TEN CLUB (KING SERIES Book 5) Page 3

  Only he tossed it all away for Mack.

  So now the question begged, what was King doing behind this basement door? I slowly turned the handle and pushed open the creaky wooden door. “Holy shit.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Nice of you to fucking join us, Ms. Turner,” said King, while I locked my knees to keep them from buckling. “By the lack of punctuality, I am guessing you don’t actually want to find that wayward husband of yours.”

  Oh, shit. Be strong, Mia. Be strong. My body twitched with the urge to run, but my brain said stay. I wanted to know what the hell King was doing. It might explain why he’d come back from the dead a second time.

  I took a small step inside the basement, which reeked of incense and the coppery aroma of fresh blood. I could only assume it came from the dripping red symbols painted on the cement walls and floor. Or perhaps it came from the crimson mess on King’s crisp, once-white tuxedo shirt.

  I don’t think it’s coming from those guys. Five elegantly dressed people, two women and three men, lay on the floor, their bodies stretched out, face up, with the tops of their heads touching to form what looked like wheel spokes. They seemed to be the only items in the basement not covered in blood, but they looked dead.

  “What the hell is-is going on?” I spoke softly.

  “What the hell does it look like?” His steely gray eyes stuck to my face like an angry lion ready to pounce.

  “It-it looks like you killed your dinner guests?” I stepped back, now wondering if he’d intended for me to be the sixth spoke in the body wheel.

  Before I could utter another word, King materialized in front of me and grabbed my wrist. I shrieked and tried to pull back, but his grip felt like shards of glass crawling through my veins. It was him. He was inside me, trying to dig around inside my head. He’d done it before and there was little I could do to fight, except for—

  I lifted my knee and struck him straight in the groin. He let out a grunt, releasing me and doubling over. I guess he can still feel pain. Lucky me.

  I turned and bolted for the stairs, my shoes making it impossible to climb as fast as I wanted or needed. Halfway up, my right heel snagged the hem of my dress, launching my body forward. Fuck! I caught the railing with one hand, but my weight sent me swinging sideways. Part of my back and shoulder slammed into the plaster wall with a thud. I grunted and felt the railing sliding right from my hand, followed by my body launching sideways down the stairs in a twisted dive. I knew the moment I landed, the pain would follow. No, I didn’t mean the ungraceful touchdown on the cold basement floor. I meant King would show no mercy.

  My body hit the bottom step at an awkward angle, driving the sharp corners into my rib and hip. I extended my arm to break the fall and felt my wrist bend at a weird angle. I wailed and sort of bounced down the rest of the way, my face landing next to King’s shiny black dress shoes.

  He flipped me onto my back and glared down with those pale gray eyes, his jaw ticking away. I knew it was over for me. Mack had been right. I shouldn’t have come.

  Without a word, he reached for my arm.

  “Wait! Please don’t kill me. We have a ba—”

  He seemed possessed as he grabbed my throbbing wrist and pulled a small blade from his coat pocket.

  Oh, shit. This nightmare just kept getting worse. “King, stop! Fucking let me g—”

  He sliced.

  I screamed, half out of pain, half out of fear. What the fuck was he doing?

  With fingers of blood trickling down my arm, he dragged me across the room toward the other dinner guests. He reached for something on the floor, and I realized it was a small metal wineglass that reminded me of the ones used for drinking port, with a stem and flute shape.

  “Stop! What are you doing?” I whimpered.

  He scraped the lip of the cup up my arm to collect the blood.

  “Motherfuckingpsycho! Let me the hell go—”

  “Silence, Ms. Turner,” he said calmly. “You are making this much more difficult than necessary, and my patience with you wore out ten minutes ago.”

  Ten minutes ago, I’d been in my rental car, on my way here, late by a few minutes. It was so very King to be out of patience before his patience ever began. Not that it mattered in this moment.

  King dropped my arm and turned away from me, stepping into the human circle, where he placed the cup. I started to crawl away, dragging my dress across the sticky cement floor, trying not to think about my wrist or the dripping gash.

  King began to recite a long string of words that fused together inside my mind, making them impossible to decipher. Within moments, the air began to whip from every direction, my curls lashing at my face. I felt the room spinning, and then just like that, the room fell dark.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Ms. Turner?” My body lying over a soft surface, I felt a warm hand stroke my cheek and heard King’s hypnotically deep voice cut right through me, rubbing intimately against my thoughts. My body stirred with delight, triggering a soft groan.

  Oh, how I missed that, the feeling of closeness we once had. I suppose I sensed our connection from the first moment we met, but after I’d brought him back to life and ended his torment, it definitely became stronger.

  Nevertheless, our bond had always gone beyond the physical and emotional. It went beyond man and woman in love. It felt as though our souls had been forged from the same fiery heart that refused to be pulled apart. Sometimes, I felt our connection most when we lay in bed, barely awake, the world quiet around us. With my eyes closed, I’d listen to his soft deep breaths, feel the warmth of his body on the sheets beside me, and I knew in my heart that he breathed because of me, he lived for me. Sometimes I felt the depths of our connection after he’d made hard, hot love to me. His large body draped over mine, he would breathe into my ear and whisper, “I love you, Mia. I love you more than life itself.” “I love you, too,” I would say, wondering how life could be so cruel, yet ultimately lead to such a beautiful place. I was the woman who’d won the heart of an enigma, a powerful king who refused to rest until he found a way for us to truly be together, even if it had meant living through three thousand years of hell.

  Our love wasn’t a fairytale. It was epic and impossible. Yet…there we were.

  However, our time of bliss would be short-lived. Less than a year. The last time we’d been together, King had been frantic, trying to keep Mack from ending his own life. Mack, too, had suffered from a breed of curses that made his existence a living hell. Death was supposed to be his only way out. “I can’t live without him, Mia. I just don’t know how,” King had said, nearly pushed to tears. At the time, I understood Mack had been King’s only reminder of a time when he’d been alive and good. But I never thought King would trade me for his brother even if I loved King so much that I would’ve never asked. Because that was the funny thing about love; you wanted what was best for the people who owned your heart. You truly did. Yet, at the same time, there was a pettiness to love, because when you were not chosen above all others, a tiny piece of your heart couldn’t help but feel a little broken. Why was my happiness not more important to him? Why wasn’t our son more important to him? Archon was only three months old, for fuck’s sake. Hadn’t that meant something to King?

  “Ms. Turner, it is time for you to wake now.” King’s hypnotically masculine voice burrowed into my skull. He was digging around again. I hated that he could do that. “Tell me, who is this child of yours.”

  Crap. I had purposefully avoided thinking of Arch. I didn’t want King knowing about him. Safer that way.

  My eyelids peeled apart. “Stay out of my head, King,” I mumbled, noticing that he’d bandaged my wrist.

  “Afraid that is not my style, Ms. Turner.” He smiled at me—just for a moment—but from what I could see, it was genuine. And it made my heart pump equal parts of sadness and joy. No one in this world could ever make me feel like he did when he smiled.

  Fuck, Mia. What’s wrong with you
?

  I threw up a mental wall between us. I might have lost my Seer abilities, but I still knew how to close off my emotions. Of course, King could simply decide to go scratching around inside my brain again, so I offered something to satisfy him.

  “My child is dead,” I lied. “Complications.”

  “A shame, to be sure.” He narrowed his penetrating gray eyes. “Am I to assume this is why your husband vanished?”

  “No. My husband loved us.”

  “So you believe there was foul play.”

  I looked away, my eyes scanning the small guest room with light gray curtains, white carpet, and a dark painting of a demon dancing with a cherub around a fire. A tall dresser in the corner had a bottle of scotch—my favorite—set out on a silver tray with two glasses.

  “I think he left of his own free will,” I muttered.

  “You simply do not know why.”

  I nodded yes.

  “Well.” King stood and slid his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. His shirt was still a bloody mess. “In my experience, these things generally come down to another woman or—”

  “No.” My head snapped in his direction. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Or,” he continued, “you simply weren’t enough for him.”

  “Fuck you.” My eyes narrowed. “What the hell would you know about enough?”

  “Nothing you might consider as a credential.” He dipped his head of thick black hair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ms. Turner, I must get changed and attend to my guests.”

  “You mean the ones you murdered in the basement? And where do you get off cutting me, you piece-of-shit barbarian?” My hands began to tremble as the fresh memories snapped back into my head.

  He laughed. “I assure you they are alive and well. Thanks to your blood,” he added. “If you care to see for yourself, you may come down and join us for the party.”

  Sure. Every girl wants to mix, mingle, and snack after being assaulted by her evil dead husband. Dreamy as hell. “Yippy. Be right down,” I sneered.

  He tsked and slowly shook his head. “Then stay here if you like. But, Ms. Turner, do not leave this house. You are to remain here with me.”

  I laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  “Do not push me, woman, or I may be forced to take another look inside that complicated head of yours and discover where your not-so-dead son is and invite him to stay with me.”

  He knows I lied about Arch. My nostrils flared and my rage exploded like an underwater bomb—not a lot of noise, but the ripples were deadly nonetheless. Nobody threatened my baby. Our baby.

  “I’ll kill you before I ever let you touch him,” I said in a controlled voice.

  King turned to leave. “Let me know if your wrist gives you any issues.” He reached for the door handle. “I know a Seer who has the gift of healing. I’m sure she’ll come if I ask.”

  I held back a gasp. Fucking bastard. That woman with the gift of healing was the only other Seer in existence I knew of: Theodora—aka, Teddi, Mack’s soon-to-be wife. She was a good woman who’d suffered enough. And I highly doubted that King would ask. Nuh-uh. He would threaten.

  I lifted my chin. “I’ll manage.”

  “Then I shall see you downstairs. I will send Meledia to help you into a new dress.” He left the room, and the chill left with him.

  Asshole. Now he’d crossed the line. He’d hurt me and threatened our child and Teddi. Mack had been right. King had to die as quickly as possible. Because that man is no longer my husband.

  I would have to get closer and wait for the right moment.

  Now wearing strappy black heels and a backless black dress that King “just happened to have lying around,” I descended the staircase from the second floor and followed the voices. This time, the house buzzed with life. No. Not a fucking joke. Joy, laughter, and glasses clanking.

  I stopped at the base of the stairs to the side of the foyer, my hand white-knuckled around the butt of the railing.

  What the fuck is going on? One minute I’m living through a scene straight from the Exorcist and the next I’m listening to the celebratory sounds of mingling?

  “Ms. Turner, very nice of you to join us. Don’t you look lovely.” King appeared a few feet away and held out his strong hand. My body lit up. He looked like a fairytale prince—tall, imposing, and unfathomably handsome in a fresh tuxedo.

  God. And those lips. So blatantly sensual. They were the sort of lips a woman looked at and just knew he could kiss and suck and—

  I mentally elbowed myself and straightened my spine. Stay focused, Mia. That beautiful face, with the proud cheekbones and square jaw covered in black stubble, was just a façade. Underneath was the devil, cruel and heartless.

  The pain too much in my bandaged right arm, I extended the left. King showed no sympathy for my wounds and escorted me into the party being held in the large living room with gleaming hardwood floors and modern white furniture. There was a full bar in one corner and a piano in the other, where a woman played soft jazz. A set of open French doors led out to an empty torchlit terrace. It seemed everyone wanted to be inside, toasting, talking, smiling.

  I couldn’t digest. Five of these twenty people had been front and center in the satanic circle of doom earlier this evening. Now they snacked on appetizers and sipped champagne?

  “Don’t look so surprised, Ms. Turner. I told you they were alive.”

  But…but… “So what was all that in the basement?”

  His silvery eyes twinkled with smugness. “It doesn’t concern you.” He grabbed my elbow and shuffled me to the corner of the room, directly in front of the piano, where he pulled me against his warm hard body.

  “What are you doing?” I protested quietly. I knew better than to make a scene at a 10 Club party, which was what this was. It had to be.

  “We’re dancing.” He flashed his trademark charming smile.

  I ignored his powerful heartbeat and how he seemed like anything but dead. I ignored the vibrant look in his eyes and the pink tint to his olive cheeks. I couldn’t allow myself to think about how he used to hold me and how it made me feel naked from the inside out. He was once my drug.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I said.

  He smirked, but didn’t speak.

  “My wrist is sprained,” I said. “You cut me and used my blood. I’m fairly sure this involves me.”

  “Concern and involvement are two distinct things, Ms. Turner. I suspect a Seer knows the difference.” His body swayed, and he forced me to move with him. His grip around the base of my back felt tighter than a pair of handcuffs.

  “I’m not a Seer.” Not anymore. Of course, my husband, the real King, knew that.

  “Do you take me for an idiot?”

  “I gave up my Seer gifts in exchange for my life, which is something you couldn’t possibly know. But yes, I think you’re an idiot.”

  King loosened his grip and chuckled. “Touché. So am I to guess that your husband had something to do with you losing your Seer abilities?” He spat the word husband like it was the name of his worst enemy.

  “Why do you care?”

  “I care about many things.”

  “No. You are a heartless monster,” I pointed out.

  “A monster who can help you get what you want as long as you appease him.”

  “By appease do you mean you’d like to bleed me out?”

  He shook his head but maintained that wickedly charming smile. Or was it just wicked? “How you push me, Ms. Turner. It is as if you have a death wish.”

  “I’m standing here dancing with you, so maybe I do.”

  “Because of him? This pathetic excuse of a man who left you with a void in your life and a broken heart?” He lowered his head and whispered into my ear, “I can make you feel special again, Mia. I can give you a life without worries or pain. I can take care of your every need.”

  What? He can’t be serious. Not that he could understand the irony of t
he situation, but at the very least he had to know that hitting on me was ludicrous given what he’d just put me through. But that was King. Bold, sure of himself, fearless. That was what made him so irresistible to women.

  Luckily for me, I knew exactly how easy it was to be seduced by his powerful presence and dangerous beauty.

  “No, thanks. I can take care of my own needs.” I flashed a tight little smile.

  His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like being shot down. “Very well. If you are happy with your lot in life…”

  I looked up at him. “To the contrary, King. I couldn’t be more unhappy. I think it’s a sad, sad thing—a man who breaks his vows. I think you call those sorts of people welshers. I call them pathetic.”

  He laughed into the air with eyelids pinched, his deep, deep voice ricocheting off the walls.

  “What the hell is so funny?” I snarled.

  He looked down at me and resumed his swaying. “I find your gritty attitude refreshing.”

  “There is nothing refreshing about loving someone and sacrificing your own flesh and blood to help him, only to be betrayed.”

  King’s snide grin faded from his face, and he stopped moving. His eyes glazed over, and he suddenly seemed off in another place.

  Is he remembering something? I hoped so. I hoped he’d snap out of whatever had taken a hold of him and made him forget me.

  “King? There is an urgent call for you,” said a soft, submissive voice to our side.

  I looked to find Meledia, the woman who’d answered the door earlier.