King for a Day Read online

  I effed up. There’s simply no other way to say it. None at all. At every turn, I made decisions I thought were right, but they weren’t. Oh God, they weren’t even close. And now he owns me. Even the dark spaces inside my head, just like he said. The irony is that there’s a line of women around the block who’d do anything to be his, but they don’t know him like I do. They don’t know who he really is. They don’t know his darkness, his ghosts, the horrors of his past that have made him into this beast with a thirst so deep, he’d kill anyone, do anything, to quench it. They only see the stunning good looks, the expensive suits…the power.

  But I see him. I know everything. I know the ecstasy and the pain he’s capable of producing. I know how his lips twitch when he secretly desires to kiss me. I know the way he scratches his stubbled chin when I get under his skin and make him question that blackened heart of his.

  But Lord, oh Lord, I don’t know what to do. Even if I could get away, I don’t know if I want to. I’ve fallen into his trap.

  He owns me.

  KING FOR A DAY

  The King Series

  Book Two

  Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Just remember, mean people suck and ebook piracy is NOT a victimless crime. Just ask us working moms! Please buy our books, don’t steal them or share illegally (or be a sucky mean person). This author does not authorize ANY “free downloads” or share sites to distribute her books. Ever. And for those who bought the book…muchas thank yous! You rock.

  OTHER WORK BY MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF:

  KING’S (Book 1, The King Trilogy)

  FATE BOOK (a New Adult Novel)

  THE ACCIDENTALLY YOURS SERIES

  Accidentally in Love with…a God?

  Accidentally Married to…a Vampire?

  Sun God Seeks…Surrogate?

  Accidentally…Evil? (a Novella)

  Vampires Need Not…Apply?

  Accidentally…Cimil? (a Novella)

  Accidentally…Over? (Series Finale) AUGUST 2014

  COMING JULY 2014

  HAPPY PANTS CAFÉ (a Contemporary Romance Series)

  COMING LATE 2014

  KING OF ME, Book 3 of the King Trilogy

  FATE BOOK 2 (a New Adult Novel)

  COMING 2015

  IMMORTAL MATCHMAKERS, INC.

  Copyright © 2014 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Paperback

  ISBN-10: 1497587867

  ISBN-13: 978-1497587861

  Ebook

  ISBN-10: 0990304809

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9903048-0-7

  Cover Design by EarthlyCharms.com

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Note from Author

  Acknowledgements

  Sneak Peeks

  Fate Book Excerpt

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To Vicki Randall.

  Thank you for giving me that last push.

  PROLOGUE

  San Francisco.

  Present Day.

  Have you ever been wrong about someone? I mean, really, really wrong?

  I’m not talking about guessing an age incorrectly or going out on a date with some “nice” guy you had a good feeling about, only to discover he’s a chauvinistic a-hole.

  I’m talking about the kind of wrong that shatters the foundation of every belief you’ve ever had. The kind of wrong that wrings your heart bone-dry, and then infests your mind with a corrosive acid made of concentrated fear. Suddenly, you don’t know if you’ll ever breathe right again. Because if you could be wrong about this one person, then everything else in your reality is fair game. Nothing is sacred or real or unchangeable.

  Have you ever been that kind of wrong?

  I have. Holy hell. I’ve never been so wrong in my entire life. Because the beautiful, evil man at the center of the sloppy, tangled mess deep in my stomach is not who I thought.

  Not even close.

  I shook my head, mentally berating myself. You knew something was just not right with King. But this? I’d completely had my blinders on.

  Hell, Mia. No one could have seen this coming. No one. Because it’s…fucking impossible.

  Still, I couldn’t help thinking, if I’d just opened my eyes, I might’ve seen the truth.

  Maybe I’d been distracted by his seductive lips or the hypnotic effect of those pale gray eyes outlined by thick, black lashes. Perhaps my attention had been hijacked by the godlike perfection of his masculine body and that deep, room-filling voice he used to control my emotions. Maybe I’d missed the truth because he scared the living hell out of me. Yes, his ferocity was a definite distraction. No man should be that lethal and powerful. No man.

  And, as I read the entry of his journal while curled up on the antique leather armchair in his private chamber, two floors above his secret warehouse filled with priceless art, mystical artifacts, and hundreds of thousands of other objects he’d collected, I suddenly understood what it was all for, who he really was.

  I closed the thick leather-bound book and crushed it against my chest, clenching my eyes shut, holding back the tears of horror that begged to be set free with a scream.

  The man known as King, the man who was said to be able to “find anything or anyone for a price,” was so good at hunting because he had spent a lifetime searching for the one thing he needed most. It wasn’t more power or money—God knows he had enough of both to last an eternity. But what King wanted, only my death could bring.

  And, dear Lord, despite every terrifying detail I now knew about the man, a tiny, sad little part of me wanted to give it to him. No one should be allowed to suffer so much in one lifetime. Not even King.

  I just wished it didn’t have to end like this. Because at any moment they would be coming for me, and I would become the property of a man who intended to “pick the flesh from my bones.”

  I dropped my face into my hands. “King,” I said with a sad breath, “if there’s any chance in hell you can hear me, I want you to know that—”

  The heavy steel door to King’s chamber suddenly burst open.

  “They’re here,” I whispered to myself.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Approximately Twenty Hours Earlier.

  Key in hand, I gaped at the football-field-length warehouse overlooking the San Francisco Bay. It was six thirty in the evening, and a cool fall breeze drifted off the salty water. The street was empty but for a few plastic grocery bags rolling with the wind.

  Go inside, Mia.
Don’t be afraid. Nothing bad will happen. I glanced at the ominous, oversized steel door, and then closed my eyes, trying not to let my fear send me packing. I had to do this. If there was any chance of finding King, I owed it to him to try. Didn’t I?

  I shook my head and ground the ball of one foot into the dirty sidewalk. No, perhaps I didn’t. King had disappeared two weeks ago. Two. And Lord knew my life was infinitely safer without him in it, but if I didn’t help him, then who?

  The other demons from hell?

  Okay, he wasn’t a demon. That I knew of.

  He was, however, evil and beautiful and powerful. He also demanded complete obedience from those who “worked” for him, showing no mercy for those who pissed him off. Plus, he considered me his property.

  Let me repeat that: His. Property.

  How was that possible? It was a long story that can be summarized in one brief, twisted, unbelievable story: my brother went missing in Mexico; my life was threatened when I went searching for him; I couldn’t get help from anyone, including the authorities. In short, King had been the only option to present itself in a moment of desperation. So I went to him, a complete stranger, begging for help, unaware that doing so would cost me dearly. “My price is you,” he’d said. What he’d really meant was that I would have to trade my life for my brother’s.

  I agreed. Yes, I had been that desperate. And I believed, at the time, that King couldn’t possibly have been serious when he said I’d have to work for him indefinitely.

  Unfortunately, he had been dead serious. What was more unfortunate, I later learned, was he not only had the power to enforce our deal, but also had abilities far beyond that of any normal person, including causing pain and death with the flick of a wrist. And let me tell you, his punishments were no picnic because he knew exactly how to get inside my head. Literally and metaphorically speaking, which was why I swore over and over again that the man was the devil himself. How else could I explain his powers?

  So why would a college-educated, professional woman of twenty-six mourn the loss of a sadistic, mysterious billionaire who wanted to own and control her like an obedient pet?

  Simple. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

  Because at that very moment, my hand had found the courage my heart could not. It had shoved the key I’d found taped underneath a desk drawer in King’s office into the lock at the front of the warehouse. My brave, brave hand had even managed to twist the key and give the icy steel door a push.

  My body became an unmovable mass, determined not to step an inch closer toward the darkness or toward the powerful, toxic cloud of death and despair lurking inside. To say the place had a bad vibe was a gross understatement.

  I wondered if it wasn’t King’s body swimming in a pool of blood. After all, the man had enemies. Or perhaps King had tortured and killed people in there, leaving behind some bad juju. Or possibly the abyss before me was nothing more than an empty warehouse filled with the imprints of objects that had once occupied the space. After all, I could see such things. I was a Seer of Light.

  What the hell did that mean? Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I knew very little about being a Seer and had yet to accept the existence of my “gift,” but King had opened my eyes to many, many strange and impossible things. One of which was the reality of sixth senses and abilities that defied logic or science. I, for example, could see colors—emotional impressions, if you will—of people and/or objects even after they’d left a place or passed on. King had thought to use my ability to track down something he’d been hunting for a very, very long time: the Artifact. I had no idea what it did, but I hadn’t proven to be much use helping him find it.

  I looked down at my feet, wondering why they refused to move. Apparently, they weren’t as brave as my hands. I sighed and decided to look inside, using my gift.

  I relaxed my lids, closing them just a little, and focused on my shallow breaths. When I reopened them and stared into the darkness of King’s warehouse, it was like gazing into a giant kaleidoscope of swirling rainbows. Every color was present, from the lightest to the darkest, not that I understood what they all meant. Red, I knew, was violent pain. Black, death. Blue, sorrow. Green was life. And purple? That was King. He let me see his colors once, only once, and it was the moment my feelings for him began to shift from hate and fear into something else, something I didn’t want to talk about. But maybe those messed-up feelings were really why I was there.

  I dropped my head. “Dammit.” I had to go inside. I’d have to persuade the rest of my body to be as brave as my hands.

  I turned on my phone’s flashlight app, took three quick breaths, and stepped inside, where I quickly found a bank of light switches on the wall. When I flipped them on, the place lit up like a stadium.

  “Holy shit.” My breath left my body. What is this place?

  Floor-to-ceiling, heavy-duty racks like you might see at Costco filled the enormous warehouse. But that’s not what shocked me. They were full of…stuff. Antique cars—yes, cars—huge oil paintings, stacks of books, marble sculptures of Roman soldiers and Greek gods, wine barrels, guns, and…I couldn’t begin to take it all in. Crossing aisle after aisle of shelves that had four or five tiers each, I strolled from one end of the room to the other.

  There are three levels to this building? I’d seen it from the outside. Three distinct stories. Oh my God. So this is King’s arsenal. These were the things he scoured the earth to find, some I imagined to keep, some to barter away with members of 10 Club—I’d get to the story of those sick bastards in a moment. Right now, however, I needed to answer the hounding question that I simply didn’t want to ask: Why the hell was I really there? Had King wanted me to find this place, anticipating that something bad was going to happen to him?

  If yes, did he know I would come? Given how he’d treated me—horribly—it would have been a gamble. On the other hand, he had recently saved the lives of two people—my mother and brother—whom I loved dearly. Did he know that might buy a little loyalty from me?

  Probably. The damned evil, beautiful man knows everything. He even knew that a part of me felt drawn to him. He’d said I had an attraction to his darkness but just couldn’t admit it to myself. I was beginning to think he might be right, because it wasn’t my happy side preventing me from running out the door. And I was completely fascinated by this place.

  Heading toward a wide staircase I spotted, I walked down one of the long, wide aisles that stretched down the center of the warehouse. I passed crate after crate of objects, some with tags, some with little photos stapled to them. There were vases, an Excalibur (the car, not the sword), and cases of whisky. I wondered if it was the good stuff Mack—King’s pilot and right hand—had told me about once. (I was a whisky fan.)

  Hands and knees shaking, sweat creeping down the small of my back underneath my red sweater, I became increasingly nervous as I approached the stairs. What would I find on the second floor? Surely the ominous vibe wasn’t coming from the objects down here. Uh-uh. While they were seemingly pricey or rare, they were innocuous.

  I grabbed hold of the railing and crept up a few steps. I leaned forward, attempting to catch a glimpse of whatever was up there. I could practically smell the death and pain…the power.

  “Eh-hem.” I heard a woman clear her throat.

  I spun and practically fell on my rear but caught myself with the railing. An extremely thin brunette, wearing skintight, white leather pants and a gold silk top, stood just a few feet away at the base of the stairs, with one hand cocked on her boney hip.

  “Miss Turner,” she said, “nice to see you again.”

  Oh no. What’s she doing here? The woman’s name was Talia. I knew because I’d met her at a 10 Club party King had made me attend a few days before he disappeared. She had a face you couldn’t easily forget, despite really, really wanting to. Because there was such a thing as too much plastic surgery and too much makeup.

  “How did you find this place?” I asked.

 
; Ignoring my question, Talia reached into her bag and handed me a folded piece of paper.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  Her eyes flickered with abhorrence as they washed over me. “Take it, you moron. It’s a letter.”

  I tried not to take offense. After all, the woman looked like her face had been caught in a garbage disposal and then repaired by a wild pack of clowns. She was also insanely jealous of me. Not because of my looks (my blue eyes and shoulder-length, blonde waves were my best features but nothing spectacular). It was because I had been marked by King with a “K” tattoo on the underside of my wrist. I’d been just as shocked, or really more outraged, by it as she had when we first met at that party. Not only did it mean I belonged to King, it made me practically untouchable by anyone in 10 Club. Later, I’d learn that his mark was so much more than that, but in any case, Talia hated me from the very first moment.

  I stepped down off the stairs and took the letter from her anorexic hand. I opened it and began to read, but the words made no sense. It was as if they’d been written in Shakespearean English.

  “What’s it mean?” I asked.

  She slid a cigarette from her white leather handbag and lit it, blowing the smoke into the air like she’d just experienced some great orgasmic satisfaction by giving me that letter. She flicked her ashes on the cement floor and then smiled. “Have you seen King lately?”

  Why did I feel as if this was a trick question? “He’s been busy,” I lied, trying to act casual, like I simply hung out at this creepy warehouse all the time, doing work for the man.

  “Oh, really?” Her left eye twitched a bit, like she was trying to unstick the lid.

  “Yes. Really. Why?” I asked.

  “Well, I haven’t seen him, and neither has anyone else. That’s what the letter says.”

  I shrugged, trying not to disclose my true feelings on the matter. It was something that Mack had told me about 10 Club: never let them know your weaknesses. In my book, that meant never showing fear, love, or desire for anything or anyone. They’d simply use it to exploit you—a 10 Club obsession.