KING: Alliance Series Book Two

Sunlight penetrates through my eyelids, and I force my putty-like muscles to roll over. Blessedly, the blinding lights dim with the motion, and I fall back asleep.

I step off the ledge of a firepit…and jerk awake.

“Shit,” I groan, flopping onto my back.

I need to pee so bad my stomach aches.

Making myself get out of bed, I feel the aches of being a thirty-something who slept too long as I go through the process of getting ready for the day.

Note to self, only hang out with those three when I want to be blitzed for the rest of the night.

It’s when I’m in the closet, tugging on a pair of leggings under my big sleep shirt, that I start to remember all the details.

King giving me a piggyback.

King acting all snappy when he thought I was wearing another man’s shirt.

King’s…oh god, did I touch his dick after calling it a thing?

Still standing in the closet, I drop my forehead against the doorframe.

Nicely done, Savannah.

I should probably go apologize to him. And I should definitely shower since I spent half of last night laying in the grass, soaking up the campfire smell. But first, I need coffee.

So, I’ll head to the kitchen first, to wake myself up, then I’ll find my way back to King’s office.

It’s not until I’m walking down the hallway that I realize how easily I’ve forgotten about the whole kidnapping thing.

There’s a part of me that can’t stop wondering how bad King really is. He says he’s bad. Told me he helps run some criminal organization. Whatever that means. And I know he killed Lee. But Lee, sorry, Leland, was also bad. So, does that make what King did less bad? Though King did basically threaten everyone I’ve ever known. Except…he never actually did threaten them, did he? He just showed me photos, which is fucked up and creepy. But he never specifically said if you don’t marry me, I’ll kill your cousin. Because I’m sort of doubting that he would.

He did make me give up my house, but in exchange I’m now living in a mansion with the most glorious art studio I’ve ever seen.

So, basically, I’m fucked. Because I’m starting to like my husband.

A yawn comes on so hard I have to stop walking. And while I’m stopped, I hear the approaching steps down below.

I’m near the top of the main stairs, but happened to stop just short of the end of the hallway. So, I’m hidden behind the edge of the wall.

It was unintentional, and I’m opening my mouth to call out to King, assuming it’s him, when his voice bounces up the stairs.

“What?” King’s voice sound’s annoyed as his footsteps come to a halt. “I thought the shipment of girls wasn’t supposed to come in until next week?”

Girls?

What does he mean girls?

King’s quiet, and I picture him pressing his phone to his ear.

My breaths start coming faster, and I press a hand over my mouth.

“Do we have the men ready?”

I’m a bad man. Who does bad things.

That’s what he said. Bad. Things.

I take a few steps back, the blood rushing through my ears is too loud. Like he’ll be able to hear it.

He couldn’t. Could he?

Have I really been so blinded by what I wanted to see?

Panic, true panic, starts to build in my chest.

Why am I having such a hard time believing this?

He told me he was bad!

Shame fills me.

Shame at being so goddamn stupid.

“No, I’ll be there for the tradeoff.” His voice is louder now, closer.

Slamming my lips shut, holding my breath, I listen. And my heart stops when I hear his shoes on the stairs.

As quietly as I possibly can, I spin around and sprint to the bedroom. His next words are unintelligible underneath my alarm, but I make it inside the room just before his voice echoes down the hall.

Skidding to a stop, I push the door so it’s mostly closed then stand, stuck in indecision. Fake being asleep or hide in the bathroom?

Since I’m basically hyperventilating, I run to the bathroom, doing the same thing with the main door before throwing myself into the little toilet stall at the far end of the room.

I depress the handle as I close the door so the click is nearly inaudible, just as I hear King call out my name in the bedroom.

I reach back and depress the handle, flushing the toilet, and use the sound to mask the soft click of me turning the tiny lock on the door handle.

“Savannah?” King’s voice is in the bathroom now, and I once again realize that I acted in haste. Because flushing the toilet would usually suggest that I was done and that I would be coming out. But my cheeks are hot, my heart is still flipping around like it’s dying, and there’s no way I can look him in the eye without vomiting all over the floor.

Shipment of girls.

“I’m busy!” My voice sounds strained, so that, matched with the early flush, he probably thinks I’m in here taking a poop.

Whatever. That’s fine. Everyone poops. Murderers and kidnap victims alike.

“You alright?” I see a shadow move under the door and I know he’s standing just on the other side.

I gingerly step back and sit down on the toilet seat, just in case he’ll be able to tell if I was standing from how my voice sounded.

“Fine.” Act how you normally would, Savannah. I aim for an annoyed tone. “Do you mind? A little privacy, please.”

It sounds like he’s tapping his foot before he sighs. “I’m heading out to do some work. I don’t know how late I’ll be, so let Cici make you dinner if I’m not back by…” he pauses to think, “eight.”

“Oh, okay.” I bite my lip, then decide to go for it. “Any chance I can have my phone back?”

“No.”

I knew it was a long shot but I’m still angry with his answer. “I need to post on my socials. My business is very customer facing.” I have to stop myself from patting my own back at that last minute idea.

“Nice try, Honey. I saw you posted last week letting everyone know you’d be absent while you work on your next series.”

Damn me and my desire to communicate.

“Can I have it anyway?” I’m really gonna need a phone if I want to run away.

“No.”

Though the more I think about it, he could probably track it in a heartbeat. “Fine. Now will you go away, so I can…finish?”

I can hear him snort through the door. “Everyone shits, Savannah.”

“Oh my god, get out!” My irritation isn’t faked, as I shout at him. And finally, finally, I listen to his footsteps as they leave.