King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(53)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

I pulled back and looked up at King’s masculine, ethereally beautiful face.

When his gaze met mine, I saw angry reds and deep dark blues. The colors didn’t simply swirl over his skin, but circled his entire body like a violent tornado that moved so quickly the colors transformed to purple. And as strange as I knew it sounded, I could feel the suffering inside him. I was there, inside his head, experiencing the pain with him. Only, I had no understanding of what caused it.

The pain’s intensity became too much, and I pushed away from him. “Oh, God.”

He didn’t meet my startled gaze.

“King?” I held my hands over my mouth.

He held out his hand, cautioning me not to speak. But even if I could, what would I say? What could I say? This man was in an extraordinary amount of pain.

I held my breath and continued to stare at him. Part of me felt horrified, and part of me felt deep pity.

The tears continued to stream down my face, but now it was because I felt so helpless. I couldn’t help my mother or my brother, and I couldn’t help King.

“Why are you crying?” King asked.

I looked at him and wished I could articulate the profound sympathy I felt. But words would never measure up.

I placed my hand on his rough cheek and stared into his heavenly eyes, willing him to see the sincerity behind them. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For whatever was done to make you this way. No one should have to live like that. No one.”

He slid his hand gently over mine and nuzzled my palm.

Through the connection we had, I still tasted his pain. I tasted the anger and rage coursing through his blackened heart, too.

He kissed my palm and moved it from his face, but I didn’t want to stop looking at him. I wanted him to know that I saw everything and that he wasn’t beyond redemption or salvation. No one was.

“Kiss me,” I asked.

“Why?”

Because underneath his broken, twisted, sorrow-filled soul, I’d seen something real and gentle that made me want him. Perhaps, now more than ever—a thought I couldn’t bring myself to say aloud, but I couldn’t deny. “Because I want you to.”

Slowly, he slid his hand around the base of my neck and up to the back of my head, leaving a trail of heat over every inch of skin where we’d made contact. Eyes locked to mine, he bent his head to my mouth. When our lips met, it felt like so much more than a simple kiss. I felt lost in him, his darkness, his need to end whatever agony existed within.

I jerked back and looked at him. The pain. I recognized it. Its darkness and bitterness. Its terrible weight.

I held my hands over my mouth again, realizing that the night he’d “punished” me in Edinburgh wasn’t some sadistic quest to hurt me; King had simply shared himself with me. That had been his “pleasure,” allowing his cold, dark, and lonely heart the chance to feel a connection with someone.

With me.

“And now you see, Miss Turner, I am a monster.”

“Monster?” That’s not at all what I saw. I saw someone in desperate need of compassion.

I shook my head. “No. I see a very beautiful man who was hurt.”

He glanced at his feet, clearly contemplating my words.

Then, as if he’d come to some sort of conclusion, he stepped back, withdrawing emotionally. The colors swirling over the surface of his skin evaporated. He shut me out.

He straightened his black tie and cleared his throat. “I, uh…” His head snapped up. “I got your messages and spoke to your brother.”

“You did?”

“Yes. But,” he held up his hand, “he confessed that he is still working with Vaughn.”

“Shit. No. He can’t be.”

King nodded. “Yes. In fact, your brother was about to lure me into a trap when I told him of your mother.”

Dammit. Justin, why? Why?

“I explained to him that if he wanted to come home and get his life back, then he would have to work with me. He would have to betray Vaughn and trust me.”

I tried to hide my shock, but I couldn’t. King had changed his mind. For me. I couldn’t help but wonder why. Was there hope for that cold heart of his, yet?

“And?”

King nodded reluctantly. “He agreed.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means that your brother will pretend to set me up. We will meet, he will bring the Artifact, and Vaughn and his men will be waiting for me.”

“But you’ll be prepared?” I asked.

King nodded yes.

I didn’t know what to say. This was a risk, and King was taking it for me. It made me seriously begin to question the lens through which I’d seen him.

“What about 10 Club?” I asked.

“They will know it was me.”

“What will they do?”

“After I have the Artifact, there is nothing they can do that will be of any importance to me.”

“What will it do for you?” I was suddenly terrified; King’s one hope in this world was to end his suffering.

“It has the power to make things right for me.”

“Revenge?”

“No, my dear Miss Turner. Something better than that.”

My mind spun with horrible, horrible thoughts. To a man like King, what could be better than revenge when someone had caused him so much pain?

King looked at his wrist, this time not bothering to hide the fact he was looking at his tattoo. “I must be off.”

Oh my god. My mind couldn’t let go of this. What was King really after if not revenge? Death? He didn’t need anything special for that. A goddamned gun or some pills would do the job. No. He was after something else, but what?

“When will you be back?”

He smiled—a real one. “Miss Turner, I do believe you are worried about me.”

“Maybe. When?”

“If all goes well, I will see you in the morning.”

“And Justin?”

“He will be free. As will we all.”

“Wait! What are you going to do, King?”

But King wasn’t going to answer. He turned and walked right into Becca.

“Oh, crap! I’m so sorry.” She stared up at him, looking like she’d just seen Elvis.

He extended his hand. “Becca, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She shook his hand and practically drooled over it. “Nice…to…see…you again, too.”

King raised his brows. “Well, I must be off.” He dipped his head. “Miss Turner, I hope your mother pulls through.”