King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(36)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

He walked out of the building, and I stood there wanting to throw something at him. “Son of a bitch!” I marched after him, but he was gone. Poof. Not a sign of him in the street or anywhere.

I spun on my heel. What the hell? Where did he go?

Thank God his car was still there. I walked over, also grateful to see the keys in the ignition.

“Great.” Well, he’d left me the car. And it did have GPS. But…I’d have to get back to the hotel on my own, driving on the left side of the road.

“Thanks, King. You are a real gentleman.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Accepting that Justin might be dead was my last and final mental straw. And perhaps King knew it. Because when I arrived back at the hotel, I had a message. King was sending me home until my services were again needed and to be at the airport in one hour. This time, Mack was waiting for me. Yes, he was alone, and he had a bruise on his cheek. When I asked what happened, he shook his head and simply said, “You. You happened.”

I tried to ask if King had hit him because I’d gotten away in London, but Mack wouldn’t talk to me. And when we stopped to refuel in New Jersey and present our passports, he barely breathed in my general direction.

“I’m sorry, Mack. I’m sorry for tricking you.” I’d told him right before we were ready to take off for San Francisco.

“I’m not,” he said. “King was right about you, and now I see it.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Mack closed the cockpit door and kept to himself the entire flight.

Dammit. I felt bad. I really did. But what did Mack, or anyone for that matter, expect me to do? After everything that had happened in Mexico and London, the way I’d been treated, did Mack expect me to roll over and play nice? Seriously? Because clearly everyone was in it for themselves, and I was the only one actually concerned about helping Justin.

When we landed in San Francisco late Saturday night, I made one last attempt to apologize, but Mack was up and off as soon as the jet was in the hangar.

I sulked my way to the small private terminal, and then I realized I had no home to go to. I had no job. I had no hope. I had no…brother. I began to sob and dug my cell phone from my pocket. “Becca?”

“Shit, Mia. Where the hell have you been? Everyone’s been going crazy looking for you.”

I nodded and wiped the tears away. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. But…can you come and get me?”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I’m at the airport.”

“Don’t move. I’ll be there in twenty.”

~ ~ ~

That night, I told Becca everything. She’d been my best friend since the second grade, and I thought that if anyone would believe me, Becca would. But when I saw the look in her eyes, I knew she not only questioned my sanity, she was heartbroken. I’d always told myself that Justin was the brother Becca never had, but her inconsolable tears told me he’d been much, much more than that. How had I not known? And it didn’t matter if she believed the entire crazy story. Justin was still missing, and that was a fact not even she could argue with after I showed her the newspaper articles from Mexico.

I made her agree to wait to tell anyone until I dropped the bomb on my parents. Yes, I had to tell them. There was no more hiding. No more running from the horrible news of Justin being gone, perhaps forever.

Of course, they would get a version of the story that was limited to the tragedy surrounding Justin and his crew. I wouldn’t mention King or the other crazy stuff. The less they knew about him, the better. He was dangerous, and God knew they wouldn’t need any more pain in their lives.

After spilling my guts to Becca, she’d told me my parents had been calling everyone looking for me. When they learned I quit my job and moved out of my apartment without a word, it nearly sent my mother over the edge. What a shithead I was. How could I not have seen this coming?

I immediately called my mom, who proceeded to yell at me. I assured her I was fine and on my way back to San Francisco—a lie, to buy me some time—and that I would come to see them Monday night and explain everything. She was furious and relieved.

As for me, I needed to sleep. I was exhausted both mentally and physically.

I slept clear through Sunday, lost to the world until Becca woke me Monday morning at 5:30 a.m., making coffee.

She looked like she’d been hit by the same sad bus that had run me over.

“Are you sure you want to go to him?” she asked.

No. I didn’t want to see King or go to his office. I wanted to mourn. I wanted to give in to my dark thoughts of Justin, but I couldn’t allow that to happen. “What choice do I have?”

“You could call the police,” she suggested.

“They can’t help me, Becca. No one can. Trust me. I thought of every possible way to fix this, and there’s only one thing I can do: move forward.”

Becca nodded and sipped her coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter. “But this King guy sounds psycho, Mia. Who’s to say he’s not behind Justin’s disappearance.”

I’d thought about that, too. “No. He wants to find Justin as much as I do because he thinks he’s got his Artifact.”

She bobbed her head and looked at me with her wide, brown eyes. “This is crazy, Mia. Totally f**king crazy.”

“Yeah. I know,” I murmured. “But if I can find the Artifact, I can find Justin. Maybe get to him before anyone else does.” And then what? Would I have to make another deal with King to buy Justin’s protection?

“Please be careful, okay?”

“I will.” I placed the half-empty cup in the sink.

“Good luck with your parents tonight. Call me as soon as you’re done.”

I flashed a pathetic little smile. “Thanks for everything.”

“You’re like a sister to me, Mia. I’m always here for you.”

She left for work, and I dressed for a day in that cold, cold office: a warm blue sweater and jeans with black leather riding boots to keep out the rain. Another goddamned storm was hitting San Francisco. When I arrived at King’s loft, it was still dark out, and I found the usual, unwelcoming chill of loneliness inside the empty space. No King. No customers. Only silence.

I took off my coat, turned on the lamp, and sat at the desk. I stared at my hands, wondering where all this would lead. How would it end?

Just as long as Justin is okay. That’s all I ask. That would make this nightmare worth it.