King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(26)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“Let’s go.” King’s powerful grip tugged me out of my stupor. I opened my eyes, stumbled forward, and flashed a glance over my shoulder. The two men lay face down in a pool of blood.

Ohmygod. Ohmygod. He killed them. He killed them. Don’t panic, Mia. Stay calm.

When we got inside the SUV, Arno calmly drove away like we’d just made a stop for a refreshing Fresca and a bag of Doritos. I didn’t dare say a word. Don’t get me wrong. There was a cataclysmic fear hammering away inside my chest over what just happened, but now I knew without a doubt that I had to get away from King. He’d killed those men in less than a second, he’d done something to my mind, and I was sure he’d killed those officials at the Mexico City airport. King was dangerous, perhaps even more than that psycho back at the store.

Who had I gotten myself mixed up with?

Fuck. I had to get away. Every step I took only pulled me deeper and deeper into a situation I wasn’t equipped to handle or comprehend.

I bit my tongue and focused on my breath. My passport and things were back at the hotel. I would grab them, take a cab to the airport, and get the first flight to anywhere.

I am so sorry, Justin. I hope you’re okay. After all, I’d done all this for him, but only to tragically get myself tangled up in some horrible mess.

“I’m surprised, Miss Turner,” said King.

“Oh?” I kept my focus on the nocturnal scenery—rows and rows of houses butted right up against each other and covered with graffiti.

“No questions? No snide remarks?” he said.

“Not really. You did what you had to,” I said, playing it cool. I began to hum “A Hard Day’s Night” by the Beatles, but then stopped myself. Humming wasn’t going to soothe away this much anxiety.

“I always protect what’s mine,” he said with a venomous scowl. “And did you do what I asked?”

“Mine.” It felt so strange to hear him refer to me as his possession. It created an unusual little tingle right where my heart was.

“I didn’t see anything,” I lied.

“I find that rather odd.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think. I didn’t see anything,” I lied again. Maybe if he thought I was of no use to him, he’d let me go. “Maybe I’m not this light-seer person you think I am.”

“Then why is your heart pounding like you’ve just seen a horrible monster and you want to flee?”

Hold it in, Mia. Hold it in. “I watched two men die after a botched attempt to sell my body to a mass murderer.”

As soon as I said “mass murderer,” I knew I’d slipped up. That meant I’d seen something in that office to tell me Vaughn had killed people there.

Oddly, King didn’t call me out on my lie. “That was not how I’d planned the event to unravel, and before you interject another of your witty colloquialisms, my plan was not to sell you. My only objective was to get you inside long enough to look around. I did not anticipate that Vaughn would want you so badly.”

Insult or compliment? I wasn’t sure.

“Then why not tell me your plan going in?” I asked.

“You are no actress, Miss Turner. I did what was needed to sell the story.”

“Which was?”

King looked away and stared out the window. “I told him you were someone else. It doesn’t matter now.”

I scoffed. “And what did you ask in return? For that stupid Artifact? What is it, anyway? A bowl or a cup for your Inca collection?” After all, I suspected that’s really what this had become about. King could care less about finding my brother unless it was a means to his precious little Artifact.

“The Artifact isn’t Incan. Nor is it pre-Hispanic. But none of that matters because Vaughn lied. Vaughn doesn’t have it, or he would have traded for you right there on the spot.”

Great. “And what’s to stop him from coming after me?”

“He doesn’t know who you are, and I wouldn’t worry about it now even if he did,” King replied.

That was a strange response because I sure as hell was worried. “Why?”

King’s beautiful eyes glittered in the dark. “He won’t come after you because now he’ll have his sights set on something infinitely more valuable.”

“What? The Artifact?”

“No. Me.”

I laughed. That was the funniest damned thing I’d heard all day. “He wants to make you his sex slave? That’s scary.”

King leaned back in the black leather seat and allowed his superbly masculine body to take up most of the space: long legs stretching toward my feet, one large arm extending over the backseat, touching my shoulder. “That certainly would be frightening, but no.”

I tried to inch away, but I was practically against the door as it was. “So why would Vaughn want you?”

“As I said, he is a collector of sorts.”

He collects arrogant, rich bastards?

King mumbled something to himself and pushed up his left sleeve. The orange streetlamps flickered across the interior of the vehicle, and I caught a glimpse of his forearm. Contrary to my earlier guess, his tattoo wasn’t like mine. King’s was a sundial about four inches wide and the most intricate body art I’d ever seen. The effects were astonishing, as if the dial stood up like a shark fin from his skin. And the roman numerals were raised, too, giving the design a sort of lifelike movement to it.

“When we return to the hotel,” King noticed my eyes fixated on his arm and pushed down his sleeve, “you will stay with Mack while I take care of a few things.”

I wondered if King meant he was going to “take care” of Vaughn just like he’d taken care of those people at the airport. Didn’t matter. I was getting the hell out of there.

“Sure. Whatever,” I responded.

King’s pupils suddenly looked like those of an animal when caught in the headlights.

I held in a gasp.

“Do not think of going anywhere on your own, Miss Turner. It is not safe out there for you.”

Clearly. And it wasn’t safe with King, either. Yes, he’d kept me from being taken, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

The SUV pulled up to the hotel.

“Stay with Mack,” King said. “This is not a request.”

I nodded, opened the door, and entered the lobby. Feeling his eyes watching my every step, I tried to keep the pace of my stride calm and collected; I didn’t want King to sense the horrible panic undulating just beneath the surface.