The King
Page 100
And Kingsley replied with the only two words he could force out of his tight and clenched throat.
“You’re fired.”
32
September
“WHAT’S YOUR POISON?” the bartender asked, and Kingsley answered, “Bartenders.”
Duke raised his eyebrow and Kingsley laughed.
“I’m fine,” Kingsley said. “I’m not drinking tonight.”
“Prowling tonight?”
“Not that, either,” Kingsley said.
“What can I get you, then?” Duke asked.
“Nothing,” Kingsley answered. “You can’t get me anything.”
Duke gave him a look of sympathy and moved on to another customer. Meanwhile Kingsley stared at the bottles of alcohol arrayed behind the bar. Bourbon, whiskey, rum, vodka and rye. He wanted to drink them all. Every single bottle. Not that it would do him any good. He’d tried drinking again, but all it gave him was a hangover. No matter how much booze he’d poured into the hole Sam had left, it never filled up.
One good thing had come of Sam’s betrayal and defection. It had hurt Kingsley so much he knew for certain he was alive again, as alive as he’d ever been and more. Knowing she’d taken money from the Fullers to feed them information about him had left him raging in every part of his being. Raging and grieving. He had never been so angry. He had never been so hurt. He had never felt more alive and wished more that he wasn’t.
When his parents had died, he’d been angry, hurt, grief-stricken. But it had been an accident, and he’d had no one to blame.
When Søren married Marie-Laure and she died shortly thereafter, Kingsley had felt that same trinity of emotions—anger, pain, grief. But again, no one had tried to hurt him on purpose. Søren had married Marie-Laure so the three of them could be rich and could be free. And Marie-Laure had died in her own grief, her own hurt, her own pain. She wasn’t trying to hurt him by dying. Surely not.
But Sam...she had betrayed him with wide eyes and a cold heart. It had been no accident, no act of God, no act of fate. She’d aimed a gun at his heart and fired.
And the hole was still there.
Kingsley wrenched his gaze from the too-tempting bottles of alcohol and looked around. Holly was sitting on the edge of the stage with her ankles around the neck of an elderly businessman. Cassandra was draped across the laps of five happy frat boys. Eden was holding the hand of a nervous groom-to-be and led him to the back room for a private show.
He walked away from the bar and strolled around the club. For the past five weeks he’d been coming to the Möbius almost every night, making his rounds, chatting with the girls, drinking nothing and leaving after half an hour. No one asked him why he made this nightly pilgrimage. He was the owner, so he could do whatever he wanted. But he knew why he did it, and that was bad enough.
Michelle strolled past him and paused long enough to kiss him on the cheek. He wouldn’t have minded her company, but she was heading to the stage. Her turn to make her rent for the night.
Waste of time. Kingsley glanced around the club once more. He needed to stop coming here, needed to get on with his life, needed to stop living in the past.
Kingsley decided to leave and find something else to do. He hopped off his bar stool and turned to the door. He came face-to-face with a young man. He wore black jeans, a white shirt untucked and scuffed boots. He looked two parts scared and one part thrilled. But now all Kingsley noticed was his hair. His blond hair.
“Justin?”
“Wow,” he said. “I can’t believe you remembered my name.”
Kingsley crooked his finger at Justin and stepped into a quiet corner of the club.
“What are you doing here?” Kingsley asked in a low voice.
“I left. I mean, I left everything. I had to. My parents found out.”
“They didn’t take it well?”
Justin didn’t speak. The look in his eyes was answer enough.
“It’s good you left. But why are you here?” Kingsley glanced pointedly at three naked girls on the stage.
Justin smiled sheepishly. “Honestly, I was hoping to run into you.”
“I gave you my card.”
“I didn’t think you really wanted me showing up at your house. But if I ran into you here...”
Kingsley sighed.
“Sorry,” Justin said, his face falling. “Stupid idea. It’s just, I thought about you a lot. And as I’m saying this, I realize how pathetic it sounds—hanging out in a strip club hoping someone you’re into shows up. Anyway, it’s good to see you again.”
“I thought about you,” Kingsley said, surprised by the truth of the statement. Since that night in March, Justin had crossed his mind more than once, more than twice. It should have been a one-night stand. Rough and quick and then the goodbye, as rough and quick as the sex. But if he were honest with himself, Kingsley would have to admit he’d been worried about Justin and even a little ashamed of how he’d treated him.
“Is it? Good to see me again, I mean?”
Kingsley gripped the back of Justin’s neck.
“You should have come to my house instead of coming here,” Kingsley whispered in Justin’s ear.
“Why?”
“It would have saved us the car trip.”
He released Justin and strode to the door, pleased to hear the boy’s feet following right behind him. His driver opened the door for them, and he and Justin entered the Rolls.
“You’re fired.”
32
September
“WHAT’S YOUR POISON?” the bartender asked, and Kingsley answered, “Bartenders.”
Duke raised his eyebrow and Kingsley laughed.
“I’m fine,” Kingsley said. “I’m not drinking tonight.”
“Prowling tonight?”
“Not that, either,” Kingsley said.
“What can I get you, then?” Duke asked.
“Nothing,” Kingsley answered. “You can’t get me anything.”
Duke gave him a look of sympathy and moved on to another customer. Meanwhile Kingsley stared at the bottles of alcohol arrayed behind the bar. Bourbon, whiskey, rum, vodka and rye. He wanted to drink them all. Every single bottle. Not that it would do him any good. He’d tried drinking again, but all it gave him was a hangover. No matter how much booze he’d poured into the hole Sam had left, it never filled up.
One good thing had come of Sam’s betrayal and defection. It had hurt Kingsley so much he knew for certain he was alive again, as alive as he’d ever been and more. Knowing she’d taken money from the Fullers to feed them information about him had left him raging in every part of his being. Raging and grieving. He had never been so angry. He had never been so hurt. He had never felt more alive and wished more that he wasn’t.
When his parents had died, he’d been angry, hurt, grief-stricken. But it had been an accident, and he’d had no one to blame.
When Søren married Marie-Laure and she died shortly thereafter, Kingsley had felt that same trinity of emotions—anger, pain, grief. But again, no one had tried to hurt him on purpose. Søren had married Marie-Laure so the three of them could be rich and could be free. And Marie-Laure had died in her own grief, her own hurt, her own pain. She wasn’t trying to hurt him by dying. Surely not.
But Sam...she had betrayed him with wide eyes and a cold heart. It had been no accident, no act of God, no act of fate. She’d aimed a gun at his heart and fired.
And the hole was still there.
Kingsley wrenched his gaze from the too-tempting bottles of alcohol and looked around. Holly was sitting on the edge of the stage with her ankles around the neck of an elderly businessman. Cassandra was draped across the laps of five happy frat boys. Eden was holding the hand of a nervous groom-to-be and led him to the back room for a private show.
He walked away from the bar and strolled around the club. For the past five weeks he’d been coming to the Möbius almost every night, making his rounds, chatting with the girls, drinking nothing and leaving after half an hour. No one asked him why he made this nightly pilgrimage. He was the owner, so he could do whatever he wanted. But he knew why he did it, and that was bad enough.
Michelle strolled past him and paused long enough to kiss him on the cheek. He wouldn’t have minded her company, but she was heading to the stage. Her turn to make her rent for the night.
Waste of time. Kingsley glanced around the club once more. He needed to stop coming here, needed to get on with his life, needed to stop living in the past.
Kingsley decided to leave and find something else to do. He hopped off his bar stool and turned to the door. He came face-to-face with a young man. He wore black jeans, a white shirt untucked and scuffed boots. He looked two parts scared and one part thrilled. But now all Kingsley noticed was his hair. His blond hair.
“Justin?”
“Wow,” he said. “I can’t believe you remembered my name.”
Kingsley crooked his finger at Justin and stepped into a quiet corner of the club.
“What are you doing here?” Kingsley asked in a low voice.
“I left. I mean, I left everything. I had to. My parents found out.”
“They didn’t take it well?”
Justin didn’t speak. The look in his eyes was answer enough.
“It’s good you left. But why are you here?” Kingsley glanced pointedly at three naked girls on the stage.
Justin smiled sheepishly. “Honestly, I was hoping to run into you.”
“I gave you my card.”
“I didn’t think you really wanted me showing up at your house. But if I ran into you here...”
Kingsley sighed.
“Sorry,” Justin said, his face falling. “Stupid idea. It’s just, I thought about you a lot. And as I’m saying this, I realize how pathetic it sounds—hanging out in a strip club hoping someone you’re into shows up. Anyway, it’s good to see you again.”
“I thought about you,” Kingsley said, surprised by the truth of the statement. Since that night in March, Justin had crossed his mind more than once, more than twice. It should have been a one-night stand. Rough and quick and then the goodbye, as rough and quick as the sex. But if he were honest with himself, Kingsley would have to admit he’d been worried about Justin and even a little ashamed of how he’d treated him.
“Is it? Good to see me again, I mean?”
Kingsley gripped the back of Justin’s neck.
“You should have come to my house instead of coming here,” Kingsley whispered in Justin’s ear.
“Why?”
“It would have saved us the car trip.”
He released Justin and strode to the door, pleased to hear the boy’s feet following right behind him. His driver opened the door for them, and he and Justin entered the Rolls.
