King for a Day (The King Trilogy #2)(3)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“Oh, really?” Her left eye twitched a bit, like she was trying to unstick the lid.

“Yes. Really. Why?” I asked.

“Well, I haven’t seen him, and neither has anyone else. That’s what the letter says.”

I shrugged, trying not to disclose my true feelings on the matter. It was something that Mack had told me about 10 Club: never let them know your weaknesses. In my book, that meant never showing fear, love, or desire for anything or anyone. They’d simply use it to exploit you—a 10 Club obsession.

“And,” Talia added, “he didn’t appear for a summons from the 10 Club a few weeks ago.”

Again I shrugged, hiding my escalating nervousness. Because I guessed that like King, she didn’t do anything if there wasn’t a purpose to it. That meant she wasn’t simply there to deliver a letter from the twisted, cut-throat billionaire club she and King belonged to. The sole purpose of that club, by the way, was to help its members obtain things that money couldn’t buy. At least, not legally. People, power, rare objects…nothing was off the table.

“I’m sure you know by now that King does what he likes when he likes,” I said coolly.

Talia laughed and took another drag of her cigarette, then tossed it onto the floor. “Yeah, well, even King has to come when 10 Club calls. Read the rules. You’re his toy, so I’m sure you can find them and sneak a peek.”

I had no clue where to find the rules, and I hated that she called me his toy, but I suspected that’s why she’d said it.

She turned to leave but then stopped. “Oh, and by the way, Mia, I’d pay special attention to rule five. It clearly states that any member who does not uphold their end of a deal with another member forfeits their property to the Club as compensation to the damaged party.”

Crap. I swallowed, unable to hide my emotions. I was King’s property—their rules, not mine. That was the bomb she’d come to deliver.

Talia flashed a lopsided grin, knowing she’d gotten under my skin. “I hear that Vaughn is looking forward to getting his hands on you. Something about…wanting to hear you scream in agony?” She shook her head, laughing. “Gotta love the man. He’s a sick f**ker.”

No, I didn’t “gotta.” And yes, yes, he was. The man, a slimy, sadistic billionaire—like the rest of the 10 Club members—enjoyed collecting unique and beautiful women just to torture and kill them. He was also 10 Club’s president, which gave a solid understanding of the sort of people they were. It also explained why the thought of becoming his nearly made my knees buckle.

“I’ll let King know you came by,” I said with a sugary-sweet voice.

Talia narrowed her dark, mascara-caked eyes. “King has twenty-four hours to deliver on all pending deals, or he will be deemed a forfeiter. His property, all of it, will be confiscated.”

She strolled out of the warehouse with a victory swagger and shut the entrance door behind her.

Holy shit. This can’t be happening. I glanced at my watch. It was almost seven p.m.

I groaned and sank onto the step, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. “Crap.” I let out a slow, dread-filled breath. “King, where the hell are you?”

This was bad. So, so bad. And here, stupid me had been worried about King’s wellbeing, completely unaware that my own life was about to get run over and turned into a horrific nightmare.

Why was I surprised? Since the day I’d met King, my life kept getting scarier, weirder, and insanely complicated. But dammit, King, why didn’t you tell me about any of this? Likely because he told me only what I needed to know in order to get me to do his bidding. After all, in his eyes, I wasn’t his equal, but his property. His to control, his to use, his to play with.

And now your survival depends on him. If I tried to disappear, not only would it destroy my mother—whose health was extremely fragile after a recent stroke—but I guessed that the Club would find me. They had their ways.

Damn. I needed to find King. Quickly. But it wasn’t as if the man was on vacation. Something bad had happened. I felt it in my gut.

I dug into my jeans pocket for my phone and dialed my brother, Justin. He’d been the last person to speak with King that I knew of.

Justin’s phone rang, but it went to voice mail. “Justin, it’s Mia. We need to talk about that night again. I need to find King.” I sighed. “Dammit. Call me back. I’m in deep shit.”

I looked at the time again and felt my stomach turn into a vicious knot. The clock was ticking. I hope to God, King, that you brought me here for a reason. And that the reason was to help me find him.

CHAPTER TWO

Armed with a broom handle I’d found inside a small closet on the first floor, I made my way through the dimly lit second story of King’s warehouse. It looked very much like the first floor—shelves crammed with an odd assortment of items that reached the ceiling—however, not long after, I understood why the atmosphere was so foreboding: this floor contained King’s arsenal of objects with special powers. I knew because the bad energy practically jumped off the stuff and pounded me in the face.

There were more books and statues, bottles of strange liquids, including some that looked like blood, and horrific-looking weapons—battleaxes, maces, and spears. Yeah, this time I think I did see Excalibur (the sword, not the car).

Then there were the two heads in giant jars. Men’s heads. One with red hair and the other blond, both with wide-open eyes and mouths frozen in screams. Red lights, lights only I could see, oozed from the tops of the jars into a puddle on the floor.

Why the hell does King have heads? I glanced down and saw red all over my chest. I jumped. Holy Christ! But it was just my red sweater.

Reminder: don’t wear red anymore. Bad idea.

I stepped away from the puddles and then yelped again. No. No…Their eyes seemed to follow me, but that couldn’t be possible.

I stumbled back, falling flat on my ass. I sprang to my feet, but my head immediately began to pound and swirl. Ugh. Not now, Mia. Not now…

King had told me it was the effect of my brain struggling to reconcile conflicting realities. My old reality was the normal one most of us grow up with: a fair, just world with laws to protect us, and where people didn’t put other people’s heads in jars. My new world was the opposite. The new one scared the hell out of me.

I braced myself on the shelf to my side while the sensation passed. As my headache cleared, I noticed the sound of gnawing, like a dog chewing a bone. I looked up, and on the shelf were several tiny potted flowers that seemed to be reaching for my hand.