The King
Page 48
“My name is Kingsley,” he said in Russian. If his fluency surprised her, she didn’t betray it with so much as a blink. “You’re Irina Zhirov.”
“Harris,” she said, in thickly accented English. “I’m married.”
“I heard someone tried to poison your husband.”
“I’m a bad cook. His stomach overreacted.”
Interesting answer. Kingsley studied her as she picked at her nail polish. She had an elegant profile, undeniably Russian, undeniably lovely. But she had a hard set to her mouth, as if she hadn’t smiled in so long her lips had calcified into a pale tight line of bitterness.
“Does your husband overreact often?”
Irina met his eyes before looking away again without speaking.
“I’m not with the police,” Kingsley said. “And I’m not a lawyer. I’m not a translator.”
“Who are you?” she asked in Russian, finally meeting his eyes.
“A friend,” he said. “If you need a friend.”
“I need a lawyer.”
“I can help you get a lawyer. Tell me more about your husband overreacting.”
She cocked her head, tried to look innocent. “He’s a man. They all overreact. A man you’ve never met before smiles at you, and now you’re sleeping with him. You don’t do his ironing right, so you hate him. You cook the food bad, and you’re poisoning him.”
“Your husband sounds like a little poisoning would be good for him.”
“A lot of poisoning would be better for him.”
She had a hard cold voice. Her dark eyes sparked like struck flint when she spoke. The anger in her went all the way to her toes. He could work with that.
Kingsley knelt on the floor in front of her. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she made no objection. A good sign that she had no issue with men kneeling in front of her.
“Did you poison him?” Kingsley asked, studying her face and neck.
“I didn’t want him to fuck me,” she whispered. “If he’s sick he can’t fuck me. I wanted to make him sick. That’s all.”
“Most wives I know like getting fucked by their husbands.”
“Those wives aren’t married to my husband.”
He raised his hand and lifted her hair off her neck. She closed her eyes as Kingsley examined four small black bruises that marred the otherwise unblemished skin under her hairline.
Kingsley positioned his hand until his fingertips lined up with the bruises. “He tried to choke you. Was this in bed or out of bed?”
“He does it all the time,” she whispered. “I think...someday he will kill me.”
“Why do you stay with him?”
“I’m not a citizen,” she said. “Not yet. I’d rather die than go back to Russia. My father’s worse than my husband.”
Kingsley sighed heavily.
“How tall are you?” he asked. Irina gave him a puzzled look.
“Five foot ten.”
“Are you very strong?”
“Stronger than I look.”
“I believe that. How would you feel if I kissed the tip of your shoe?”
Irina narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would you do that?”
“Why not?”
“Kiss it, then. I don’t care.”
“I would if we weren’t in a holding cell. Against my will, I find I have a new lease on life these days,” he said. “I’d hate to catch something.”
She smiled, and that one little smile transformed her face. In an instant she was rendered unspeakably lovely.
“You can kiss it later, then,” she said, an imperious look on her face. It was there an instant and then gone again. But he’d seen it—arrogance, self-importance, power. Cooper was right.
“Did you ever want to fight your husband off?”
“Every time,” she said. “I wanted to break him and beat him into the ground. But he had the money, and if he divorced me, I wouldn’t be able to stay here.”
“You like the thought of hitting men.”
“Most men need a good beating to teach them how the world really works.”
She smiled as she spoke, a dark dangerous smile.
“You might be surprised to find I agree with you.”
She looked at him now, full-on at him, and for the first time, it seemed she noticed his existence.
“Who are you?” she asked again. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you, my name is Kingsley. I own a club in town, a strip club. But I’m starting a new club. I need people to work the club. Special people. People like you.”
“Like me?”
“Like you.”
“I don’t know anything about working in a club,” she said.
“I can teach you everything you need to know.”
“What would I do?”
“Beat the shit out of men. Some women, too, but mostly men.”
Irina looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“Does that pay well? Beating up men?”
“It can, if you do it well enough.”
“Sounds like a dream come true.”
“Can you be brutal?” he asked.
“I am brutal,” she said. “My husband will be in the hospital for a week because of what I gave him last night. I couldn’t stop laughing while he was sick.”
“You monster.” Kingsley grinned at her. “I like you already.”
“Harris,” she said, in thickly accented English. “I’m married.”
“I heard someone tried to poison your husband.”
“I’m a bad cook. His stomach overreacted.”
Interesting answer. Kingsley studied her as she picked at her nail polish. She had an elegant profile, undeniably Russian, undeniably lovely. But she had a hard set to her mouth, as if she hadn’t smiled in so long her lips had calcified into a pale tight line of bitterness.
“Does your husband overreact often?”
Irina met his eyes before looking away again without speaking.
“I’m not with the police,” Kingsley said. “And I’m not a lawyer. I’m not a translator.”
“Who are you?” she asked in Russian, finally meeting his eyes.
“A friend,” he said. “If you need a friend.”
“I need a lawyer.”
“I can help you get a lawyer. Tell me more about your husband overreacting.”
She cocked her head, tried to look innocent. “He’s a man. They all overreact. A man you’ve never met before smiles at you, and now you’re sleeping with him. You don’t do his ironing right, so you hate him. You cook the food bad, and you’re poisoning him.”
“Your husband sounds like a little poisoning would be good for him.”
“A lot of poisoning would be better for him.”
She had a hard cold voice. Her dark eyes sparked like struck flint when she spoke. The anger in her went all the way to her toes. He could work with that.
Kingsley knelt on the floor in front of her. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she made no objection. A good sign that she had no issue with men kneeling in front of her.
“Did you poison him?” Kingsley asked, studying her face and neck.
“I didn’t want him to fuck me,” she whispered. “If he’s sick he can’t fuck me. I wanted to make him sick. That’s all.”
“Most wives I know like getting fucked by their husbands.”
“Those wives aren’t married to my husband.”
He raised his hand and lifted her hair off her neck. She closed her eyes as Kingsley examined four small black bruises that marred the otherwise unblemished skin under her hairline.
Kingsley positioned his hand until his fingertips lined up with the bruises. “He tried to choke you. Was this in bed or out of bed?”
“He does it all the time,” she whispered. “I think...someday he will kill me.”
“Why do you stay with him?”
“I’m not a citizen,” she said. “Not yet. I’d rather die than go back to Russia. My father’s worse than my husband.”
Kingsley sighed heavily.
“How tall are you?” he asked. Irina gave him a puzzled look.
“Five foot ten.”
“Are you very strong?”
“Stronger than I look.”
“I believe that. How would you feel if I kissed the tip of your shoe?”
Irina narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would you do that?”
“Why not?”
“Kiss it, then. I don’t care.”
“I would if we weren’t in a holding cell. Against my will, I find I have a new lease on life these days,” he said. “I’d hate to catch something.”
She smiled, and that one little smile transformed her face. In an instant she was rendered unspeakably lovely.
“You can kiss it later, then,” she said, an imperious look on her face. It was there an instant and then gone again. But he’d seen it—arrogance, self-importance, power. Cooper was right.
“Did you ever want to fight your husband off?”
“Every time,” she said. “I wanted to break him and beat him into the ground. But he had the money, and if he divorced me, I wouldn’t be able to stay here.”
“You like the thought of hitting men.”
“Most men need a good beating to teach them how the world really works.”
She smiled as she spoke, a dark dangerous smile.
“You might be surprised to find I agree with you.”
She looked at him now, full-on at him, and for the first time, it seemed she noticed his existence.
“Who are you?” she asked again. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you, my name is Kingsley. I own a club in town, a strip club. But I’m starting a new club. I need people to work the club. Special people. People like you.”
“Like me?”
“Like you.”
“I don’t know anything about working in a club,” she said.
“I can teach you everything you need to know.”
“What would I do?”
“Beat the shit out of men. Some women, too, but mostly men.”
Irina looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“Does that pay well? Beating up men?”
“It can, if you do it well enough.”
“Sounds like a dream come true.”
“Can you be brutal?” he asked.
“I am brutal,” she said. “My husband will be in the hospital for a week because of what I gave him last night. I couldn’t stop laughing while he was sick.”
“You monster.” Kingsley grinned at her. “I like you already.”
