped open the old journal from King’s chamber. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why King would want me to read this. That is, if it had truly been his intention. Because, yes, the possibility still existed that I’d been dreaming King up. However, if I hadn’t, what would I find in this story? Was it a journal from someone in his past, perhaps? The woman was a Seer, like me, and I remember King once saying that his last Seer had died for disobeying him. Perhaps this was her family’s story?

I read the next few entries, and the woman went on and on about the hate she felt for Draco on their wedding day. As an act of defiance toward everyone there, she’d decided to look at Draco’s brother, Callias, when she spoke her vow at their wedding. I have to say that I felt no pity for her. It was one thing to love the other brother, but to hate Draco for wanting her? For being a kind person? It didn’t seem right. And it seemed that with every page, the woman’s irrational hatred only seemed to grow. I wanted to stomp on her toes when I read how she did, in fact, scratch her new husband’s back on their wedding night and how she laughed at him when he winced in pain. What a horrible bitch. Was this supposed to be my heritage or something? I hoped not, because the next part of the story brought new meaning to the word “cruel.”