The King: The Original Sinners Book 6 (26 page)

“He’s earned it,” Kingsley said. “His father was as rich as God, and Søren risked his wrath, risked getting cut off by telling the new wife what sort of monster she’d married. And he didn’t care. I’ve never met anyone like him in my life. I hope I never meet anyone like him again.”

Sam laughed again and wrapped her arm over his chest. She took a ragged breath.

Ragged?

“I remember that day like yesterday. It should be opening night for our club. November thirtieth—we can finish it in time.”

But Sam didn’t seem interested in talking about the club right now.

“You and Søren fucking in the back of a Rolls Royce.” Sam sighed. “That might be the sexiest story I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“I have better stories,” Kingsley said. “I’ll tell them to you someday.”

“Is it still
auto
erotic asphyxiation if someone else chokes you, but they do it in the backseat of a car?”

“Whatever you call it, it’s dangerous. That was the last time he choked me. When he married my sister, that put an end to our trysts. She didn’t know about us. But she’s gone now, and I thought when he came here... I hoped, I mean...”

“You hoped you could pick up where you left off?”

“I did. But he’s in love with someone else.”

“Who?”

“A girl at his church.”

“The girl you bribed someone to help?”

“Before you hate him anymore, you should know he hasn’t laid a hand on her.”

“I don’t care if he lays a hand on her as long as he doesn’t ship her off to some kind of reorienting camp, if they get caught together, like that pastor’s wife did to Faith.”

“If they get caught together, they’re moving to Denmark,” Kingsley said. “I think he’s already planned for it.”

“Will you go with them?”

“I tried to learn Danish once. Gave up trying. Russian was easier if that tells you anything.”

“Good,” Sam said. “Then you should just stay here with me.”

She pushed her hip into his leg, and he felt the heat radiating from her body.

Heat?

“I have to say, the thought of you playing with a little girl and her unicorn? So stinking cute. My ovaries want to hug you.”

Kingsley laughed. “I like kids,” he said. Not that he would ever have them. Women tended to want marriage and commitment along with their children, something he didn’t think he could give anyone. Yet, the hope remained.

“You’re amazing.” Sam ran her hand over his chest and kissed his shoulder. “I still can’t believe you were jealous because you saw me kissing someone you thought was a man. That’s adorable.”

“I’ve killed people. I’m not adorable.”

“You are. And you’re very pretty, too,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

“Sam, you’re flirting with me.”

“I am, aren’t I? That’s a weird thing for a lesbian to do with a man.”

“You are what you are,” Kingsley said. “And I would never try to change you. But if you ever want to play with me, it would be my honor.”

Kingsley rolled onto his side. Sam lay inches from him. She had a full lush mouth, a bow to her bottom lip and her eyes were hooded with the unmistakable look of arousal. Whether it was him that had done it or the story he’d told her, he didn’t care. She was boyish and beautiful and brilliant and he had to touch her.

So he touched her.

Not wanting to scare her, he touched only her lips with his fingertips.

“I’m not used to men wanting me,” she said. “Not men like you. Men who can have any woman they wanted.”

“Get used to it.”

“That story made me really turned on.”

“Do you want to go play in my Rolls Royce?” he teased. “I’ll bring a belt.”

Sam giggled—a beautiful sound, girlish and innocent. She took a fistful of sheet and raised it, covering the lower half of her face like a veil.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said, pulling the cover down.

“I’m hiding from me,” she said. “And from that.”

She looked downward with a meaningful gleam in her eyes. Having Sam lying in his bed, wearing his shirt, draped across his chest, breathing his air and listening while he bared his soul to her had aroused him almost to the point of pain.

“I won’t let it near you,” he said.

“Promise,” she said, peeking over the edge of her veil again.

“I promise. Does it make you nervous?”

Sam dropped the veil of her blanket and the mask of her feigned modesty.

“I have two brothers. Penises don’t scare me, and they don’t impress me. I have a whole collection of them back at my place. A couple of them even bigger than you.”

“I can’t win with you.”

“You can’t lose with me, either,” she said, serious now. “The reason I’m not scared of your big naked self... I trust you.”

“What do you trust me to do?”

“Will you touch me? Like he touched you in the car?”

“I would love to touch you,” Kingsley said.

“Hand only,” she said.

“I’ll keep all other body parts to myself.”

Sam paused before rolling on to her stomach. Kingsley slipped his hand under the back of her—his—shirt and tickled her.

The light touching turned into a light massage. Sam moaned in pleasure.

“You have such soft skin,” he said.

“Thank you,” Sam said. “Good line, by the way. I use it on girls, too.”

Kingsley pulled the covers down so he could properly give Sam a fearsome spank.

“Shit, that hurt,” she said, laughing. “I’m warning you, I know all the lines guys use to seduce women, because I use them, too.”

“I don’t use lines. Ever.”

“
Have you ever had sex in the back of a Rolls Royce?
” Sam repeated. “How is that not a line?”

“It’s not a line. It’s a serious inquiry.”

“Have you tried ‘You have the sexiest blank of any woman I’ve ever been with?’ Doesn’t matter what you put in the blank—they spread for that line every time.”

“I wasn’t using a line on you. And what on earth are you wearing?” Her underwear was plain white cotton with writing on it.

“Days of the week underwear. Today is Friday. These are my Fridays.”

“It’s after midnight—it’s Saturday.”

“This is a problem with Days of the Week undies. If I sleep in them, I never know if I should wear the day I go to bed, or the day I wake up.”

“If you slept naked, you wouldn’t have that problem.”

He traced the center of her back with his palm, grazed her shoulder blades and her neck... He couldn’t believe how slight she felt under his hand. Her personality filled up an entire room. Big treasure. Small package. He knew what they were doing was beyond foolish. She was his assistant. He was her boss. They had to work together. Wouldn’t it be awkward trying to work together if he and Sam had sex? Especially awkward considering she’d never had sex with a man before. And yet, nothing could stop him from wanting her, from wanting to be inside her. She wanted him, too. He knew what arousal looked like, and Sam was undeniably turned on. Her skin was hot, her breathing rapid and ragged, and she’d licked her lips—twice.

He wanted nothing so much as to throw her Fridays on the floor and stay inside her until next Thursday. When had he become the sort of man who wanted to make love to a woman who wore Days of the Week underwear?

“You’re laughing at me.” Sam stretched out underneath his hand as if wanting more of him.

“I am not.”

“I like it when you laugh at me.” Sam turned over on to her back and Kingsley let his hand rest on her stomach.

“I’m smiling at you. It’s a different thing.”

“I like your smile.”

“You do?”

“Of course. You have the sexiest smile of any man I’ve ever seen.” She winked at him.

“You’re going to get it now,” he said.

“Oh, shit,” she said, laughing and trying to pull away from him.

Sam squealed when he grabbed both her wrists and slammed them into the bed over her head.

“You’re always the one in charge, aren’t you? You top with women, don’t you?”

“Every time,” she said, a little breathless.

“How does it feel being with someone more dominant than you are?”

“Terrifying.”

“Good terrifying or bad?”

“Both,” she admitted, and Kingsley smiled down at her. He released her wrists but didn’t move from his position over her. No part of him now touched any part of her. But if he lowered himself from his push-up position, he’d be on top of her.

“You look good in my shirt,” he said. “And that’s not a line.”

“What do I have to do to keep it?”

“Pay for it,” he said.

Her eyes widened hugely, and he felt an instant stab of regret.

“I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her wrists. “I forgot—”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “It’s okay. You’re a man in bed with a woman. I’m not complaining.”

“You aren’t?”

“I’m having fun,” she said. “Promise. I like being in bed with you. How many women in this city wish they were here?”

“Most of them,” Kingsley said.

“I’d tell you, you were arrogant, but that’s probably true. I am the envy of the city tonight being here in your bed.”

“I don’t know,” Kingsley said, caressing her stomach again. He could feel it quivering under his fingers. “Women who want to be in my bed aren’t usually interested in hearing a story and going to sleep.”

“I’m not, either,” Sam said.

Kingsley arched his eyebrow at her.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

“I get to decide?”

“I’ve been submitting to Felicia for a month now. I’ve gotten good at it.” He tickled her rib cage with his fingertips. “You tell me.”

“I want to pay for my shirt,” she said. “That’s what I want to do.”

“You want me to come on you. You’re a lesbian. Isn’t this against the rules?”

“I don’t care about the rules.”

“You really want me to do this?”

“Yes, but not my back,” she said. “Do it where it counts. You showed me your scars and let me touch them. You should see mine.”

She raised her hand and unbuttoned her shirt...his shirt. She pulled it open and bared herself to him. Kingsley gazed down at her naked breasts with longing and desire coursing through his body. Lovely full breasts but not perfect. Both breasts were marred with old healed semicircle burn marks.

“I told you I had ugly secrets. These are souvenirs from that camp,” Sam said, blushing pink. “I don’t get naked very often with women. Do they look bad?”

He shook his head.

“Your breasts are beautiful,” he said. “Do my scars make me look bad?”

“Your scars are sexy.”

“So are yours.”

“Thank you. Even if you’re lying to me, thank you for being a good liar,” she said.

“Not lying,” he promised. He dropped his head and kissed one pale pink nipple. Then he moved his mouth and kissed the scar. He ached to touch her breasts, but he needed to touch himself more. Lowering himself, he positioned his knees on either side of Sam’s hips. She didn’t seem the least troubled by his nakedness, not even when he took himself in his hand.

Sam lifted her head and kissed the inside of his forearm before sliding her hand down her stomach and into her Fridays. She touched herself while he stroked himself. Sooner than he expected, she was moving beneath him, panting, her breaths hitching in her throat. Her pleasure stoked his, especially watching her nipples harden with her arousal and her skin flush. She took a sharp breath in and went silent. As she came he held back, although it pained him to do so. When her quiet shuddering was spent, she opened her hazel eyes and gazed up at him with undisguised desire. He stroked once more, twice more and then came onto her, covering her chest and breasts. He loved this, loved that she allowed him to do this to her, loved seeing his semen on her skin.

Sam closed her eyes and arched her back into his touch as he massaged his fluid into her breasts. Why was he doing this, marking her like this? He didn’t know why. Who cared? He loved touching her. He took his time as her breasts felt so right in his hand. He rolled her nipples between his forefinger and thumb, traced circles around her aureoles.

“Nobody’s touched my breasts in a long time,” she said. “Forgotten how good it felt.”

“Anytime you need it, my hands are here for you.”

“So...do I get to keep the shirt?” she asked.

“Sam, you can have all my shirts.”

With the greatest reluctance he pulled back and let her button his shirt up. He was gratified she didn’t immediately run off to the bathroom to wash him off her. Good sign.

She lay flat on her back and looked up and away and anywhere but at him.

“Sam?”

“Give me a second. I’ve never fooled around with a guy before. I’m processing.”

Kingsley sighed heavily and Sam grinned.

He sat up and leaned across her body.

“Kingsley, what are you doing?”

He pulled a small box from the drawer in the ebony table that sat at the side of his bed, took out rolling papers, a lighter and a small plastic baggie.

“Kingsley, is that—”

“It is,” he said, grinning as he licked the paper and rolled the ends tight. “Here.” Kingsley passed her the joint. “This will help you process.”

Kingsley flicked his light, and Sam took a hit, held it in and blew it out. She relaxed against his pillow with a smile. She curled up on his chest and handed it back to him.

“Kingsley?”

“Yes, Sam?” He wrapped an arm around her, held her close and exhaled an artful smoke ring.

“You are the world’s greatest boss.”

28

KINGSLEY WOKE UP
alone in his bed. Sam had already gone. She’d left his shirt on the bed in her place along with a note. He unfolded the paper and read.

King-I didn’t love you and leave you. I had an idea when we were talking last night, and I want to go look into it. I might be on to something with Fuller.

Love,

Sam

P.S. You look like a little boy when you sleep. Almost innocent. I might have taken incriminating pictures.

P.P.S. Don’t forget you have a game at noon today.

P.P.P.S. Thanks for the weed.

He flipped the note over, making sure there were no further postscripts.

Game? Oh, yes, he did have a game today. Rematch with First Presbyterian. If he missed it, Søren would kill him and Kingsley was fairly certain the priest would do a more thorough job of that than the last men who’d tried to do him in.

When he rolled out of bed he was met with a full-body ache. A few days out of Mistress Felicia’s bed would do him good. He took a shower and dressed in his soccer clothes. He’d been scouted at age fifteen by Paris Saint-Germain Football Club, and here he was, suiting up to play church-league soccer. Still he laced on his cleats and pulled on his “Sacred Heart” T-shirt with his last name on the back and a number eight beneath it. The
T
in the Sacred Heart was even in the form of a cross. How quaint.

“Why did you make me number eight?” Kingsley had asked Søren when he’d been given his official “uniform.”

“In Biblical mysticism, the eight symbolizes rebirth and new beginnings and Christ’s resurrections.”

“That’s why I’m an eight?” Kingsley had been touched by the thoughtfulness.

“Actually, it was the only number between one and twenty we weren’t using.”

“I know seventy-two different ways to kill a man,” Kingsley had said to Søren. “Three of them involve deploying T-shirts as weapons.”

Kingsley finished dressing and pulled his hair back in a ponytail. He didn’t need hair in his face when running on a field. He headed for the door of his bedroom but stopped when he heard his private phone line ringing. Five people alone had that number—Søren, Blaise, his lawyer, Sam and a “friend” on the police force—and none of them ever called him on that number for no good reason. Except Søren.

But it wasn’t Søren on the line or any of his other private five.

“Mr. Edge?”

“Who is this?” Kingsley asked, instantly alert.

“This is Reverend James Fuller.”

Kingsley stiffened, his grip on the phone tightening.

“How did you get this number?” Kingsley asked.

“Doesn’t matter. I have it. And I’m using it to invite you to my office today. I think we should talk.”

“I’m busy today,” Kingsley said.

“Oh, yes, soccer game.”

“Football,” Kingsley said evenly, not letting his tone betray his surprise that Fuller knew so much about him. “I’m French. It’s football.”

“You’re in America now, Mr. Edge. We do things differently here. When men have a dispute, they look each other in the eyes and talk about it.”

“Well, I am half American. I can look you halfway in the eyes.”

“Good. I’m in my office now. I’m sure you have the address in Stamford. Come see me. I won’t take up much of your time. You won’t even be late for your game.”

Fuller hung up before Kingsley could answer. Good thing Stamford was on the way to Wakefield.

* * *

When he arrived, Kingsley walked through a side door and up the emergency exit stairs. He wanted to avoid being seen by secretaries and security guards alike. He quickly found Fuller’s corner office. The door was open, but the room was empty. Kingsley took a moment to look around. Fuller’s office was easily twice the size of Kingsley’s. A CEO would have been comfortable in a room like this. Leather sofas, leather desk chair, desk the size of a boat. A wall of windows, awards on display, framed letters of praise and gratitude to “Reverend Fuller and Mrs. Fuller.” And in the corner of the office, golf clubs. Of course.

Kingsley looked at the books on the shelves and noted their tight bindings and polished covers. The leather volumes were more likely for show than reading or research. He studied the framed photographs on the wall. Even they had brass plates captioning Fuller’s triumphs. One picture showed him leading a revival in 1990 before a crowd of ten thousand. Another picture captured him praying reverently at the Tomb on the Unknown Soldier in Washington, DC. A lovely well-staged photo op. In one other photograph he and his wife stood with two dozen teenagers—“James and Lucy Fuller at the First WTL Church, Hartford 1983.” Everyone in the photograph, teenage and adult, had a Bible clutched to their chests and wide smiles on their faces. Their eyes were fixed on the camera, giving the whole proceeding a look of eerie sameness. Lucy Fuller had her arm around the shoulder of the pretty dark-haired girl next to her. James Fuller had his arm around the shoulder of the boy next to him. The very picture of Christian love.

Kingsley tore his gaze from the photographs on the wall and focused his attention on Fuller’s desk. At first he found nothing of interest—a calendar, a mug full of cold coffee, stationery and a few sermon notes. But under the coffee mug he found an unbound sheaf of paper. Printed on the front page were the words
Straight and Narrow—Bringing Homosexual Children Home to God.
The book was, unsurprisingly, authored by Lucy Fuller, who had apparently exhausted all other topics of Christian life. Curious, Kingsley leafed through it. One paragraph jumped out at him.

Homosexual teenagers are being influenced by demonic forces. If enforcing a regime of constant prayer and fasting on your child doesn’t soften his or her heart, you might consider taking him or her to a pastor to have the demons cast out. This is not exorcism in the Catholic sense but is rooted in traditional biblical practices as found in the Gospels. Do not be deceived by your child when she tells you she was “born gay” or has felt homosexual urges all her life. These are lies from the Devil and only the vigilance of loving and firm Christian parents can save these children from the fires of Hell.

“Glad you could make it, Mr. Edge,” came a voice from the doorway. Kingsley looked up from the book and smiled.

“Your wife is quite the writer,” Kingsley said, dropping the book back on to the desk. “I didn’t think women in your denomination were allowed to speak in church.”

“We’re a nondenominational congregation. We let our women speak and teach.”

“Too bad,” Kingsley said. “If my wife were spouting bullshit like this, I wouldn’t let her talk, either. Let me know if you need to borrow a ball gag.”

Fuller gave Kingsley a hard smile.

“I’m impressed you decided to show your face.” Reverend Fuller stepped into his office. Kingsley hadn’t met him or seen him yet, but he looked exactly like his photographs—gray hair slicked back, oily smile and carrying twenty pounds too many for his six-foot frame.

“You said you wanted to talk man to man,” Kingsley said. He dropped the book back on to Fuller’s desk and walked around to the other side. “So talk.”

Kingsley didn’t bother sitting. He wasn’t going to be here long. But Fuller sat behind his desk and smiled his greasy smile at him.

“So...” Fuller began, “the infamous Kingsley Edge in person. Nice outfit.”

“The T-shirt was free.”

“Not your typical Saturday, is it? Playing church-league soccer?”

“I’m the ringer,” Kingsley said. “A certain priest I know made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“Yes, your brother-in-law’s a priest. I guess celibacy doesn’t run in families.”

“Well, it wouldn’t, would it?”

“Seems odd that he comes and goes so freely from your house, doesn’t it?” Fuller’s tone was casual, uncomfortably so.

“Odd? I wouldn’t say that,” Kingsley said with a casual air. “He’s the only family I have. He likes to check in on me.”

“He’s a priest. And you’re...not.”

“Jesus was the Son of God, and he spent time with prostitutes. Something about not judging, not throwing stones. You know the verses, I’m sure.”

“Wasn’t it Shakespeare who said even the devil could quote the Bible?”

“It was, and he was right,” Kingsley said. “I imagine the devil could even quote the Bible from a pulpit.”

“Are you calling me the devil?” Fuller asked, his jaw tightening as his smile widened.

“After looking at that book, I’d say your wife is the more likely candidate.”

Fuller raised his hand.

“We’re not discussing my wife. We’re talking man to man, remember?”

“About what exactly?”

“About women,” Fuller said. “This is our fight, and we should fight like gentlemen. I know you want my building. I want you to go away forever. Let’s keep our eyes on each other and leave the ladies out of this.”

“Ladies, but not sixteen-year-old girls?”

“That was ten years ago. You’re going to dig all that up?”

Kingsley arched his eyebrow at him.

“I was referring to the girl on that tape you had sent to me and my brother-in-law.”

Fuller shifted in his seat. “Of course. Her. Your teenage lover. Thought she was fifteen.”

“She had a birthday. You know I’ve never met her, right? Are you planning on having me arrested for fucking a minor I’ve never met? Lying and bragging aren’t illegal, last I heard. If they were every man I know would be in jail.”

“No,” Fuller said with some haste. “We’re being men, you and I. We’ve agreed to leave the women and girls out of our dispute. Haven’t we?”

“As you wish,” Kingsley said. “But now I’m wondering, who were you referring to?”

“I’m sure you know by now of the girl who committed suicide at our camp. A tragic circumstance, but we were cleared of any wrongdoing.”

“Money has a way of clearing things up, doesn’t it?”

Fuller leaned forward, clasped his hands and gazed intently at Kingsley.

“Tell me something, Mr. Edge. What is it that you want from me?”

“I want your building. I want The Renaissance.”

“You know I’m not selling to you, and yet you persist in pursuing this matter long after it’s been closed. So, either you don’t understand English well enough to know what
no
means. Or you want something else from me.”

“My English is perfect,” Kingsley said. “So it must be the other—I do want something else. I want you to keep your church out of my city, and I want you to stop torturing gay teenagers.”

“That’s therapy, not torture.”

“Electrodes on the genitals? I’ve actually been tortured and they didn’t even do that to me.”

“I’m not a doctor or a therapist. I leave our licensed professionals to carry out their work. These therapies are tough, yes. But they work. And if you think you’re going to stop us from helping these poor sick kids, you’re as in need of therapy as they are.”

“Can we compromise?” Kingsley asked. “I’ll let you have the building for your church, and you shut the camps down?”

“Or how about you go back to your depraved lifestyle and leave our church alone to do God’s work in peace. And I’ll stop gathering information that could destroy you. That’s my compromise.”

“Destroy me? What could you possibly do to me that hasn’t already been done?” Kingsley laughed openly. “You need a better threat.”

“From what I can see, I have more on you than you have on me.”

“I haven’t given up looking. And unlike you, I’m not ashamed of anything you’d find out about me,” Kingsley said, hoping Fuller believed that. He did have more than a few secrets he’d prefer to keep. “I don’t think you could say the same.”

“I have nothing to hide.”

“Good,” Kingsley said. “That will make it easier to find what I need.”

“You’re not going to find anything. And if you keep looking, so will I. And not only at you.”

“My friends have nothing to hide, either.”

“Even the priest in the family?”

“I’ll tell you anything about him you want to know. Did you know he was abused as a child? Hospitalized after his father broke his arm? Did you know he killed a sexual predator at his school? He also gave up a huge fortune to become a priest after he was widowed at age eighteen. He spent several summers volunteering at a leper colony in India. How much time have you spent volunteering in leper colonies?”

Kingsley gave Fuller a long, pointed look. Fuller didn’t answer.

“Take some advice,” Kingsley said, “and keep your eyes on me. If you stare at him too long, you might learn something about what it means to be a man of God.”

Fuller raised his chin.

“You can go now, Mr. Edge. I think we’ve talked man to man enough.”

“I will. I don’t want to be late for my game. My other game.”

Kingsley gave a mock bow and headed out.

“Mr. Edge?” Fuller called out after him. Kingsley turned on his heel.

“Oui?”

“I have more money than you. And more contacts. And friends in higher places. Remember that.”

“Quite the Goliath, aren’t you?” Kingsley smiled once more. “When I get your hotel and turn it into my club, I’ll fuck a man on opening night in your honor. By the way, do you have any sons?”

“Pardon my French,
Monsieur
Edge, but get the fuck out of my office.”

Kingsley happily obliged the man.

He walked out of Fuller’s building and to his car. Nothing productive had come from his meeting with Fuller. No secrets were uncovered. No truths revealed. And yet...

Fuller was scared and Kingsley had seen it. Fear meant one thing only—Fuller did have something to hide. And Kingsley was going to find it.

But something else had come of the meeting. Kingsley had a leak in his personal security. Five people had his private line number. Five suspects. Sam, Blaise and Søren were out. Sam hated the Fullers more than he did. Blaise was actively campaigning against them. And Søren wouldn’t betray Kingsley to Fuller if someone put a gun to his head.

So that left his lawyer and his friend on the force. Kingsley would give them both a call very soon.

But not right now. He had better things to do with his time. And if not better, than certainly more enjoyable.