Page 14 of King
Challengeaccepted.
It’s the only thing I can think about since he whispered those two words in my ear. My big fucking mouth always gets me mixed up in shit. And now I have a sexy damn biker to worry about along with amade man. Two men I should stay so far away from. But no. My traitorous body has my mouth speaking shit before I can stop it.
We were shown to our own rooms at the clubhouse after the VP, Artyom, gave us a tour of the clubhouse. Also giving us strict instructions on what we’re allowed to do and where we can go. We have free reign of every room in the clubhouse except King’s office, the room where they have meetings, and the room where King sleeps when he’s here at the clubhouse. Apparently, he has a house somewhere else, although Artyom wouldn’t tell us where, even though I have no plans on ever seeing it. Not only were we order to follow those rules without exception, we also aren’t allowed to leave the clubhouse without at least two of the men going with us or without the permission of King first, which I think is a little much.
Not only are we on the run, but now we’re in prison too.
“At least Amelia will get to tattoo and not be couped up here like me,” I say to the empty room. “Maybe I can hang out at the tattoo shop too. But if I do, I won’t get any work done.”
I’m going to go bat shit crazy not being able to go out on my own or go anywhere I want to go. My mother always called me a free spirit. Needing to spread my wings as much as possible or I’d go stir-crazy. Whether in Matteo’s gilded cage or King’s biker clubhouse, I hate not being able to go where I please.
I already took a long shower, hoping it helps me sleep, but all I can think about is King and his last words before he sauntered away from me like a King in his castle.
“Challenge accepted.”I huff and toss the covers off me. “What the hell does that even mean?”
There’s no way I’m going to get any sleep. I have too much rattling around in my brain. Or dare I say a certain someone I should stay far away from is still on my mind.
Outlining a new story usually calms my mind, but there really isn’t anywhere in my new room to get comfortable enough to get started. The small bedroom isn’t glamorous, but it is livable and clean. I’ve stayed in worse places when I left North Carolina on my way to Vegas, driving a ten-year-old Toyota Corolla, with a hundred dollars in the bank, a nearly maxed-out credit card in a purse that had seen its last days, and on a wing and a prayer. This room is definitely an upgrade.
The bedroom has only the bare minimum. A twin bed with plain white sheets, that Artyom swears are new, one brown, wood dresser, a matching nightstand, and a closet that’s big enough to hang maybe two or three shirts on the small rack, and enough room at the bottom to sit my duffle bag and my shoes.
There are two full bathrooms on this floor that everyone shares. Neither is ideal as far as privacy, but at least it’s free, amazingly clean for the number of men frequenting the place, and somewhere to lay low while the Feds try to find Matteo. I’m trying to look at things with more optimism like Amelia suggested despite my bleak outlook on all this shit.
Moonlight filters through the thin curtains of the only window in the small room casting eerie shadows around on the pale walls. It isn’t glamorous, but I’m not going to complain. It’s mine until all this shit blows over. One way or the other.
My pajamas are modest so there’s no need to change. I just slip on my shoes, grab my laptop from the top of the dresser, and head to find a secluded place to write. The music died down long ago, and it’s in the early morning hours. Hopefully, everyone’s gone or passed out drunk. In a place like this and as hard as the guys partied before Amelia and I called it a night, they are more than likely passed out somewhere.
I descend the stairs as quietly as possible to the first floor. There’s a glow filtering from under the door of the room Artyom said is King’s office and off limits. Damn, I’m surprised he’s up this late. After he whispered those words to me, I didn’t see him anymore. Not that I looked for him or anything. Maybe he decided to get his dick sucked by that blond. Could that be why he disappeared after accepting a challenge I didn’t even realize I gave. I push the thought and smidge of jealousy away.
“If he is, it’s not any of my business,” I mumble in the darkness.
I tiptoe by the office door, trying to be as quiet as possible, hoping the floors don’t creak as I make my way to the back area of the clubhouse. It isn’t large but it has a small patio with lounge chairs where I can relax, listen to the sounds of the city, and start on my next book before it’s deadline is on me before I know it.
I dodge bodies lying on the floor, and in chairs on my way to the doors that open to the patio. There’s even someone passed out on top of the pool table with a woman in his arms. I’ve seen so many things in the past few hours I never thought I’d ever see.
I shake my head as I slip outside, sliding the door shut behind me. I take in a deep breath and let it out. It’s warm, but thankfully it’s cool enough I won’t get too hot and sticky.
I slide into one of the white lounge chairs they have around a firepit and power up my laptop. It’s been more than a year since I released a book, and my agent has been breathing down my neck for the past month. I haven’t even informed her I left town, but I guess this hiccup in my life will give me more time to get things done.
Other than Amelia, no one knows I’m a writer. Under my pen name, Lana Deveraux, I’ve released more than thirty books, three landing on the New York Times Bestsellers List. I love what I do, and I can’t let this shit with Matteo interfere with what is one of the most important things in my life. Finally, I have some peace and alone time to get something done.
“Arabelle’s Beast,” I mumble as my fingers fly across the keyboard. “Chapter One.”
Merciless.
Ruthless.
Cruel.
They have all been used to describe billionaire playboy Florian Larsson. But nothing described him better than Beast.
Peace is all I want. Not just someone to spend my days and nights sweaty and in a mess of tangled sheets to slay the demons wreaking havoc in my mind–just her. If only I could have the one person, I know can make everything worth living for. I’ve tried to forget her. She’s too innocent. Too pure to taint with my wickedness, but deep down no one else will do. To strip her of everything she is and make her into what she deserves to be, will be my greatest reward. My greatest accomplishment.
My grip tightens on the glass of whiskey, I’ve been nursing since the sun started rising while images of her stream through my consciousness. While she doesn’t know I exist, she’s become my obsession. She’s the one thing I can’t live without but have been forced to let go. To keep from destroying her, I’ve hid in the shadows for years wishing she wasn’t unobtainable only sending her a single red rose ever so often as a reminder that I’m always thinking of her. But nothing has changed since I first laid eyes on her.
She’s still my unattainable beauty because I would always be a beast.
At my large office windows, I gazed at an impressive view of the beautiful New York horizon filled with shades of pink and orange rising above the skyscrapers. The morning dew covering the window shimmers as the sun filters through the large panes of glass as the city below comes to life.
