Page 44 of Deny Me
This time she touched him, laying her palm against the broad expanse of his chest. “I do know, Wes. I promise.”I wish I could give you what you want from me.But giving men what they wanted wasn’t her superpower, she knew. First King, now Wes.
Her friend went stiff against her, and she jerked her thoughts back to the present. “What is it?”
“Incoming,” Wes muttered. Taking her hand, he dragged her back toward King and the trouble rapidly approaching.
Chapter Twenty
King had known it might happen, had even been fairly certain it would, but no amount of mental gymnastics could truly prepare him for the sight of his parents walking across the room toward him.
Warren and Christy Moncrief were neutral enough. Yes, they were aware of what had happened between King and his parents, and his Uncle Warren hadn’t done anything to stop it or to make certain King landed on his feet, but they hadn’t gone out of their way to ostracize him or trash talk behind his back. They’d simply…ignored the situation. He’d assumed Wes had the same motivation for staying away from him all the years. It appeared he’d been wrong about that; Wes had avoided him out of respect for his choices, and it wasn’t like his cousin could support him even if King needed it—not that he would’ve considered such a deal.
Seeing his extended family didn’t pierce him like a hot knife, but his parents…
Arthur Moncrief’s gaze was glued to his brother, not his son. King’s father had aged gracefully, a picture of King’s own face thirty years from now. The fact that they looked like brothers seemed unfair considering. The last words he’d spoken to King had been on the doorstep of their home, right after he’d tossed King’s suitcases—packed by the housekeeper, of course—onto the driveway.“If you refuse to follow the right path, I refuse to support you. Don’t contact me again.”
The words echoed in his ears even now. No declaration of love, no thought to pride in the son who’d forged his own path to success without help of any kind. His father had never loved him, had only seen him as a means to an end. A source of status.
His mother, Monica, had felt the same. Why else would she have endured stretch marks and labor? It certainly hadn’t been for a child to adore. Adoration got you nowhere in society.
Power was the only thing that mattered to either of them.
“Warren,” Arthur said stiffly. “This is an unpleasant surprise.”
“Is it?”
Warren wasn’t an idiot, he knew what Arthur was saying, but it appeared he wished to stay on neutral ground.
“Arthur,” King forced himself to say. He nodded to his mother. “Monica.”
Monica’s nose couldn’t go higher in the air, and like Arthur, she refused to look at him.
Hugh smirked, something like mischief adding a gleam to his Moncrief blue eyes. “How’s the air up there, Aunt?”
Monica narrowed her eyes on her nephew.
“We were just—” Christy began.
Wes appeared at his mother’s elbow, Charlotte beside him. “We were just catching up on old times.”
King had expected surprise, but the outright fear in his parents’ expressions at the idea that he might be re-entering their social sphere had sorrow roaring through him. He’d insulated himself from the pain of his family’s lack of relationship, or so he’d thought, but seeing it face-to-face made it difficult to keep those emotions locked away where they couldn’t hurt him. And having his teammate witness it…
No, he wouldn’t let that disturb him. Elliot wouldn’t feel sorry for him. She was more of a revenge kind of woman, a trait he appreciated. Elliot and Dain and Saint had become his family; he didn’t need this one anymore.
“Yes, we were,” Charlotte said brightly, sliding her arm through the crook of his. Her warmth heated the left side of his body, the feel of her molded against him pushing away the sourness of this encounter. “King has a lot to be proud of, including a coveted position at the top security firm in the city.”
Monica sniffed. “Brute force.”
“It’s fairly effective, especially when you’re protecting some of the richest people in the world,” King said, injecting a touch of humor into the words. He shouldn’t want to take a jab at her, but shaking his mother out of her cold indifference had always been his specialty. Sure enough, a slow red flush crept up Monica’s neck.
“As I recall,” Arthur said, staring down at Charlotte, “you didn’t find anything to be proud about when he dumped you ten years ago.”
A collective, if muffled, gasp shot through their group. Arthur ignored it.
“Not that you’ve done much to improve the family stature since then,” he added. “Your father takes care of that. But it’s to be expected. A daughter can never amount to as much as the perfect son can.”
A jumble of responses, most of them rabid, pushed against King’s lips. Elliot beat him to the punch.
Stepping forward, she drew Arthur’s attention with a sexy sway of her body. When his gaze latched on to her breasts, she smirked. “You know, my father felt the same way.” Her fingers trailed up her thigh, exactly where King knew her knife rested, waiting for her skill to wield it. “I thought I showed significant restraint in my response.”
