Page 79 of Slay King

“No.”

“Why can’t you tell me that? Wouldn’t you rather I come to you than go to Stellan or your father?”

I took a step in his direction, wanting to wrap my hands around his neck. He must have read that clearly in my expression, but he only tensed up. He didn’t back away. Fucker knew I couldn’t kill him, no matter how badly I wanted to.

“What is it you want to know?” I demanded.

“Did you find her in Louisiana?” he asked.

He knew something. I didn’t like it. He was holding something from me about her, and I was close to snapping right here in this goddamn room. He was going to need backup when I did.

“No. But she was born there.”

His face paled, and he took in a deep breath. “What part?”

“You need to get to the fucking point, May. My patience is almost gone, and I can’t promise you that I will be able to control what happens next.”

“Her last name. It isn’t really Beauregard, is it?”

I thought for a moment, then decided I might as well give him what he needed to know if I was going to get to the bottom of this. I shook my head. “It’s LeBlanc.”

Jefferson backed up two steps, then sank down onto the chair behind him. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“You’re gonna need to say more than that,” I demanded, not liking this at all.

We’d had a complete background check done on Rumor before I ever laid eyes on her. I knew her story. Her past. There was nothing of concern other than she’d suffered a lot and I was still hunting down the bastard who had hurt her when she was younger.

“I knew her mother,” he said, staring at the floor. “When she walked in the house and I saw her, it was like I’d been thrown back in time. She’s a complete replica. Even the hair. For a moment, I thought … it was her. But then I realized that was impossible.”

I felt as if he’d just hurled a brick into my chest. “She doesn’t know her mother. She grew up in the foster system.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and whispered what fucking looked like, “Thank God.”

What the hell was that about? Her life had been a nightmare, and he was thanking God for it. Son of a bitch was stepping too far out of line.

“You got five motherfucking seconds to explain yourself,” I warned him.

“Ariella LeBlanc is the only skeleton I have in my closet. I’ve never come close to it being aired in my career. I’ve lost sleep over the fact that she’d come forward. Someone would find her and offer her money to talk,” he said, then lifted his eyes to meet my glare. “I met her on a business trip. She worked at a club I frequented. One look at her, and, well, I was hooked. It went on for six months, and then one day, she told me she was pregnant. I wrote her a check for half a million and told her to get an abortion and the rest was hush money. I never went back. Ten years later, I did send out some feelers when my political career was taking off. I wanted to make sure that door was closed tight. There was no sign of her. Not a trace.”

There were several things running through my head as he spoke, but the one thing that trumped them all.

“How many years ago?” I demanded, my hands shaking at my sides. I fisted them, but the tremors of the unleashed wrath expanding with every breath I took didn’t ease.

“Almost twenty-five,” he replied.

I exploded with a loud roar as I charged him, grabbing his shirt and throwing him back against the wall. The monster in my chest had torn me wide open and stepped out to take control. I wanted to rip him limb from limb. See him beg for mercy. Bleed out at my feet while I watched the life dim from his eyes until he was a bloody corpse.

A loud sound came from behind me, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered. This bastard had paid for Rumor to be aborted. MY RUMOR. He’d wanted to kill her before she was born. I felt hands on my arms pulling at me, but I jerked free as an animalistic sound tore from my throat. He was going to die.

“KING!”

I heard my name, but it barely registered. They could hang me on a cross for this, but I would end this man.

Arms wrapped around my chest and arms, pulling me back. I fought, snarling and cursing, but I couldn’t break free.

“YOU ARE A DEAD MAN!” I told him.

His eyes were wide, and his face was as white as the shirt he was wearing.

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