The King

THIRTY-SEVEN

It was easy to think of God while watching the sun rise over the Hudson River.

As Sola sat on the empty terrace of Assail’s glass house, she stared across the cold, sluggish water. Little flashes of peach and yellow skimmed over the icy expanse as, across the way, that great orange orb crested over the skyscrapers of downtown.

She had made it out of that prison, she thought for the hundredth time. And whatever scars might have formed on the inside of her, her body was intact, her mind functional, and her safety, at least in the short term, assured.

Thinking back to all those prayers, she couldn’t believe they’d been granted. Desperation had made her utter the words, but she hadn’t really expected anyone to be listening.

The question now was … did she keep her side of the bargain?

Man, it would have been so much easier if an angel with wings had come down and freed her, magically depositing her here. Instead, she’d done the dirty work herself, Assail had been on cleanup, and one of those fierce cousins of his had been a chauffeur for the five-hour trip back to sanity. Oh, and then there had been all those people in that facility.

Mere mortals touched by the hand of God? Or a series of random events that just happened to roll out as they did? Was the fact that her life had been saved a case of divine intervention … or of no more significance than one bingo ball getting picked over another?

A shallow fishing boat puttered into view, its sole passenger steering the outboard motor from the back, controlling speed and direction.

Pulling the heavy duvet even closer around her body, she thought about all the things she’d done, starting when she was just nine or ten. She’d begun picking pockets, trained by her father, and moved up to more complex theft with his help. Then, after he’d gone to prison and she and her grandmother had moved here to the States, she’d gotten a cashier’s job at a restaurant and tried to support them both. When that had proved too difficult, she’d put her experience to good use and survived.

Her grandmother had never asked any questions, but that had always been the way—her mother had been the same, except when it came to Sola’s involvement in the life. Unfortunately, the woman hadn’t lived long enough to make much of an impact, and after she was gone, the husband and daughter she had left behind had become thick as thieves.

Natch.

Sooner or later, she’d been bound to get caught. Hell, her father had been even better at it than she was, and he’d died in prison.

Picturing him the last time she’d seen him, she remembered him at his trial, dressed in prison garb, handcuffed. He had barely looked at her, and not because he was ashamed or worried about getting emotional.

She’d been no longer useful to him at that point.

Rubbing her eyes, she thought it was asinine to still be hurt by that. But after spending all her time trying to make him proud, get some approval, find any kind of connection, she had realized that to him, she was just another tool in his black-market workplace.

She had left the courtroom before knowing whether he was found guilty or not—and she had gone directly to his apartment. Breaking in, she’d found the stash of cash he kept in a crawl space cut into the wall behind the shower in the bathroom—and used that shit to get her and her grandmother free of his legacy.

The papers to enter into the U.S. had been falsified. The news they’d received about three weeks later from relations had been real: Her father had gotten life.

And then he’d been murdered behind bars.

With her grandmother not just a widower, but childless, Sola had stepped into the role of provider the only way she knew how, the only way that worked.

And now she was here, sitting on the deck of a drug lord’s house, faced with the kind of moral dilemma she had never expected to come up against …

Watching some random fisherman cut his engine and throw a line in.

Even though the guy had turned off the motor, he wasn’t still. The river’s current carried him along, his boat drifting across the view, a humble craft dwarfed by the distant buildings.

“You want the breakfast?”

Sola twisted around. “Good morning.”

Her grandmother had her hair done in tight curls around her face, her apron tied on her waist, and a flash of lipstick on her mouth. Her simple cotton dress had been handmade—by her, of course—and her sturdy brown shoes were somehow fitting.

“Yes, please.”

When she went to get up, her grandmother motioned downward with both gnarled hands. “Sit in the sun. You need the sun, too pale you are. You living like a vampire.”

Ordinarily, she would have pushed back a little, but not this morning. She was too grateful to be alive to do anything other than comply.

Returning to the view, she found that the fisherman was disappearing on the right, going out of sight.

If she hadn’t prayed, she would have gotten out of that place anyway. She was a survivor, always had been—and she had done what she had on a strange kind of autopilot, sucking in her emotions and physical sensations and doing what was necessary.

So if she looked at her future, at the currents in her life that were going to carry her out of view, so to speak … going legit was the smartest thing to do.

Regardless of any “agreement” she’d had with God.

She was going to end up in jail or dead—and she’d just dipped her foot in the icy cold of the dead scenario. Not where she wanted to end up.

Blinking in the gathering light, she gave up on the vision thing and closed her eyes, letting her head fall back. The warmth on her face made her think of Assail.

Being with him had been like touching the sun and not getting incinerated. And her body wanted more—hell, just the passing thought of him was enough to take her back to those moments in that bed, the night so quiet, the gasps so loud.

As her breasts tightened, she felt a welling between her thighs—

“Sola, you are ready,” her grandmother said from behind her.

Getting to her feet, she leaned out over the glass balcony, trying to find her fisherman. She couldn’t. He was gone.

Brr, it was cold out here—

“Sola?” came a gentle prodding.

Strange. Ordinarily, her grandmother’s voice was like the woman’s hands—never soft. In fact, she spoke like she cooked: out front, forthright, no holds barred.

But now the tone was as close to gentle as Sola had ever heard it.

“Sola, you come eat now.”

Sola took one last stab at seeing her fisherman. Then she turned around and faced her grandmother.

“I love you, vovó.”

Her grandmother could only nod as those ancient eyes of hers steamed up. “Come, you’ll catch the dead of a cold.”

“The sun is warm.”

“Not warm enough.” Her grandmother stepped back and motioned. “You must eat.”

As Sola entered the house, she froze.

Without looking, she knew that Assail had come down the stairs and was staring at her.

Shit, she wasn’t sure she could leave him behind.

After having been sequestered in his room for the last couple days, Trez found the world to be a stretch for the senses, like having a strobe light in his face and a pair of speakers up to each ear: Getting onto the Northway to head into downtown Caldwell, he found himself putting his sunglasses on and turning off the radio—

From out of nowhere, some dumb shit did a two-lane sweep and cut him the hell off.

“Watch where you’re going!” he shouted into the windshield, pounding on his horn.

For a split second, he hoped the guy behind the wheel of the Dodge Charger decided to go road rage back at him. He wanted to hit something. Shit, it would probably be good practice for his meeting with s’Ex. Mr. Charger, however, just took his overload of testosterone and his pencil-size dick off at the next exit, jogging in front of a minivan and a pickup truck in the process.

“Asshole.”

With any luck, the bastard would drive off into a ditch with no seat belt on.

About ten minutes later, Trez peeled off from the sixty-mile-an-hour-ers and entered a maze of one-ways. Confronted by all the traffic lights and the stop signs, his brain cramped up and he forgot the way to the condo—

When a horn sounded behind him, he locked his molars and hit the gas. In the end, he was forced to pilot around by tracking the Commodore’s twenty-story-plus height, gradually zeroing in on the high rise and finding the ramp that led down into the parking garage. As he descended, he got his pass out from the visor, swiped it through the reader, and proceeded to one of their two reserved spots.

The elevator ride up took fifty years and then he was stepping off onto the carpet runner. Their condo was down a little and he used its main door, not the service one, letting himself in with his copper key.

As he came into the kitchen, he saw two mugs on the counter, an already open bag of Cape Cod potato chips, and the coffeepot half-full.

He paused over an open GQ. He’d already gone through it. “Nice jacket,” he murmured as he shut the mag.

No reason to will on any lamps. The day was bright and sunny and all the glass let in plenty of light—

The towering black shape that arrived on the terrace was a harbinger of doom if he’d ever seen one.

Striding over, Trez opened the door by hand and stepped outside, closing things up behind him.

s’Ex’s voice from under the executioner’s hood was mildly amused. “Your brother invited me in.”

“I’m not my brother.”

“Yes. We’ve noticed.” As the queen’s hatchet man crossed his arms over his chest, his massive forearms bunched up even under the folds of fabric. “To what do you owe the honor of my presence?”

The fact that it was freezing cold out seemed appropriate. “I don’t want you to fuck with my parents.”

“Then you need to come back. That’s it.” The executioner leaned in. “Don’t tell me you called me all this way in hopes of negotiating. Did you. Surely you are not that stupid.”

Trez bared his fangs, but then dialed shit back. “There’s something you want. Everyone has a price.”

The executioner reached up and slowly took off that hood. The face behind the folds of black cloth was handsome as sin … and had eyes with all the warmth of winter granite.

“Why would I risk my own life for your parents? If I disobey an order, there are consequences—and none of you are worth them.”

“You can talk to the queen. She listens to you.”

“Assuming that is true, and I’m not saying it is, why would I do that for you?”

“Because there’s something you want.”

“Since you seem to know everything, what exactly do you think that is,” the executioner said in a bored tone.

“You’re stuck there as much as any of them are. I remember what that’s like—and I can assure you, life on this side of those walls is so much better.”

“Which is why you look like shit, then?”

“Think about it. I can get you anything on the outside. Anything.”

The executioner’s eyes narrowed. “Sparing them is not going to save you.”

“Killing them isn’t going to bring me back. And that’s why you’d do it, right? So go to the queen, tell her you’ve spoken to me directly—and I don’t care whether you kill them. Then suggest that she strip them of everything they’ve been given—the quarters they live in, the clothes and jewels they’ve bought with the bounty they received, the food in their cupboards. Everything. That will make the queen whole again. She’ll have lost nothing, be out nothing—”

“Bullshit. She doesn’t have a half for her daughter. All that ‘restitution’ doesn’t solve the fact that the princess has no mate.”

“It’s not going to be me. I’m telling you right now. You guys can fuck my father and mother up, you can threaten me with bodily harm, you can trash my house—”

“What if I just take you now?”

Trez outed the gun he’d shoved in his waistband at the small of his back. He didn’t point it at s’Ex. He put it right under his own chin.

“If you try to, I’ll pull this trigger. Then you have a dead body, and unless that daughter of hers is a sick bitch, she ain’t gonna want me then.”

s’Ex went inanimately still. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“Anything you want on the outside, s’Ex. You take care of this for me, and I’ll take care of you.”

As the queen’s executioner considered the deal, Trez breathed smoothly, and thought of the only two people who really mattered. Selena … Jesus Christ, he wanted her, but he was no good for the likes of that Chosen. Hell, even if this flier of a negotiation worked, he was still going to be a pimp, and there was no changing his past.

And then there was iAm.

The idea of losing his brother was … he couldn’t even put it into thought. But the male was going to be better off without him if he couldn’t fix this problem.

“I’m surprised that you want to save your parents this badly,” s’Ex said offhandedly.

“Are you kidding me? If they lose their station, it’s worse than death for them. What they did to me has ruined my life and my brother’s. That shit’s my revenge. Besides, like I said, no matter what you do with them, I’m not going back there.”

The executioner broke off and strolled the length of the terrace, his robing swirling around him like the promise of violence, the puffs of his breath like a dragon breathing fire.

After a long moment, he clasped his hands behind his back, and returned.

It was a while before he finally spoke, and when he did, he wasn’t looking at Trez. He was staring at the glass of the apartment.

“I like this place.”

Trez kept the gun to his chin, but felt a stab of … hope? Well, not that cheery an emotion, certainly. But maybe there was a solution after all.

s’Ex lifted a brow. “Three bedrooms, two and a half baths, nice kitchen. Plenty of light. But the beds are the best—big beds in there.”

“You want this, it’s yours.”

As s’Ex’s eyes slid back to him, Trez heard the phrase deal with the devil over and over in his head.

“It’s missing something.”

“What.”

“Women. I want women brought to me here. I’ll tell you when. And I want three or four at a time.”

“You got it. Name the number and the hour and I’ll bring them to you.”

“So sure of yourself.”

“What the fuck do you think I do for a living.”

s’Ex’s eyes flared. “I thought you were a club owner.”

“I don’t just sell booze,” he muttered.

“Hmm, what a job.” The executioner frowned. “Just so we’re clear, she may order me to go after your brother.”

“Then I’m going to have to kill you.”

s’Ex threw his head back and laughed. “Very cocky.”

“Let me make myself perfectly clear. You touch iAm and I will find you. Your last breath will be mine and your heart will still be warm when I take it out of your chest and eat it raw.”

“You know, it’s a wonder we don’t get along better.”

Trez put out his free hand. “Have we come to terms?”

“There is the queen to consider. I may not be able to sway her. And just so you’re aware, if she doesn’t go for it, your deadline will have passed.”

“So kill them.” He held s’Ex’s black stare without wavering. “I mean it.”

The executioner tilted his head, as if considering all angles. “Yes, evidently you do. Meet me here at noon tomorrow with a sample—and I’ll see what I can do in the Territory.”

Before s’Ex disappeared, the male clasped the palm that was offered briefly. And then he was gone, like a nightmare banished upon waking.

Unfortunately … Trez knew the male would be back.

The question was, with what kind of news. And what kind of appetite.