King's

  “Why do you look at that sundial tattoo? What is it?”

  He flashed an annoyed look at me. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Miss Turner. And I meant what I said about staying with Mack. Until things are settled with your brother and Vaughn, you are a pawn for the taking.”

  I rubbed my lids with the heels of my palms “When will you be back?”

  King smiled, and it was that charming smile I now knew he used when he wanted to hide some dark, sinister thought.

  “Hopefully by tomorrow night. I need to meet with the 10 Club council to discuss Vaughn’s accusations.”

  “Accusations?”

  “He is saying that he rightfully owns you and, therefore, had every right to touch you.”

  My stomach twisted in on itself. Obviously, that was a lie. King had marked me even before we went to Vaughn. And even so, Vaughn never gave King the Artifact. There was no “deal.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  King smiled. This time, it was a genuine one. “Are you worried for me, Miss Turner?”

  I shrugged and looked down at my feet. “Can you tell Justin I love him and that I don’t blame him for any of this?” The tears began to trickle again. “And…if he ever gets the chance, we hope he’ll come home.”

  Even as the words left my lips, I knew that would be hard unless Vaughn was somehow dealt with. And from what King had just said, that might not ever happen unless someone, other than him, decided to take Vaughn down discreetly.

  King nodded and headed for the door.

  “Take good care of him, King,” I said.

  “If your brother delivers the Artifact, he will want for nothing the rest of his life.”

  Except his family, I thought. But it was better than him being dead.

  “Oh, and Miss Turner?” King looked back at me with those hypnotic eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “You are not off the hook. Remember, I am a man of my word.”

  I swallowed hard and watched his large, sleek, suited body disappear out the door. King meant that he still wanted to punish me.

  “We’ll see about that, King.”

  I would never again make the mistake of giving in to my desire for him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After King left, I took a long, long time to gather myself. After all, I was in no hurry to go anywhere with my broken heart. King would be gone for the next few days, permanently severing my brother from my family while I’d be stuck with Mack, wondering what on earth to say to my parents. Soon, they’d be receiving word that Justin was dead. Dead. And I’d know that wasn’t the truth.

  “This can’t be happening,” I muttered.

  “I feel like that at least once per day.”

  I jumped.

  Mack. He stood in the doorway looking exhausted. He wore a pair of faded button flies and an army green T-shirt. The ink on his bare meaty biceps and forearms was on display, making him look more like a football player than an ex-military-whatever-slash-pilot-slash-bodyguard.

  “Hey,” I said and flashed a smile at his tired face.

  “Hey.” He jerked his messy blond bedhead in my direction and yawned. It had only been about an hour or so since we’d landed at SFO.

  “Long time no see.” I sighed and passed him, heading for the elevator, where I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the stainless steel doors.

  Crap. I tried to smooth out my own bedhead—the one resulting from five frisky minutes with King—before Mack noticed.

  “Yeah,” Mack said. “Being away from you was so brutal that I decided the only way to cope was sleeping.”

  That man really liked his sleep. “Sorry. I’m sure you know this wasn’t my idea.”

  “Yes, I know. So…how’d it go? Was he hard on you?”

  Oh hell. How could I possibly respond to that? King had been hard on me, but not the way Mack meant. “I guess you could say that.”

  Mack responded by crinkling his brows, as if to say, “Huh?”

  We stepped inside the elevator and rode down in awkward silence. The elevator doors opened, and we stepped outside onto the cold, wet street. At least the drizzle of rain had stopped.

  “So,” I said. “I guess I should call Becca and warn her we’re coming.” I started to dig my cell from my handbag.

  “You’re staying at my place tonight.”

  I looked at Mack’s jetlagged expression. “Your place?”

  “Relax,” he grumbled. “Don’t look so panicked. It was King’s suggestion.”

  “King suggested I sleep at your apartment?” I found that hard to believe.

  “I happen to live in a house, Mia. But, yes, this was his suggestion. He said that after your punishment, you might need a little comfort.”

  Comfort? Punishment? I ran my tongue over my teeth. What did that even mean? If I’d had sex with King, was he implying that Mack would be there to cuddle with me afterwards because King sure the hell wasn’t going to do it? Or had King really intended to hurt me and leave me a mess? What a sick—

  “You okay, Mia?” Mack asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  I cleared my throat. “Nothing. He did nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Mack raised a brow. “Okay.”

  My cell buzzed in my hand. It was my father. “Dad?” I looked at my watch. It was three in the morning. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s your mother. She had a stroke.”

  My body filled with a shock so profound that I couldn’t move. “Is she all right?”

  “No. She’s in a coma.” My father’s voice quivered.

  “Where are you?” I asked. Mack gripped my shoulder, knowing something bad had just happened.

  “We’re at the St. Francis emergency room.”

  “I’ll be right there,” I said.

  “Mia,” he said, “I remember you took that man’s card. The one who came to see us about Justin. I need you to call him and find your brother.”

  Shit. My brother. “Uh. Okay.” I ended the call and looked at Mack. “I need to get a hold of King. It’s urgent.”

  Mack slipped his cell from his pocket and dialed. “Here.” He held it out to me. “Leave a message.”

  “I thought you said that he’s never far.” Not that I fully understood what that meant.

  “He told me if anything came up, this was the best way to reach him tonight.”

  I grabbed this phone and waited for the beep. “King. It’s Mia. You can’t let my brother do this. My mom’s in the hospital. Shit, King. Tell Justin he can’t do this to us. He can’t do this to my father. We need him here.”

  I ended the call, knowing there was little hope of King changing his plans; there wasn’t a compassionate bone in that man’s body. But I had to try. Didn’t I?

  Mack and I loaded into his car, which had been parked along the street. It was an expensive-looking, black Mercedes with tinted windows.

  “Before you say anything, this is King’s car. Mine’s in the shop.” He smiled. “I drive a Prius. A green one. Because I’m green.”

  “Oh.” I knew he was trying to ease the pain of the moment with a little levity, but he couldn’t. I looked ahead at the road and felt Mack’s hand cover mine.

  “She’ll be okay, Mia. Don’t worry.”

  Despite my hopes, I had a feeling deep in my gut that told me she wouldn’t be. And if Justin ran away, faking his death, there would be no hope for my father. It would be too much to bear, and I would lose him, too.

  “Thanks.” I looked at the tattoo on my wrist and slid my palm over it. I wanted to believe that it was like some magical radio that connected me to King, that he might hear my pleas of desperation. Please, King. Don’t do this. Don’t.

  ~ ~ ~

  For the next few days, Becca, Becca’s mother, Teri, and I took turns staying at the hospital with my father, who refused to leave my mother’s side. They ran test after tes
t, but they couldn’t guarantee that she’d wake up, and if she did, what mental state she’d be in. But I had Internet, and I knew what the statistics said: the longer she stayed in a coma, the lower the chances of her coming out of it. Her chances were now slim to none.

  I looked across the hospital bed at my father’s sagging face. Knowing my own pain, I couldn’t imagine how he felt. “Dad, go home and get some sleep. I’ll call you if there’s any news.”

  “I need to stay here—in case she wakes up.”

  Hearing that was like getting a knife through my heart.

  I held back my tears. “Dad, you haven’t slept in two days. You’re going to make yourself sick.” Luckily, he was in fairly good health, but he wasn’t indestructible. “Please, Dad? Just for a few hours?” I looked at my watch; it was five in the morning, and he’d stayed up the entire night. “You can come back at noon, and I’ll be right here the whole time.”

  He sighed. “Okay.” He slowly rose from the armchair and deposited a kiss on my mother’s forehead. “Call me if anything happens.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  I stared at my mother’s immobile face, tubes running from her mouth. I could only pray now. Not just for her, but for all of us.

  “How is she?” King’s signature black suit and imposing figure occupied the doorway.

  A whoosh of air left my lungs, and I stood. “Where the hell have you been, King?” I said flatly, holding in my rage. He hadn’t returned any of my messages, and trust me, I’d left plenty. Mack, who had been camped out in the waiting room, had to cut me off from his phone.

  King stepped inside the room and walked over to my mother. He bent his head down as if staring into her eyes; however, her lids were shut tight.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He kept his nose an inch from hers and ignored me.

  I felt the rage bubbling out. “Get away from her,” I seethed.

  King blinked and lifted his head. “She is fighting.”

  “What?”

  He looked at me, dead serious. “She is fighting to come back, but she’s getting tired.”

  “How do you know that?”

  His mouth made a straight line. “I just do.”

  “You’re the devil?” I whispered.

  He flashed a peculiar grin that I interpreted to mean my persistence in making this statement amused him.

  “Miss Turner, you have the ability to see energy. Do you not?”

  I nodded.

  “And do I accuse you of being some sort of demon or cursed witch because you were born with a unique gift?”

  “No.”

  “There, you see. Now we can put the issue to rest. And you can see I speak the truth for yourself.” He glanced down at my mother. “Look at her.”

  “I am.”

  “No. Really look at her.” I hadn’t thought of using my strange “gift.” I guess I hadn’t seen any practical use for it other than when hunting for the Artifact.

  “What will I see?” I asked.

  “Look for yourself, Miss Turner.”

  I tried to focus my thoughts and relax, but it was impossible. All I saw was my mother’s immobile body.

  “I can’t.” I whisked away a tear.

  King walked around the bed and turned me toward him. “Your abilities are much greater than you know. Why do you think I chose you?” He stroked the side of my curls, and I felt a flicker of serenity wash over me.

  “How do you do that?” I asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Control my emotions,” I explained.

  “I do not possess that talent, though I wish I did.”

  That couldn’t be right because King always had a definite influence on me, and those feelings certainly weren’t my doing. No. Not possible.

  “Perhaps I could persuade you to be more civil if I did.” He flashed that charming smile, and I knew he was hiding what he really wanted to say, which could’ve been anything ranging from “please, be less bitchy” to “be more obedient.” I didn’t know. “Now, Miss Turner, take another look.”

  I turned my head and settled my mind on my mother. The colors instantly popped. Greens and blues swirled all over her body.

  “What do the colors mean?” I asked, leaning closer to her, completely in awe.

  “Red is generally pain, which is why you see it when someone is murdered. Black is death—generally, a painless one. Green is life.”

  “And blue?” I asked.

  “Blue is sorrow.”

  I looked away and began to cry. I didn’t care if King thought me weak for it.

  He pulled me into his warm body, but I didn’t want comfort from him. Not when I knew he’d be the nail in my father’s coffin. Despite that, when he stroked the back of my hair, I began to feel like nothing could ever hurt me. Not when I was wrapped in King’s arms.

  “The blue is a good sign,” he said. “It means she is aware of what is happening to her. It means that she continues to hold on to this world.”

  I slid my arms underneath his suit jacket. The warmth of his body felt more like a soothing current of tranquility. I nuzzled my face into his broad chest and let my lungs fill freely with air for the first time in two days. I blew it out, clinging to him, wondering how a man so dark and cold could bring me so much peace. Maybe hidden deep down inside, underneath all those scars and greed, was good. Genuine good. But that would be impossible.

  I opened my eyes and looked at my mother again. If only Justin were here, I think I could handle whatever came next.

  Justin. I had completely forgotten.

  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 t
o 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.”