The King: The Original Sinners Book 6 (5 page)

“I’m not that much of a sadist.” Søren smiled, and the world turned to morning from the force of that smile. Had Kingsley ever seen him smile like that? “And this girl of ours, she would be wilder than both of us together.”

“We dreamed beautiful dreams, didn’t we? But a girl like that? Impossible dream.”

Kingsley had once dreamed he and Søren would spend their lives together. They’d travel the world, see it all, wake up together, sleep together and fuck on every continent.

“Nothing is impossible,” Søren said.

“What do you mean?”

Søren turned his eyes from the sun and gazed directly at Kingsley.

“Kingsley,” Søren began and paused. Whatever words would come next, Kingsley felt certain his world would never be the same again once they were spoken.

“What is it?”

“I found her.”

5

KINGSLEY COULDN’T SPEAK
at first. What was there to say to that? What do you say to an otherwise reasonable person who suddenly looks at you and says he saw a unicorn on the side of the road or met Saint Peter while out for a walk?

“You found her. You’re certain?”

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life. And that includes my call to the priesthood. It’s her. Black hair and green eyes. Green hair and black eyes.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Her eyes change color in the light. Green to black and back again. When I first saw her, she had streaked green dye through her black hair. She’s violent and foul-mouthed, and she told me I was an idiot. Not only did she say that to me, it was the first thing she said to me.”

“Wild, is she?”

“I’d go so far as to use the word
feral
.”

“Feral. A wild cat, then. With claws?”

“Sharp ones. Sharp mind, too. Very intelligent. Cunning. Quick and clever. Almost fearless.”

“My type of girl. Where did you meet her?”

“I was sent to pastor at a small parish in a town called Wakefield in Connecticut. She’s in my congregation. I recognized her the second I saw her. You would have, too.”

“What’s she like?”

“Dangerous. She doesn’t even know how dangerous.”

“How dangerous?”

“She...” Søren stopped and laughed. “She made me make her a promise.”

“
Made
you? No one makes
you
do anything.”

“She did. I needed her to agree to something, and instead of being cowed like every other person I’ve ever attempted to terrorize before, she refused to accept my terms. Unless...”

“Unless what?”

“I promised to break my vows with her.”

“Is that so? Which vows? Poverty? Obedience? Will she make you buy expensive things and tell the pope to go fuck himself?”

“She wants us to be lovers.”

“Are you?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Kingsley repeated. “So you plan to?”

“She made me promise I would.”

“So, why haven’t you?” Kingsley asked. He tried to keep his voice light, airy, amused. But he’d never had a more serious conversation in his life. If this girl was real, if she was the one he and Søren had dreamed of, and Søren had found her, that meant something. What it meant, he didn’t know. But something. Something that terrified him and aroused him all at once.

“Because,” Søren said, “I’m a priest. And she’s a virgin.”

“A dangerous virgin? I didn’t think such a being could exist.”

“You’ll believe it when you meet her. But that’s not all you should know about her.”

“What else?”

“She’s fifteen.”

Kingsley inhaled sharply.

“Fifteen. Are you insane? Do you know what they do with priests who—”

“Which is why I haven’t done it. As much as I’d like to.”

“Beautiful, is she?”

“Kingsley, you have no idea...”

Kingsley heard pure aching need in Søren’s voice. He hadn’t heard desire like that since the last night they’d spent together.

I own you...you are mine...your body is mine, your heart is mine, your soul is mine...
Søren had whispered that in Kingsley’s ear as they’d fucked on the cold hard floor by the small hermitage fireplace.
You want me?
Kingsley had asked, taking every inch of Søren into him.
So much,
Søren had said.
You have no idea how much.

“I should meet our little princess,” Kingsley said.

“Not a princess, a queen.”

“Take me to her, then.” Kingsley didn’t actually want to meet her. He felt sick again at the thought of it. This was a dare.
You saw a unicorn? Prove it, then. You say you’re Christ back from the dead? Show me the wounds.

“I can’t,” Søren said.

“Why not?”

“She’s in police custody.”

Kingsley laughed.

“Now I know why you’re here. Your Virgin Queen has gotten herself into trouble. You expect me to help her?”

“I’m asking you to. Begging you to if I must.”

“Even when you’re begging, it sounds like an order.”

“Would you rather I ordered you to help her?” Søren asked, stepping away from the window. “I can still play the game.”

“It was never a game to me.”

Søren turned and faced him, his eyes cold and steely.

“No. It was never a game to me, either.”

Kingsley sat down on the black-and-white sofa. He crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned his head back against the fabric. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips. God, what a night.

“Do I want to know what she’s in police custody for?”

“She stole five cars. Her father apparently owns something called a chop shop.”

“They steal cars, chop them up and sell the parts. Good money in it.”

“He made her steal for him. The police caught her in the act. Her father ran for it.”

“I hope they catch him and give him the chair.”

“Death is too good for him. But he’s not my concern now. She is. She’s facing serious time in juvenile detention or worse. I can’t let that happen. I found her a week ago. I can’t lose her already.”

Kingsley looked up at him through narrowed eyes.

“You...” Kingsley said. “You’re in love with her.”

Søren didn’t deny it. Kingsley respected him for that.

Honesty was its own special brand of sadism.

“I am.”

“Well, then,” Kingsley said, laying his head back again. “Maybe all hope is not lost.”

He expected Søren to laugh at that, but when he looked up he saw the steel in Søren’s eyes.

“We have to help her,” Søren said. “Please.”

“Please? You’ve learned manners in the past eleven years.”

“Will you help her? Will you help me?”

Help the girl. How? Easy. He had a few judges who owed him favors. He regularly fucked the wife of an important district attorney. He could make some phone calls. He couldn’t get the charges dropped. His contacts needed to cover their asses. But he could get her community service, probation with some luck. Nothing serious.

“What’s her name?”

“Eleanor Louise Schreiber.”

“Schreiber? German name.”

“It is.”

The corner of Kingsley’s mouth quirked in to a half smile.

“That explains the Beethoven. I suppose you don’t play Ravel anymore.”

Søren had played Ravel for him the day they met and many days after. Ravel, the greatest of all French composers. And now his heart turned to Beethoven—the greatest of all the Germans.

“I would play Ravel for you,” Søren said, his voice stiff and formal. “If that’s what it took.”

Kingsley’s eyes flew open.

“I’m not going to make you fuck me just so I’ll help your Virgin Queen. That’s her game, not mine.”

“Is there a price for your assistance?”

“You gave me a fortune. I’m richer than God, and you think you owe me something?”

“Don’t I?”

“A favor,” Kingsley said. “One favor.”

“Anything. Name it.”

Kingsley stood up, walked across the room and stood only inches from Søren.

“All I ask of you,” Kingsley began, “all I beg of you...don’t leave me again. Please. Eleven years. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Søren grasped Kingsley by the back of the neck and pulled him into an embrace—not an embrace of lovers but, instead, of lost brothers, soldiers from enemy armies reunited at the end of a long, devastating war that no one had won.

“I thought I would die without ever seeing you again,” Kingsley said, and his eyes burned with tears. “Every day I thought that.”

“Thought or hoped?”

“Feared,” Kingsley said, clutching Søren’s forearms. “My greatest fear.”

Kingsley closed his eyes, and if he kept his eyes closed he wouldn’t have to see that white collar around Søren’s neck. If he kept his eyes closed he could pretend it was eleven years ago and they were alone in the hermitage together. Søren would beat him and take him to bed, and after he’d finished, Kingsley would throw his arm over Søren’s stomach, rest his head on Søren’s chest and fall asleep. When he woke up Søren would still be there. Søren would always be there.

“I promise you this,” Søren whispered, “I will never turn my back on you. I will never leave you. I will never forsake you. As long as it’s in my power, I will be your friend, and I will be here for you whenever you need me.”

“You paid for this house. It’s your home even more than mine. Make it your home.”

“I will if that’s what you want.”

“More than anything.” He opened his eyes and looked up at Søren. “No one loves me. And I don’t love anyone here. No one trusts me and I don’t trust anyone. I need you.”

“You trust me? After what I did to you?”

“I trust you. Because of what you did to me.”

Søren took a deep breath. Kingsley felt his chest rise and fall.

Kingsley sensed Søren’s reluctance to pull away, but pull away he did.

“I’ll help your girl,” Kingsley said. “I know people. I’ll make sure she doesn’t go away.”

“Don’t hate her. You’ll want to hate her, and we both know why. But try to keep your heart open.”

“How long have you been back in the United States?” Kingsley asked.

Søren seemed taken aback by the question.

“A few months,” he said.

“You’ve been to the city before?”

“Yes.”

“But you never came to see me.”

Søren didn’t say anything. Kingsley hated him for that silence.

“You weren’t planning on seeing me ever again, were you?” Kingsley asked.

“I thought about seeing you again,” Søren said. “I wasn’t sure if I should. For the obvious reasons.”

“Your little girl got herself in trouble, and that’s what it took to bring you back to me? How can I hate her?”

Søren nodded. It looked as if he had something else to say. Whatever it was, he decided against saying it.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” Søren said. “I’ve been up all night, and it looks like you have, too. We’ll talk more after we’ve both had some sleep.”

“Good.” Kingsley was so relieved to hear he’d see Søren tomorrow, he was almost ashamed of himself. He could have cried from relief. “I have a car. It can take you home.”

“It’s fine. I have a way back.”

“Please, don’t tell me you’re taking public transportation. I can handle the vow of celibacy better than that.”

Søren laughed—a joyful new morning laugh. Joyful? He hadn’t expected joy. Søren was happy in his new life? That was good. Kingsley wanted him happy. At least one of them was happy. Better than nothing.

“I promise, no public transportation.”

Kingsley followed Søren out on to the sidewalk. From the two-foot gap between his town house and the house next to him, Søren wheeled out a black motorcycle—a Ducati.

Kingsley whistled.

“If this is standard-issue transportation for Jesuits, no wonder you joined.”

“It’s a bribe, actually,” Søren said, pulling on a leather jacket and zipping it up. He slipped his white collar out of his shirt and pocketed it. Just like that, Søren ceased looking like a priest and became himself again in Kingsley’s eyes.

“Priests take bribes?”

“We have a long history of it. Ever heard of indulgences?”

“My entire life is an indulgence.”

“I’m starting to see that,” Søren said, looking the town house up and down. “But this bribe was my father’s doing. He assumed—wrongly—that I’d drop out of seminary so I could keep it. Jesuits hold all property in common. If I accepted the bike and stayed in seminary, I’d have to give it up to the order. They often sell large expensive gifts and use the money for more important things—like food and books.”

“What happened?”

“I told my superior at the province. He told me to take the bike, become a priest and let my father go to hell. That’s the sort of spiritual counsel I can live with.”

“Your father must hate you.”

“Almost as much as I hate him.”

Søren started the engine. Before he could drive off, Kingsley stepped in front of the bike.

“Don’t forget the favor. Don’t leave me again,” Kingsley said.

“Again? You seem to be forgetting something,” Søren said.

“What?”

Søren looked him deep in the eyes. And in those gray depths Kingsley caught a glimpse of something. Fury—old, cold, but still burning.

“Eleven years ago, I didn’t leave you,” Søren said. “You left me first.”

And with that, Søren put on his helmet, revved up his bike and rode off into the street.

Funny. Kingsley had forgotten that.

He had left Søren first.

6

THE THINGS KINGSLEY
did for love.

Kingsley took a breath, walked up the steps into the Eastside Rifle and Pistol Range. He was on time, but Robert Dixon was already there. Dixon caught Kingsley’s eye, nodded at him, then raised his pistol and shot six bullets into the target. Kingsley stood safely behind him and watched. Dixon could shoot. Kingsley had to give him that. Six bullets, six hits. He’d peppered an erratic circle around the target’s heart.

Dixon, aged forty and looking every day of it, took off his earmuffs.

“Your turn,” Dixon said to Kingsley. “Impress me, and I’ll hear you out.”

With another sigh, Kingsley put on his earmuffs and safety glasses, aimed his 9mm and shot six rounds into a fresh target. Two in the head between the eyes, two in the heart and two in the groin just to make Dixon think twice.

Kingsley pulled off the earmuffs, turned around and faced Dixon.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” Dixon asked.

“French Foreign Legion.”

“I thought all the French military knew how to do was surrender.”

“You’d be curtsying to the Queen of England if it wasn’t for the French.”

“What do you want? A thank-you note?”

“Just a favor. We’ll call it even between France and America then.”

Dixon looked him up and down. “Let’s go talk. Keep your hands off your gun.”

“Your idea to meet at a shooting range,” Kingsley reminded him.

“I shoot better than anyone I know.”

“Not anymore.”

“I’m pretending I don’t know you,” Dixon said. Kingsley didn’t blame him for that.

They left the shooting lanes and found a quiet corner near the lockers. Dixon pulled on his jacket, stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited.

“I need your help,” Kingsley said.

“You’re fucking my wife, and you come to ask for a favor. I almost admire that.”

“I wouldn’t have to fuck your wife if you weren’t too busy fucking your wife’s sister.”

Dixon’s eyes widened. Kingsley smiled.

“Go on,” Dixon said. “What do you need my help with?”

“A girl was arrested in Manhattan last night. She’s being charged today with five counts of grand theft auto.”

“A girl?”

“She’s fifteen.”

“We better throw in a charge for driving without a license then.”

“You’re funny,” Kingsley said, and mentally put two bullets in Dixon’s head. “I need the charges dropped.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“How much to make it happen?”

“I can’t get the charges dropped. That’s a big fucking red flag, and I’m not prepared to wave it.”

“Can you get them reduced? I want to keep her out of doing any time.”

“Who is this girl?”

“Friend of a friend,” Kingsley said.

“You have friends who are friends with fifteen-year-old girls?”

“I have interesting friends.”

“I didn’t know you had any friends, Edge,” Dixon said with a wide grin. Kingsley put two more bullets in him—center of his chest this time. “Or do fuck buddies count as friends these days?”

“Are you going to help her or not?” Kingsley asked.

“I’ll consider it. What’s her name?”

“Eleanor Schreiber. She lives in Wakefield, Connecticut.”

“Schreiber? Yeah, they’re looking for the father right now. They want her to roll on him and anyone else she can.”

“She’ll roll on him.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I put my job on the line helping a fifteen-year-old girl get out of going to juvie for multiple counts of car theft, I want to know the story.”

“Fine. Short story. An old friend of mine is a Catholic priest now. Her priest. He asked me to help her. I owe him a big favor. This is the favor.”

“You’re friends with a priest?”

“Trust me, no one is more shocked by that than I am.”

“Is he fucking her? The priest?”

“What?” Kingsley asked. Did Dixon already know something about Søren?

“It’s all over the papers,” Dixon said. “Every damn day there’s a new story about a Catholic priest fucking some kid. Boston’s exploding. Phillie, Detroit, Chicago... I get caught helping a priest with the underage girl he’s fucking and—”

“He’s not fucking her.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m fucking her,” Kingsley said, coming up with the quickest cover he could think of.

“You’re fucking her?”

“I went to visit his church. I saw her. I fucked her. I thought she was eighteen.”

“You thought she was eighteen,” Dixon repeated.

“Oops.” Kingsley shrugged.

“Now this is making more sense to me. I can’t see you doing a favor for a friend out of the goodness of your heart. I can see you fucking a fifteen-year-old girl.”

“Guilty as charged.” Kingsley raised his hands in mock surrender. “She’s looking at hard time. Can we get her community service?”

“You want her out of juvie so you can keep fucking her?”

“Not easy to fuck through iron bars. Possible, but not one of my kinks.”

Dixon went quiet. Kingsley waited. He couldn’t stand being around this man another thirty seconds. Dixon did favors all the time for the mafia and still went to church with his wife and kids every fucking Sunday.

“It’s not my case, but I can make something happen,” Dixon finally said. “There’s a judge who’s soft on teenage girls. Gives them community service in most of his cases, even violent ones. If I grease the wheels of justice, we can make it one of those cases.”

“How much grease?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“Done,” Kingsley said, not even bothering to negotiate. He didn’t negotiate where Søren was concerned.

“That was easy,” Dixon said. “You must really like this little girl.”

“Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point,”
Kingsley said.

“What was that?”

“I said, yes, I really like this girl. Call it destiny.”

“Let’s hope my wife doesn’t find out about you and your little destiny. She likes you.”

“Let’s hope your wife doesn’t find out about a lot things,” Kingsley said with a smile. “I’ll send someone to your house later. Or maybe I’ll just drop it off next time I’m there.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“My mother was a saint,” Kingsley said. “I’m the only bitch in the family.”

He patted Dixon on the shoulder and walked past him. As soon as he was out of the front door, he stopped, leaned back against a brick wall and closed his eyes. He breathed for ten whole seconds as the tension left his body. These pissing contests never got easier. Dixon was stupid and powerful, and it was a terrifying combination in an enemy. Why did he even have enemies anymore? Wasn’t he supposed to be retired? Isn’t that why he’d left France, left the job, taken the money and run?

Then again, he was only twenty-eight. Who retired at twenty-eight? And if he wasn’t making trouble for someone, then what was the point of getting out of bed in the morning?

Kingsley rubbed his forehead, felt the weariness in his bones. He needed a better reason for getting out of bed in the morning.

Kingsley walked four blocks and found a pay phone.

“It’s me,” Kingsley said when Søren answered. He spoke in French. No need for names.

“What’s the verdict?” Søren asked.

“She’ll get community service. Good enough?”

He heard a pause on the other end, and Kingsley lived and died in that pause. Just like old times.

“Thank you,” Søren said. “That is more than I’d dared to hope for.”

“Let me ask you something. If I hadn’t been able to help your little girl, what would you have done? What was Plan B?”

“I think she and my mother would get along quite well.”

Kingsley shook his head and laughed to himself. “I’m glad I could save you from the necessity of kidnapping a minor and transporting her across international borders.”

“
Kidnapping
is such a strong word. I prefer the term
rescuing
.”

“You really love her.”

“You will, too.”

“What’s so special about this girl you’re willing to commit felonies on her behalf?”

“Truth?”

“Truth,” Kingsley said.

“She reminds me of you.”

“That’s why you love her?” Kingsley asked, hoping the answer was “yes” but knowing it wasn’t.

“That’s why I’m trying to help her.”

Kingsley heard the pointed note in Søren’s words.

“I don’t need help,” Kingsley said.

“Are you certain of that?”

“Yes,” Kingsley said, and hung up the phone.

As he walked away, he had a fleeting thought.

What was the penance for lying to a priest?