Page 15 of King

Kings’ little soldiers left to do his bidding, leaving me alone with the asshole. Leaning back on the sofa, I got comfortable. I wasn’t scared of King. I could handle him, even if being alone with him was wreaking havoc on my libido.

Fuck. My. Life.

His body was in peak condition, with muscles toned in all the right areas. From the top of his disheveled head to the tips of his big black boots he wore. The man was definitely one fine piece of man flesh. Too bad for me, he was a delusional moron with a king complex.

I didn’t need that shit.

Nope. It was best if I stayed away. A man like him could get me into a lot of trouble. What I wanted was to get the hell out of here and get back to town. My fucking hand was throbbing. I hadn’t gotten any sleep. The sun was coming up, and I had too much shit to do. Chewing the fat with King wasn’t on my to-do-list.

When the last man left, King pulled his chair close to me, leaned forward and said, “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it ends now.”

God help me, his breath even smelled delicious. I wondered if he flossed. He had to. No one could have perfectly straight white teeth without flossing.

“A good friend of mine died knowing you needed my help. One of the last things he asked was for this club to protect you. I don’t care what you think is real, only that he asked for our help. Now, whether you want it or not, you are not leaving here without protection. Everywhere you go, anyone you call or speak to, one of my boys will be with you and they will report back to me every damn thing you say and do. Got me?” He finished.

“You can’t be serious?”

“Oh cupcake, I am dead serious. Until I clear this misunderstanding up, you have now become my club’s top priority. If you take a shit, I want to know what brand of toilet paper you use and how many plies. Let me be crystal clear. If you run, if you even think about running, I will have your ass back in my room, chained to my bed for the duration. Don’t fuck with me on this.”

Chained to his bed?

Well, never figured him for a kinky motherfucker, but I was game if he was. Shaking off that thought, I snapped out of my sexual delirium as his words sank in. When they did, I came alive. He had to be fucking kidding. There was no way I could have one of his henchmen hovering over me twenty-four-seven. There was no way. I had shit I needed to do. People I had to call. Customers were paying me thousands of dollars so they could have one of my designs. I couldn’t just have someone watching my every move. It was ridiculous.

“I see those wheels turning. Forget about whatever you’re thinking because it won’t work. I run this damn town. I have eyes everywhere. Just accept defeat, adhere to my orders and you can go back to your shit life doing whatever it is you do.”

“Bastard.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he smiled, getting to his feet. The man was on one serious high if he thought for one second I was going to comply with his fucking demands. I wasn’t some wayward kid that he could demand obedience. I didn’t survive the shitstorm from hell just so he could come in and wreck everything I created. If he thought I was going to just roll over and obey, well, he had another thing coming.

There was a knock at the door before a tall, skinny man walked in. He looked nothing like the others, from his messy shoulder length hair to the beige twill pants and the Rasta poncho he wore. Hell, he even had on Birkenstocks! The man looked more like a damn hippie straight out of Woodstock than a wannabe biker. “You wanted to see me, King?”

“Scribe, meet your next assignment.”

The man genuinely smiled. “Hello.”

“You know the drill. I want nightly reports. Detailed.”

“Understood.” The hippie nodded before walking over to me and saying, “Hi. My name is Scribe. Your new roommate. Your left wrist, please.”

“Excuse me.”

“May I please see your left wrist?”

Figuring there was no harm in what he was asking, I raised my left hand just as the hippie attached a bracelet on it. It was snug but didn’t cut off my circulation. The bracelet was solid black and hard. One solid black ring only a half-inch in width. It reminded me of a bangle bracelet some girls enjoyed wearing. Looking at it, then at the hippie, I asked, “What is this?”

“Your tracking device.”

“Excuse me!” I shouted, jumping to my feet. I tried to rip the thing off me, but thanks to my broken hand, my fingers were useless. “Get it off right now!”

“No.” King growled, as he rolled his chair back over to a desk, sat down, then added, “You can leave now, cupcake.”

Clearly a dismissal if I ever heard one. I stormed out of the office, ready to get the hell out of this place.

It was damn near seven in the morning when the hippie pulled into the alley behind my building. Instead of a motorcycle, the hippie drove a Volkswagen Van painted in every color of the rainbow. Inside, the van had shag carpet, comfortable captain chairs, and a complete state-of-the-art computer system with several monitors and gadgets that blinked constantly. But what really sold his persona was the fucking reggae music he had pumping through the multitude of speakers that could drown out a banshee on a tear. My fucking eardrums were still throbbing when I entered my barren apartment.

Walking around my apartment, taking everything in, he smiled. “Minimalistic. Right on.”

“I’d offer you something to drink, but I don’t have anything.”

---