The King: The Original Sinners Book 6 (31 page)

He walked upstairs to his office and collapsed onto the couch by the window. Good session. Great kink. Irina would make a world-class dominatrix. With her and Felicia as his top dommes, every man in the tri-state area who had even once fantasized about feeling a woman’s boot on the back of his neck would come crawling to them, begging to be let into the club. A beautiful dream that might never come true. Fuller still wasn’t budging. Kingsley still wasn’t giving up. This staring contest had gone on long enough. One of them would have to blink.

Before Kingsley could finish his thought, Blaise burst into his office in her bathrobe.

“King—I need you. The cops are here.”

“Cops? Why?”

“Irina. She’s under arrest.”

“For what?” Kingsley grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. He raced down the stairs and found Irina in handcuffs being escorted to a waiting squad car.

“What is this?” he demanded of the officer. “What’s the charge?”

“She poisoned her husband,” the officer said. “So I hear.”

“That charge was dropped,” Kingsley said, standing between Irina and the squad car.

“Looks like they picked the charge back up again. Excuse me. I don’t want to have to arrest you, too.”

“King, it’s okay,” Irina said. “You did your best.”

“I’ll get you out,” he promised her. “Don’t talk to anyone. Not a word. I’ll call our lawyer.”

She put up no fight as the officer shoved her in the car and drove away. He watched them disappear around the block.

“Mr. Edge?” came a voice from behind him. “Kingsley Edge.”

Kingsley turned around and found a bike messenger waiting for him.

“Oui?”

“Delivery.” The boy handed him two envelopes—one large manila envelope and one small white envelope. He rode off before Kingsley could say another word.

He opened the large manila envelope first and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He flipped through them while he walked back into the town house.

“King? What is it?”

“It’s from the health department,” he said, not believing what he was reading. “They’re shutting down the Möbius for health code violations.”

“Health code violations?” Blaise repeated. “Because of the...you know?”

The sex club in the back. Someone had tipped off the health department. And who worked at the Möbius? Who knew Irina was staying at his house?

Blaise ran her hands through her hair.

“King, what’s going on? What happened?”

Kingsley closed his eyes.

“Sam happened.”

35

“KINGSLEY, ARE YOU
even listening to me?”

“What is it you do for a living again?” he asked, glancing around his still-empty strip club. Was there any place in the world more desolate or depressing than an empty strip club?

Maggie glared at him from across the table.

“I’m a lawyer. Specifically, your lawyer.”

“Then, no, I’m not listening to you.”

Maggie sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She was one of the highest paid and most respected attorneys in all of Manhattan. But right now she looked like a beautiful if exasperated ex-lover in a dark red suit. Which she also was.

“You remember you’re paying me seven-hundred dollars an hour for this conversation?” she asked him, the toe of her red stiletto clicking on the floor in irritation.

“Now I’m listening. What’s happening to my club?”

Maggie capped her pen and tapped her legal pad with the end.

“Nothing,” she said. “Unfortunately. There is no organization in the city that works slower than the health department. And that’s on a good day.”

“And this is not a good day?”

“No, it’s not a good day,” Maggie said, ripping off a sheet of paper and tossing it in the air. He did always adore her dramatics. “All the paperwork is ‘in process,’ which is their fancy way of saying ‘we are doing nothing with this case, so sit there and shut up.’ You must have seriously pissed someone off.”

Kingsley stretched out his legs, threw his feet on to the seat of the chair next to Maggie, and crossed his boots at the ankle.

“It’s possible.”

“Oh, I know it’s possible. I used to sleep with you, remember? You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met and, considering the only people I know are other lawyers, and I’m using the term
people
loosely, that’s saying something.”

Kingsley narrowed his eyes at her. He’d met Maggie years ago when he’d been sent on a long undercover assignment in Manhattan. Older, rich, well-respected and powerful, Maggie was also a sexual submissive who loved nothing so much as spending all night on her hands and knees for a man. He’d taken great pleasure in giving her knees rug burn for two months straight.

“You miss me, don’t you?” he asked her.

“No.”

“Do you think if I hadn’t gone back to France, we still would be together?” he asked.

“Kingsley?” Maggie reached across the table and snapped her fingers in his face. “Pay attention. Your club has been closed for a month. Can we talk about how much money you’re losing and why?”

“I have plenty of money.”

“Do you not care about the people who work for you who lost their jobs?”

“I’m still paying them.”

“When did you become so altruistic?”

“I’m a very giving person. Orgasms, beatings, rug burn,” he reminded her.

“I’m leaving. When you’re ready to discuss your legal situation, call my office.” She gathered her things and stood up. Kingsley took her by the wrist and pulled her back down to her chair. As he expected, she didn’t put up a fight.

“I’m sorry,” he said, moving his chair directly in front of hers. “I am. This is my own fault, which is why I don’t want to talk about it. But I need to. I need you.”

Maggie exhaled heavily. She took Kingsley’s hands in hers. On her left hand she now sported a wedding band. His beautiful, servile, submissive Maggie, who had once spent twenty-four hours straight chained to his bed...was now married. And to a librarian of all things.

“Tell me what’s going on. The truth,” she said. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s happening.”

“I fell in love,” he said.

She smiled at him sympathetically. “The root of all evil. Who is she? Or he?”

“She’s a hotel called The Renaissance.”

“Your strip club is closed. You’re being investigated for tax code violations. And your friend Irina’s being deported. And this is all about real estate?”

Kingsley nodded.

“Well,” she said. “That’s Manhattan for you.”

“I want to open a new club,” he began. “A club for us. For our kind. The world’s largest S and M club. I found a place I wanted, but it’s owned by Reverend James Fuller.”

“Reverend Fuller?
The
Reverend Fuller? The Reverend Fuller who opens legislative sessions with prayers, held the Bible for the mayor when he was sworn in and baptized the governor’s granddaughter? That Reverend Fuller?”

“The same,” he said.

“Okay. Tell me everything.”

He told her. He told her about Sam and The Renaissance, about trying to buy it from Fuller and having his offer refused. He told her about the church, the camps and the teenage kids being tortured for being gay. He told her that while he could find another building for his club, he loathed Fuller so much he refused to give up.

“Maggie,” he said, raising her hand and kissing it. “This is my city now. This is my home. I can’t let Fuller bring his empire into my city. You know what I am. I was sleeping with another boy when I was sixteen. Fuller would have sent me to one of those fucking conversion therapy camps if he’d had the chance. Me and him. And Fuller’s not sorry. He only closed the camp because two of the campers made a suicide pact.”

“Did they die?” she asked, horrified.

“One died. The other girl lived. Lived and worked for me for a few months.”

“Sam?”

“She told me what happened to her at that camp. I spoke to some others who’d gone to his camps. They confirmed everything she said. There’s a thirty-two-year-old man in Queens who still has the burn scars from the electrodes on his testicles.”

Maggie winced. Once Kingsley had realized Sam had betrayed him, he’d begun doubting everything she’d told him. But when it came to the camps, she’d been telling the truth. The man with the burns hadn’t wanted to talk to him at first, not until Kingsley promised him that he’d do everything he could to keep Fuller from opening a church in the city. Kingsley had found him through a lawsuit he’d filed against Fuller and the church seeking restitution for his massive therapy and medical bills. The man hadn’t had sex in five years because he couldn’t bear to let anyone see the burns on his genitals.

“He’s not a man of God,” Kingsley said. “I know a man of God, and that man of God makes me think God might be on our side. But Fuller, he’s a demagogue. And he’s dangerous. And I don’t want him in my town.”

“I get it,” Maggie said. “I can’t say I want him or his church in my town, either.”

“What about Irina?”

“They’ve ‘lost’ her paperwork. INS is as bad as the health department. Someone deep in the works is throwing a wrench into everything I try to do.”

“You got her out of jail. That was a good start.”

“Getting the charges dropped again was easy. They don’t have any evidence. Keeping her from being sent back to Russia will be the hard part. Especially since she’d been twice arrested. She doesn’t make a very sympathetic case.”

“Her husband bought her, abused her, and she put eye drops in his drink so he’d be too ill to rape her one night and that’s not sympathetic?”

“He was never charged for anything. She was. You know how the world works, King.”

“I know. I don’t want to know, but I know.” He made a decision then and there, and he spoke it aloud before he lost his courage. “I can’t let Irina be deported. I’ll call Fuller. I’ll tell him I give up. He wins. I lose.”

“Are you sure?” Maggie asked.

He wasn’t, but he didn’t know what else to do. He could survive without the Möbius. He would beat any charges brought against him for tax code violations. But he’d made Irina a promise to take care of her, and he would keep it.

“I’m sure,” he said. He sat back and put his boot on the chair across from him.

Then he kicked the chair so hard it flew ten feet across the floor.

“Kingsley.”

He raised his hand to silence her. Maggie looked at him with compassion but said nothing.

“The club, it would have been something special, Mags. You would have loved it there. The Renaissance, it was perfect for it. I’ve never wanted a place so much in my life. That club was my baby.”

“You can still build it. We’ll find somewhere else for you. I’ll help you any way I can.”

Kingsley gave her a tired smile. It was a relief in a way, letting his dream die. He had all the money he’d ever need, all the lovers any man could want... It was fine. Time to move on. Sam had turned on him and he’d been too hurt to even ask her why. Whatever her reasons, he wasn’t going to start a fight with her over it. No more causalities. The war was over.

And yet...

“I’m sorry, King,” Maggie said, squeezing his hands. “I know surrender isn’t your forte.”

“If it was only me, I’d fight to the bitter end.”

“I know you would. And I think a few years ago you would have kept fighting anyway, collateral damage be damned. You’re getting noble in your old age.”

“I’m twenty-eight. Same age as your boy-toy.”

“Daniel’s not my toy. I’m his.” Maggie flashed him a seductive grin as she gathered her things again.

“I’ll never forgive you for getting married.”

“I didn’t ask for your forgiveness.” She stood up, bent over and gave him the quickest of kisses on the lips. “I’ll contact Fuller’s attorney for you. You stay away from the man. No more antagonizing him.”

“You’re enjoying telling me what to do, aren’t you?”

“Remember that night you made me suck your cock for two straight hours?”

“That was as much work for me as it was for you.”

“Go home,” Maggie said. “I’ll call you when it’s all taken care of.”

“I don’t want to go home,” Kingsley said, leaning his head back and running his fingers through his hair in exhaustion.

“Last call,” Maggie said at the door. She pointed to the closed sign. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

She gave him a wink and walked out. He hadn’t been kidding. As much as he loved Chez Kingsley, he was far too restless and worried to go home and sit waiting for Maggie to call him. He didn’t want to go home. And he didn’t want to be alone. And he didn’t want to be sober another second.

He reached behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He sat it on the counter in front of him. If he closed his eyes he could picture Sam standing behind the bar, the bottle in her hand, flipping and catching it. He didn’t want to drink the Jack. He wanted to inhale it, every drop until his heart stopped beating and his brain stopped thinking. And yet in the back of his mind he could hear Søren’s voice.

Drinking is for celebrating, not for suicide.

Too bad he didn’t have anything to celebrate.

Maybe it was a Catholic feast day or something. He pushed the bottle aside, picked up the phone behind the bar and dialed a number.

“What day is this?” Kingsley asked.

“It’s Sunday,” Søren said, “which means it’s still been eleven years.”

“Is it a saint’s day or a feast day?”

“It’s always a saint’s day. It’s also Clergy Appreciation Day, according to Diane. Seems to be the only explanation for why my desk is covered in baked goods,” Søren said, sounding utterly bewildered.

“Clergy Appreciation Day. That will work. On my way.”

“On your way?”

“Yes. I need to get drunk. I’m depressed and miserable and angry. And you said I can’t drink unless I’m celebrating something. You and I can celebrate Clergy Appreciation Day together. And you owe me. I destroyed First Presbyterian for you.”

“I owe you?”

“Oui.”

Søren paused. Kingsley waited.

“The rectory at nine,” Søren said.

“You want to celebrate, too?”

“I’m a priest in love with a sixteen-year-old girl. Bring a big bottle. We’ll both crawl inside it.”