King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(43)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“Okay.” I focused on the sensation of my lungs expanding, and we proceeded down the long walkway toward the ostentatious, English Tudor-style mansion.

When we got to the entrance, there was a line of ten or so couples, each greeting a man at the door.

“No,” I gasped. It was Vaughn. “This is his party?” I stopped in my tracks.

Mack gently pushed the small of my back. “Don’t worry. It will be fine.”

“But King killed his men. They were going to take me.”

Mack whispered in my ear and nudged me closer to the door. “Vaughn won’t touch you. Just stay with me.”

Vaughn shook hands with the couple in front of us, an older bald gentleman with a plump redhead who appeared to be his wife. Vaughn didn’t look at all like the uncivilized, greasy sleazeball I’d seen back in London. He wore a traditional tuxedo and had actually brushed his thinning silver hair.

Regardless of his civilized exterior, however, I knew a monster lived inside, and I began to wonder if everyone at the party was just as bad as him. And to think, these were people with money and influence. No wonder the world was so messed up.

Vaughn ushered the older couple inside and wished them success in finding whatever they were looking for. When his eyes settled on Mack and me, his slithery smile melted away.

“Ah, Mr. Taylor. Nice of you to join us. Welcome.” But his beady brown, cataract-filled eyes said the opposite.

Mr. Taylor. That was Mack’s last name? I supposed it fit, but I felt irritated learning it from Vaughn. I should have asked him myself. What was it with me and names?

Mack shook his hand. “King sends his regards. He’s tied up on some important business, but asked me to tell you that he looks forward to seeing you soon.” Mack leaned in and spoke quietly. “He says to wish you luck; you’ll need it.” Mack smiled combatively and shrugged his brows.

So cocky.

Vaughn dipped his head. “And tell King that I look forward to seeing him, too. He’ll be the biggest find for my collection yet.”

Okay. So apparently this entire conversation was code for “Come and get me, muthafucka” and “Oh. I’m comin’, all right. Your ass is mine.”

What I didn’t understand was why Vaughn would see King as a prize of some sort or how he possibly believed he could “acquire” such a determined, ruthless SOB.

Good luck with that one, Vaughn.

Vaughn turned toward me and took my right hand. “Miss Veronica, so we meet again.”

His touch sent icy shivers shooting through my arm, but I willed myself not to react. When his lips touched the top of my hand, however, my vision became tinted with blood red. I pulled my hand away. I had to.

Vaughn didn’t react, but I could see the displeasure flickering in his soulless eyes.

“Vaughn, may I introduce Mia Turner,” Mack said. “She belongs to King.”

Vaughn didn’t flinch but his reaction, a glance at my left wrist, tipped off his surprise. Fearful that Vaughn might lash out at me, I was about to step back when he laughed. “Tell King that we’ll settle up later.” He gestured toward the inside of the house. “Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Taylor and Miss Turner. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

I was only too happy to escape the presence of Vaughn, but entering his home created another sort of angst. I felt like I was entering a party for Hannibal Lectors searching for their next depraved prize to mutilate and devour.

Mack escorted me inside, where we were immediately greeted by a waiter serving champagne in the foyer. Mack began scanning the elegantly dressed crowd milling about in the enormous white living room.

“This is really Vaughn’s house?” I whispered to Mack while my eyes took in the brightly colored Warhols and Lichtensteins on the walls.

He nodded. “He’s got nice taste for a psychopath, doesn’t he?” I tried not to think about that man’s “hobby” or what he did to people once he added them to his collection.

We made our way through the living room, and I happily played the part of quiet arm candy. I wanted zero interaction with these people. And every time someone shook my hand, I tried to get a look at their palms. I didn’t see what I was looking for—any sign of the Artifact—and apparently, neither did Mack.

Mack said, “Let’s go outside.”

We walked out the patio doors into the brick-paved garden. Paper lamps strung on long white runners gave the garden a peaceful wedding reception-like appearance. People stood gathered around small, circular tables, smoking cigars, drinking, and enjoying themselves.

One man with thick glasses and perfectly combed blond hair had a huge crowd congregated around him.

“That guy looks familiar,” I said. “Do I know him from somewhere?”

“He’s a congressman.”

What? I polished off my champagne and grabbed another from a waiter passing by. “What does he collect?”

“He’s a powerbroker. See all of those people with him?”

I nodded and sipped my champagne.

“Most of them are either politicians or owners of big companies.”

Mack nodded to another group, mostly men, mostly older, all smoking cigars and standing in a circle. “Those guys are into women. Pretty women.”

“Hookers?” I asked. Maybe that was King’s clique.

“No. Movie stars, aristocrats, only A-listers. Vaughn does a lot of transactions within that group.”

Holy crap. Just then, Ashlee Randall and Mai Ling Choo, two extremely famous actresses, strolled by sipping martinis.

Mack reached out and gave his head a little shake, cautioning me not to stare. But how could I not? They’d both received Oscars this year. They were beautiful and glamorous. Why would they be part of this depravity?

“Mia.” He cautioned me again.

I sighed quietly and nodded, trying to recall what I’d been saying.

Oh yes. “Why did Vaughn want me?”

“King told him you were the illegitimate daughter of some Russian prince.”

Okay. So Vaughn liked high-end trophy women. “I thought no one was supposed to know what everyone else collected,” I asked.

“Most of these things are for fun, for socializing, like belonging to a golf or tennis club. The real cutthroat deals, what people are really after, are kept close to the vest, but everyone has suspicions.”

“What about King?” I asked. “What’s his hobby? Power, women?”

“King doesn’t need more power, and I’ve never seen him want to be with a woman longer than one night.”