Текст книги "King"

Автор книги: T. M. Frazier

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“Senator,” King acknowledged the man.

“Mr. King,” the senator greeted, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

“Where’s Max?” King asked, bitterly.

“Soon, she’ll be here soon. There is another car on its way here with her in it.”

“Trade means trade.” King said. “She isn’t going anywhere until Max gets here.”

Then, it hit me. King had said I didn’t have a choice, and now, I knew why.

If I stayed, King wouldn’t get his daughter back. The trade he mentioned was me for Max.

“There she is now,” the senator said as another town car pulled up into the driveway. King bounded down the steps jumping over me as he made his way over to the car. The second it stopped, King opened the back door.

“Max?” he shouted into the car.

The driver rounded the vehicle and produced something from his jacket pocket. He slapped a metal cuff around King’s wrist.

“She’s not in there,” King shouted, pulling at the cuff. “What the fuck is this? Where is she?”

The man I thought was the driver twisted King’s other arm forward and secured the cuffs in front of him.

“What are you doing?” I shouted, running up to King. “Let him go!” A pair of strong arms grabbed me from behind and stopped me from getting any closer. “What the fuck is going on? I need to go to him!”

I kicked my feet in the air as the man I was told was my father lifted me up off the ground. King’s nostrils flared as the man who’d just put King in cuffs, wrestled him into the back seat of the car.

“Mr. King, this is Detective Lyons. You’re being arrested for the abduction of my daughter,” the senator said, all the while maintaining his hold on me.

“But he didn’t kidnap me! He didn’t do anything. He saved me. He SAVED me!” I shouted, biting at his arm as I tried to break free of his grip.

And I meant it. King had saved me. In every way. He’d saved me from myself, from a life of standing still. Because of him, I was moving forward.

I wanted to move forward with him.

“You motherfucker!” King shouted. Detective Lyons closed the car door, and I lost sight of King behind the heavy tint of the windows.

“No!” I called out. The car took off and disappeared under the trees. “Let me fucking go!”

The senator turned me around to face him and grabbed me roughly by the shoulders. “Calm down, Ramie, or you’re going to scare him,” he warned.

“Who? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Tanner walked over to the car and opened the door. A little boy with curls like Tanner’s and hair as white as mine tumbled out of the back seat.

The little boy saw me and opened his arms. He came bounding up to me and crashed into my thigh.

The senator released his hold on me. The little boy nuzzled his face into my leg.

I looked down at him, puzzled.

Because it wasn’t the way his eyes were as icy-blue as mine, or how the dimple on his chin matched mine that alarmed me the most.

It was what he shouted that made my heart stop.

“Mommy!”

To be continued in the next book, TYRANT, August 17^th 2015.

Read on for a glimpse at the Prologue.

Tyrant

Prologue

King

The average time spent between incarcerations for a career criminal is six months.

I’d only been out three.

I’d expected to find Max in that car. Instead, cold metal clinked around my wrists, and the asshole pig had the audacity to laugh when he tightened the cuffs to the point of pain.

I didn’t wince though. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He pressed down on my head roughly and shoved me hard into back of the old police cruiser. I landed on my side, and my cheek slammed against the sticky seat. It smelled like vomit and bad decisions. My hands tingled from the loss of blood flow.

The motherfucker was lucky I was in cuffs.

Three years. They already had me for three fucking years, and now they were going to have me for a whole lot longer.

Kidnapping wasn’t exactly rewarded with a light slap on the wrist, especially for someone whose record was as long as mine. I promised I was never going back, but keeping my promises is just another thing I was never very good at.

I was all out of fucks to give though. The system could have me. I belonged to them now, but they didn’t fucking own me. They would NEVER fucking own me.

She owned me.

Heart and black fucking soul.

I will walk to the fucking chow line with a shit-eating grin on my face wearing my scratchy orange jumpsuit every motherfucking day. I will play cards with the worst of the worst and make nice with the guards who were willing to cut me some slack. At night, when I’m alone in my windowless cell with my dick in my hand, I will remember what it was like to have her in my bed; how her innocent wide eyes stared up at me as I moved inside her, the way she arched her back into me as I made her come over and over again.

I kept telling myself that I didn’t have anything to offer her, but that wasn’t true.

I had love.

Pup. Doe. Ray. Whatever the fuck her ame was. I loved her more than what was normal, rational, or sane, and I would gladly rot in fucking prison with a smile on my face if I knew my girl was going to be okay.

But I didn’t know that. I couldn’t know that.

I should have known that motherfucker was going to fucking cross me.

“The notorious Brantley King,” the pig said with a smirk as he got into the front seat. The plastic-like leather squeaked against his belt as he closed his door and started the engine. “You’d think you’d have learned your lesson by now, boy.”

He laughed and shook his head. It was obvious that this guy was getting some sort of sick pleasure out of being the one to put me in cuffs.

“King,” I corrected him defiantly. Nobody called me Brantley but her.

“Excuse me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me through the mirror.

I sat up straight, meeting his gaze with mine as if I were staring straight through to his pussy-ass soul. “They call me King, mother fucker.”

The rage inside me grew to epic proportions. That’s when I noticed the detective didn’t turn onto the main road but instead drove straight onto the path through the woods.

This guy was no fucking cop. I spotted his gun; he’d set it on the dash. It was a Judge, not the kind of gun that was standard police-issue. This guy wasn’t taking to me jail.

He was taking me to ground.

There was no time to waste.

My girls needed me.

More than that, I needed them.

The moron had cuffed me in front. That should’ve been my first sign that something was off. A real cop would’ve never done that unless he was transporting a nonviolent criminal.

Which wasn’t me.

Using the chain that connected my cuffs, I trapped the fake detective’s neck against the headrest and yanked back with all my might until I felt like my biceps were going to explode.

His hands left the wheel and flailed about as he tried to connect with my head, but I dodged him by lowering myself behind the seat.

The car veered off the path and bounced from side to side as it ran over a patch of knee-high roots.

The pressure mounted behind my eyes as I tugged back on the cuffs, squeezing tighter and tighter. I didn’t release my hold until the car came crashing to stop and every inch of life had drained from his body.

The fake cop was right. I would never be anything more than the notorious Brantley King.

That was fine by me because the senator had a lesson to learn. You did not take what was mine and not expect to pay in blood, sweat, or pussy.

He took my girl. He wanted to take my life.

His payment would be in blood.