King for a Day (The King Trilogy #2)(20)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

I shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I’m just the middleman.”

Miranda shook her head. “Uh-uh. I know King. He’s a lot of things, but he’s never desperate, and he never makes deals with such a short deadline.”

“I’m sure King has his reasons.” I was sliding fast. Hang on. Don’t panic.

“Doubtful,” she said bitterly. “What the f**k are you trying to pull on me, you little bitch?” She stepped in closer, and I felt the air begin to charge with static.

I tried to maintain my game face, but it was almost impossible. What would King do?

He’d laugh.

So I did the same. “I heard a lot of things about you, Miranda, but paranoid or frightened wasn’t one of them.” I glanced at my watch. “I’ve got to go make some deliveries. I’ll let King know you’re not interested.”

I walked around her, avoiding her toxic gaze as I passed, and headed for the front door.

“I want to speak to him,” she said.

Damn. The woman was calling my bluff.

Or is she? Perhaps it was another test.

“Pfff…” I looked her up and down. “Call him yourself. But you and I both know King doesn’t discuss business over the phone. Knock yourself out, though.” That was not something I knew for certain, but Mack had mentioned that Club “deals” were generally done in person.

“Fine. Deal,” she blurted. “But tell King, if I do manage to get a hold of that hand, he has one week to kill Vaughn after I deliver. And I want to be there. I want to watch.”

I smiled at her provocatively to buy some time. Really, though, I was thinking about how Mack and King would handle this request. They never gave or got anything for free. “Watching wasn’t part of the offer.”

She threw out her hip and parked her fist. “What do you want?”

Crap. Crap. Crap. What do I want? It has to be something 10 Club-worthy, something demented and inappropriate.

I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head. “Have your boy-toy deliver the hand to King’s office in San Francisco, six hours.”

“You want Edward?” she scoffed.

Oh my God. Why did I say that? What would I do if she said yes? I’d be the owner of a boy-toy. Please counteroffer. Please say no!

She cocked her head slightly to the right and crossed her arms. “Why? He’s got no backbone, and he’s only good for one f**k a night.”

I cringed inwardly. This was a sick conversation. “Who says I want him for sex? I have King for that.” A lie. “But I’ve got some gardening I need done, and your boy will look nice in a pair of cutoffs.”

She shrugged. “Fine. Deal.”

Dammit! No! I didn’t want to own anyone. Why had I said that? I could’ve asked for whisky. Or champagne. Or shoes. But I asked for her guy?

I’m an idiot.

Yes, and you really need to leave now before you say anything else wrong.

I nodded as if dismissing her. “Nice doing business with you.” I was about to add “don’t be late,” but I didn’t want to push my luck, so I simply headed out toward the SUV with Arno on my red designer heels.

As soon as we were in the car and pulling out of the driveway, I let loose a, “Holyfuckinghell. That lady is so frigging scary! Did you see the look on her face? I thought she was going to bite off my ears or something.”

Arno made a little shrug, but said nothing. His cage wasn’t the least bit rattled?

I sighed. Clearly, I was behaving like a rookie. “Never mind. Thanks for staying close.”

He bowed his head. “You are welcome, Miss Turner.”

All right. One hand down. One spell and two murders to go.

I winced, realizing how casually that dastardly thought had flowed through my head. Who was I becoming? A liar? A murderer? A person who would do anything to get what they wanted?

You’re becoming like them, Mia. Only without a horrible fetish or public office.

I glanced out the window, attempting to morally navigate my way through this mess as we made our way down the winding road back toward the airport. It was ironic, in a way, how severely I’d judged King when we first met. I assumed so much about him—he was a sadistic, arrogant, cold-hearted man who cared only for himself—though, I suppose some of my assumptions were justified. After all, the first night we’d met, he practically forced himself on me after mistaking me for a call girl. But when I stepped back and took a good, hard look, the scenery before me was beginning to take a different shape. The things King did were no longer as shocking as I’d once thought. Okay, lots of his little tricks and turns were still pretty frightening, but I almost felt like I was purposefully being placed in King’s shoes.

Within the span of a few hours, I’d negotiated to own a person and planned to murder two. All because I wanted to save those I loved, those I cared for and felt loyal to, while avoiding being tortured myself.

Maybe I wasn’t so different from King after all.

Oh, come on, Mia. You would never remove a couple of guys’ heads and plunk them in jars.

Really? But you’ll bargain to kill someone just to get a hand?

Yeah, but Vaughn is evil and…I shook my head. There I’d gone, justifying my horrific actions again.

Well, if I took away any one thing from these last few hours, it was that judging others before you’ve taken the time to fully understand their circumstances only made you an arrogant bastard. Because now I’d begun to see that the line between good and bad was far more blurred than I’d ever imagined.

So where was the real line? Was it murdering a good person versus someone who might deserve a horrible fate? Was the line a jagged illusion, only dictated by one’s own moral compass?

I didn’t know. But I was about to find out.

How far could I walk in King’s shoes before I was the person searching for salvation?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Callias has made me a happy woman. Last night, he promised to take the life of Draco so that he and I can be united. Yes, Callias will be my king, and I the queen of the brother who was truly meant to rule. All that remains to be done is ensure Draco’s death.

I begged Callias to slip hemlock into Draco’s drink or food, but true to Callias’s fearless nature, he will challenge Draco publically. A fight to the death. Though equal in size and build as my mighty Callias—after all, they are twin brothers—Draco does not have the heart of a warrior. He will not last but a few breaths before Callias takes his head.