King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(29)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“Are you planning to call my mother?” he seethed.

I wasn’t laughing. Then again, neither was he.

“I’m not leaving with you, whoever you are,” I said.

He crossed those familiar, thick arms over his chest, making his broad, square shoulders appear even wider than they were. “I really don’t have time for this.”

He sighed.

I blinked.

He was somehow on me, grabbing my arm.

I screamed. How had he gotten over to me so quickly?

He flipped my wrist and placed his palm over my tattoo. “Shut up.”

I snapped my lips shut and stared at him, wondering how he’d managed to control me like this again.

“We’re leaving.” He tugged me out the door, into the hall, and down the stairs. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to say that he couldn’t do this to me, but my mind and body were not one.

As we walked past the reception area, the woman at the desk asked if I was all right. But I just kept on walking, King dragging me behind him like an insolent child.

The night air was frigid and cold, causing a sheen of mist to immediately coat my face. When we reached the street corner, King held up my hand to flag a passing taxi. It stopped, and King pushed me inside. I wondered where Arno was.

“Tell the driver we are going to Prestonfield House,” King said. Why didn’t he just tell the man himself? Because King was trying to prove a point while scaring the crap out of me. He wanted to demonstrate his absolute power over me. But he didn’t have to; I knew. Fucking hell, I knew.

“Now!” King barked.

What the driver must think of me, letting some horrible man speak to me that way. I cleared my throat. “Ummm. Prestonfield House, please.”

The driver nodded, but didn’t turn around. I was glad not to have to face him. And it wasn’t as if he could help me.

My body began to tremble violently, and I felt that familiar wave of toxic nausea saturate my innards.

I started to pant through my nose.

King released my wrist, and I immediately felt better. Holy shit. What is going on?

I stole a glance at King, but when I saw how he stared at me, a feral, dark gaze like he wanted to rip my head off, I looked away.

“Why are we going to Prestonfield House?” I asked.

“It’s nah where ya wanted teh go?” The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror.

“Oh. Sorry. I was talking to him.” I gestured toward King.

The driver furrowed his brows and kept driving.

Several minutes of awkward silence passed without a peep from my mysterious captor.

“So?” I asked.

I don’t know what sort of answer I expected from King. After all, he’d just hunted me down in an obscure hotel room, possessed me with some sort of strange mind-control crap yet again, and now…

The taxi pulled up to an impressively large, historic-looking building with neoclassic columns at the entrance. Bright white lights bathed the front of the plastered structure, making it difficult to see. Regardless, the well-dressed Scotsman in a dark kilt who greeted me immediately signaled that this was yet another posh hotel.

“Pay the man,” said King.

“You have got to be kidding,” I hissed, but it wasn’t because King had asked me to pay the cab; it was because he’d made me come to this place. Whatever King had to say or do could’ve been done back at the crappy motel. Or did it offend his delicate senses to torture me in such a dump?

“Thank you very much,” I said and handed the driver a bill.

I slipped out and told the bellhop that I didn’t have any luggage. He gave me a quick look and welcomed me anyway.

“Tell the receptionist you want my usual suite,” said King.

Usual suite? “This is crazy. You’re craz—” King grabbed my wrist. “Do it, Mia. Or I will make you.”

I didn’t want him to do that thing to me again; it was horrible and frightening not to be in charge of your own body.

I didn’t say a word and just went inside. My first impression was that we’d entered a seventeenth-century museum. The long, narrow corridor leading to the lobby had deep purple walls, pillars on each side, and plush, velvety curtains with matching upholstered chairs positioned every ten or so feet.

“Why are we here, King?”

“Just walk,” he ordered.

About halfway down the corridor, he said, “Tell them you work for King Enterprises and that you’re in town on a last minute buying trip.”

“But I—”

“If you ask me one more question, Miss Turner, it will be your f**king last. I swear it.”

I sucked back the burst of contempt my ego felt from the slap because I had no doubt that King would hurt me. “Fine. Okay.”

I approached reception and glanced up at the clock. It was one in the morning, so I had to ring the bell. A sleepy-eyed, young brunette immediately greeted me.

“Hi. I know it’s late, but I’m here on a last minute buying trip for King Enterprises. Would you happen to have a room?”

She yawned. “Of course, Miss…?”

“Miss Turner.”

She typed away on her computer. “Ah, yes, ma’am. There ye are. How many nights will ye be stayin’?”

I couldn’t believe this. She had me in her system?

“Uhhh…” I looked at King.

“Two. Maybe three,” he growled.

I turned and looked at the lady, but she simply stared, then repeated the question.

“Like he said, two, maybe three,” I said.

She lifted her brows and returned to her screen. “We have Mr. King’s usual suite.”

How could King have a usual anything in Edinburgh?

She made a few more strokes on her keyboard and handed me a key. “Should I call for the—”

“No. No luggage. Thank you,” I said.

She gave me a quick nod. “Enjoy your stay, Miss Turner. If ya be needin’ anything, please give us a ring.”

“Thanks.” I flashed a nervous smile and then followed King to the elevator.

Once we were inside with the door closed, King had me by the lapel of my leather jacket. He lifted me against the wall. “If I lose the Artifact because of you, I swear I’ll kill your brother myself and make you watch.”

I struggled against him, but his grip was as solid as the rest of him.

“Why don’t you just kill me, instead? I know you want to, so get it over with. I sure as hell prefer that over being your lapdog, King.”

He took a breath and released me, mumbling in a foreign language I didn’t recognize. He straightened his black silk tie, and the doors slid open. I didn’t want to go with him. I was certain he wanted to hurt me.