King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(17)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Oh my god. Oh my god. He’s the devil. He’s got to be. I yanked my arm away, fully aware that he’d permitted me to do so. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gotten free. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Because, Miss Turner, it was necessary. And whether you like it or not, you no longer live in your naïve little world filled with designer heels, fancy lunches, and highlighted hair. It’s time to open your eyes.”

“Why? So I can see you’re an evil, sadistic prick who enjoys controlling me?”

He casually strode to the door and actually seemed offended. “You came looking for me. You asked for my help. And you are here because you want to be. The issue appears to be your willingness to admit the truth to yourself.” He yanked open the door, allowing the sunlight to pour inside the room.

“The truth is simple; I’m here because I want to find Justin.”

He dipped his head. “And so we shall. I’ll send the driver at ten tonight. Until then, I suggest you rest. You’ll need your strength.” He paused. “And, Mia, don’t be late this time.”

King left my hotel room, but he didn’t leave my head. The rage flowed through me Iike hot shards of glass.

“A tattoo? A tattoo?” What the f**k?

Calm down, Mia. You can get it removed. But what sort of psycho chases a woman in the jungle and then tattoos his initial on her wrist?

The same sort who’s been playing mind games, manipulating you from day one.

The room began to spin, bright colors blotching my vision. I ran into the bathroom and threw up. Luckily, there wasn’t much there.

God, this is so messed up. I hung my head in my hands. I couldn’t allow this to go on; torturing was not part of the deal. And King’s psycho power trips, which he claimed were for my own protection, had gone too far. But the fact was, it was my fault. I’d been allowing all this to go on. I’d been letting him get inside my head and control me.

Dammit! What’s the matter with you, Mia? I knew I’d been in a fragile state when I agreed to this twisted relationship, but how could I have been so completely blind? King wasn’t going to help me nor had he ever intended to. He simply saw me as a desperate woman he could take advantage of to fulfill his demented, sadistic urges.

Why the hell had it taken me so long to see the truth?

I almost laughed. Almost. But I couldn’t. My stupidity wasn’t funny. What was funny was that I’d initially been worried about King being a conman. Right now, I’d almost be grateful if he was. At least conmen ruin your life in the pursuit of something I could understand: they wanted money. But King played with people’s lives just to get off.

And that dream? What was that about? I could never be attracted to a man who wasn’t good or compassionate. King was neither. But that dream…I remember feeling like he was someone completely different. Still powerful, but kind and passionate. Not cold and ruthless.

It was just a dream, Mia. Don’t start hoping the man is something he’s not.

I paced the room several times. What am I going to do? I had to blow the whistle on this insanity immediately, but I couldn’t abandon Justin, so I’d just have to start finding answers on my own. And if King threatened me, then I’d go to the police. That was about all I could do.

“I’m done with you, King. Done,” I mumbled to myself.

I jumped in the shower and washed the mud from my hair and face. I threw on clean jeans and a blue T-shirt, then headed out to grab a cab. I wanted to see what was in my brother’s apartment and, perhaps, get some answers of my own.

I am taking control of this goddamned nightmare.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When the cab pulled up to the stucco building sandwiched between a crowded taquería blaring salsa music and a barbershop, it struck me as odd that I wouldn’t recognize my own brother’s home. The narrow structure had two garage doors on the first floor and two floors of apartments above, each with private balconies overlooking the street.

I walked up the outside stairs to apartment one, my brother’s, and buzzed the door. There was an iron security gate, but it had been left open. After a few seconds, I knocked, too.

No answer.

I crossed my arms and thought for a moment. Perhaps the upstairs neighbor had a key or could put me in touch with the landlord. I marched upstairs, but no one was home there either.

Shit. I’d have to come back later.

I passed Justin’s apartment on the way down, and I don’t know what possessed me, but I jiggled the handle. It was open.

“Hello?” I pushed the door and peeked inside the living room. There were two off-white couches facing a television, and an open kitchen with a breakfast bar. The place was tidy and undisturbed, at least from what I could see of it.

I stepped inside and smelled the air. It was stale and dank, like it hadn’t been aired out in a while.

“Hello?”

I walked through the living room, down a dark hallway leading to three doors. The first was the bathroom, also spotless. The second had to be his roommate’s—the desk was clean, and the bed had a plaid comforter. My brother hated plaid, and he’d never had a clean desk a day in his life. When we were little, it was always littered with his latest dinosaur models or piles of rocks he collected in the yard. To my knowledge, he hadn’t changed that habit.

I opened the final door and tried not to cry. On the nightstand, next to a huge pile of papers and books, sat a photo of Justin and me smiling together at Thanksgiving last year. It was one of those rare occasions in recent years where he and I were both able to make it. One of us was usually halfway across the globe for work. That was why my parents had made such a huge deal and taken the picture.

I grabbed the photo and stared at the thing. “Where in the world are you, baby brother?”

“Who are you?”

I jumped. “Oh, God.” The guy had on a short-sleeved, burgundy and blue plaid shirt and khaki shorts. His brown eyes were the same shade as his short brown hair.

“Not God. Brian,” he said. “And you are?”

“Oh. Sorry.” I extended my hand. “I’m Mia, Justin’s sister.”

His hand was ice cold, like he’d just come from a meat locker, and I noticed a tribal tattoo snaking up his forearm. It was of a pickax and a skull.

“College,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“I got the tattoo in college.” He flashed a goofy smile. Yeah, I could see Justin and him living together.