King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(6)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

CHAPTER THREE

As I stumbled my way through the rain, my imagination insisted on punishing me with horrible visions of Justin calling out from some dark, damp hole in the ground, starving to death, his body battered and bruised.

You don’t know that, Mia.

Still, I didn’t dare hope that Justin was somewhere safe, simply hiding out. When he’d called me while I was in the cab, his voice on the phone had sounded forlorn and desperate, not the voice of a man lying low on a tropical island or somewhere in the U.K. under an alias.

No, I knew my brother better than anyone. Even in high school when most brothers and sisters avoided each other, especially if one was a super geek—Justin—and the other had a pretty fabulous social life—me—we always hung out. I had Justin’s back, and he had mine. When we both went away to college, him to Stanford, and me to the University of Pennsylvania on a partial scholarship, we still managed to talk or email at least once a week. Justin was more than a brother; he was my best friend, even closer than Becca.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I quickly dug it out. Shit. It was my mother. I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t tell her about Justin. She’d be devastated. I’d simply have to let her continue thinking I was still in Mexico visiting Justin.

I slid the phone back inside my cold, damp coat and palmed the crinkled slip of paper the young receptionist had given me. I stopped in another doorway and used my phone to illuminate the writing. The guy’s office was back downtown, near the Financial District and about a ten-minute walk from my apartment. I looked at my watch. It was almost seven o’clock, but perhaps someone might be working late.

I came up onto the main avenue, and as if an angel were watching out for me, an empty cab stopped. Grateful for the heat and dryness, I jumped in and used the short ride to rehearse my words. Whoever this King guy was, he’d want to discuss “his price,” as the receptionist said. I had some money set aside, but not much. My student loans still sucked up a hefty portion of my income. I figured I could sell off some things—what little bit of furniture I owned and a few pieces of jewelry—but without involving my parents, it wouldn’t amount to much. That meant I’d have to negotiate.

The cab pulled up to the mouth of a dark, dead-end street that had been permanently barricaded with cement posts. It looked like one of those alleyways used for touristy outdoor cafés and restaurants during the day.

I paid the driver and found the address near the very end. There was a small lobby with nothing in it other than a directory and a stainless steel elevator. The woman hadn’t told me which suite, but two businesses occupied every floor except for the sixth, which only had the letter “K” written in the directory.

I got inside the elevator, shivering to the bone, and stared at my shabby reflection in the gleaming stainless steel door. I was a mess. My blonde waves dripped like wet spaghetti, and my camel-hair coat was in no better shape.

“Great.” I grabbed a rubber band from my purse and quickly wound my hair into a little knot at the nape of my neck. I shrugged off my coat and tucked my blouse back into my black skirt.

When the elevator doors slid open, I stepped out into another small lobby, completely empty, with only one door. I eyeballed the gold-plated plaque beside it with the letter “K” in a big bold font. This had to be it.

I tried the handle, relieved to find the door unlocked. “Hello?” I poked my head inside the empty loft with exposed pipes along the painted, white ceiling. The only light came from a lonely lamp atop an antique desk at the far end, just a few feet from another door. “Hello?”

I stepped all the way inside and instantly felt an arctic-like chill sweep through the room. Fuck. Why did I come here? The vibe was far more depressing than the space inside my head.

Suddenly, the room filled with a delicious scent. Spice with citrus and something else.

“You’re late,” said a menacingly deep voice.

“Crap!” I swiveled in my squishy red heels toward the shadow of a man lurking in the obscured corner. I couldn’t see much, but he was tall, his frame lean, but not thin. His muscular silhouette immediately put me on edge.

He stepped into the faint sphere of light radiating from the desk lamp, allowing me to get a look at some of him. He wore a nicely tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, and dark silk tie—navy blue?—however, those little details were not what my brain chose to hone in on.

His lips were full and sinfully sexy, framed by a thick, well-manicured patch of coalmine black whiskers.

“Are you K-K-King?”

“You’re dripping on my f**king floor. Don’t you own an umbrella?”

Something about the way he spoke, that heavy voice, the way it carried a certain authority, had an instant effect; it scared the shit out of me.

“Put your coat on the chair,” he demanded.

“But I—”

“We both know why you’re here. So just do it.”

Had the receptionist who’d given me his number called him? Hadn’t she said she didn’t want him to know she’d sent me?

“Is something the matter with your hearing?” His rich, syrupy male voice hadn’t risen above a shallow whisper, but the tone was more powerful than any threat.

I glanced over at the lonely desk. The only chair in the room was behind it. I walked over, thinking that this had been a mistake in a long line of mistakes I’d made that day. Still, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to save Justin, including giving my life.

I laid my coat over the back of the chair and set my purse down atop the desk. I glanced back over toward the corner—

His hot breath bathed the back of my neck, and the heat of his body pressed against me, paralyzing every muscle in my body. Oh shit.

“You’re not my usual type,” his low voice crawled into my ears, “but I think I’ll make do.” His hot hands brushed a few loose strands of my wet hair to one side, leaving behind an icy trail of tingles.

My mind quickly went into self-preservation mode. Weapon, Mia. Find a weapon. Lamp. Phone. I had a sharp heel on my shoe, I could—

He placed a slow kiss on that little spot just behind my ear. I wanted to scream; however, my instincts told me to keep calm. And when his tongue began massaging that spot, it didn’t matter what my brain said; it was as if he held some power over me.

“Mmm…” he said. “I bet you taste sweet.”

Mia, you have to fight him off. A quick blow to his ribs with my elbow or a thrust with my heel to his groin. Either would buy me time to make it to the stairs.