King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(14)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

I looked around at the open-aired lobby’s fountains and beautiful floor-to-ceiling modern sculptures. I hoped King was paying for this place. I’d had the extreme pleasure of traveling extensively—Latin America, Asia, Europe—for work. I knew what five-star hotels cost, and King wasn’t paying me. I was paying him. With my life.

He’s the goddamned devil, I swear to God.

Well, someday this would all be over, and I’d get my life back. Someday. But today, I needed to play by his rules to save Justin.

~ ~ ~

Like one might expect to find in a five-star resort, my room was an oasis of doting comfort. Mini-bar fully stocked with nothing but reinforcements—aka, abundant whiskey—French milled soap, fluffy white robes and towels, and a large jet tub. And, also like one might expect, I didn’t lie down on the king-sized bed to take a breather. Instead, I headed straight for the shower to wash away the smell of Guzman’s cigarettes in my hair. Disgusting pig. I hope King has you arrested.

I turned up the hot water and let the forceful jets beat against my neck. I closed my eyes and inhaled the soothing scent of the lavender soap, pretending it was a magical potion that could erase any fear lurking inside my mind. But magic didn’t exist. And soap couldn’t do anything more than remove the dirt from my skin.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I found a large plate of bread, cheese, and fresh fruit laid out on the table. A card had been left beside the gleaming silverware.

Eat well. You will need your strength. – K

King had someone come into my room while I showered? I tightened the terrycloth belt around my waist and checked the deadbolt on the door. I hadn’t locked it? I could’ve sworn I had.

You’re tired, that’s all. And yes, I was hungry, too.

I hovered over the freshly baked bread bundled in a cloth napkin. The warmth and aroma immediately triggered violent hunger pangs. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning.

I sat and attacked the bread, smothering it with butter and thick creamy cheese. I moaned in culinary ecstasy as the salty, sweet fat melted away in my mouth.

Oh God. It couldn’t possibly taste any better. There’s something about the flavor of food when you’re truly hungry that makes your taste buds feel like they’re on steroids.

I grabbed another thick slice of bread and repeated the hedonistic act, piling on more butter and cheese. My eyes rolled in my head. So good. So, so good. The only thing missing was a glass of wine.

I glanced over my shoulder, toward the mini-bar, thinking I could make due with whiskey; however, next to the flat-screen on the dresser was an uncorked bottle of champagne and an empty flute. Oh. That’ll do! But why had he ordered champagne? Wasn’t that more of a celebratory drink? Seemed a little strange, but it really did look delicious.

I popped from the chair and held up the bottle. It was French, obviously, and looked expensive, but I wasn’t a big champagne connoisseur. I only drank it on special occasions or at parties.

I poured a glass and rolled the bubbles over my tongue. It was sweet and tart and delicious. “Oh, King, I think I love you.”

I snorted at myself. Yeah, right. How could anyone love a man like that? Controlling, rude, cruel…The only redeeming quality I saw was his unfathomable good looks, which were instantly overshadowed by his barbaric shortcomings. I supposed some women might find his wealth attractive, too, but I wasn’t one of them. Something about that man just wasn’t right.

Yet, he still saved your ass tonight. That he had. I raised my glass into the air, mentally toasting to King. I would definitely thank him in person later. But how had he known where I was? How had we simply walked out of a secure area of an international airport? And what happened after I left?

I took another sip and mulled over the possibilities. Perhaps King was some international drug lord. That would explain his brute demeanor, his plane, and his connections at the airport. If that was so, why would he pimp himself out, rescuing people for money? That young receptionist who’d given me his number had told me that King saved her brother-in-law. That didn’t seem like the kind of task a drug lord would bother with. Perhaps he was ex-CIA turned mercenary?

I looked at the clock. Oh no. I only had two minutes to get downstairs. I dug into my overnight bag and threw on some clothes. It wasn’t even close to cold outside despite the time of year, so a tee, jeans, and tennis shoes seemed appropriate for whatever it was that I’d be doing.

Hell, what am I going to be doing? If King had already searched my brother’s apartment, then wouldn’t he have also covered the dig site? King didn’t seem like the type to spend his time on anything if there wasn’t a purpose to it, which meant he thought I could be of some use. But what? Why was I there?

At least you’re doing something. And something was better than sitting behind that horrible desk, which gave me nightmares, wondering about Justin, waiting for him to call. Or worse, waiting to hear he was dead.

I scrambled to the elevator, down to the lobby, and outside, where the SUV waited.

I jumped in.

“You are late,” said the driver. His accent didn’t sound Mexican. More…Middle Eastern. “Mr. King doesn’t appreciate tardiness.”

“Uh. Sorry. I’ll tell him it’s not your fault.”

The driver chuckled unappreciatively. “You think he will care?”

No, I guess I didn’t. “Sorry.” I squirmed in the leather seat, my mind spinning wildly with assumptions. What were we going to be looking for? What did King expect to find with me present that he couldn’t find on his own? Regardless, I wasn’t giving up the chance to learn something—anything.

“How far is the dig site?” I asked.

The driver shrugged. “About thirty minutes.”

“Are we picking up King?” I figured he’d taken a later commercial flight. Unless…he had two jets?

Hmm…I thought it over. Maybe he did. It wouldn’t surprise me. There was probably some minimum number of jets requirement for members of 10 Club.

“He is already there, waiting for you.”

That was strange. King had left Mexico City after me, yet he was already at the dig site? I supposed it was possible considering I’d had an hour break. But why had he gone ahead?

My nerves kicked in, and I suddenly had the urge to turn around. What was I thinking traipsing around in the Mexican jungle at one a.m. in the morning? With King, no less. And Chiapas wasn’t the safest of places even during the day. I’d lectured Justin about it several months ago when he’d taken the assignment. It was going to be his first time leading a team, and I was afraid his enthusiasm might make him overlook the safety factor. He assured me, however, that he’d done his homework. The local rebels, who called themselves Zapatistas, were no threat to anyone other than the government. “Fine. Then what about the drug traffickers?” I’d asked Justin. I’d done my fact-checking, too, and parts of Mexico were a warzone. People went missing all the time, especially anyone believed to have money.