The Prince (34 page)

“I’m pleased to hear all is well with you and your pet. Sadly, not all is well with me and my pets.”

Griffin’s eyes widened slightly.

“What happened?”

“Sadie…she was killed.”

“How?” Griffin dropped his arms and came to Kingsley, staring him in the face. Kingsley glanced away, not wanting him to see how deeply Sadie’s death had touched him.

“Stabbed. In the heart.”

“Holy shit. Who has that much of a death wish?”

Who indeed? Kingsley knew Griffin’s question was merely rhetorical. He wasn’t asking who had actually killed Sadie, but who on earth in their right mind would dare harm one of Kingsley Edge’s precious rottweilers?
No one
was the implied answer. No one at all. Only someone, as Griffin said, with a death wish. Or worse, someone already dead.

Kingsley gave a shrug as his only answer. He knew who had done it, but he would never tell, could never tell. But he could not allow anything to go further. He needed time. Time to think and plan and...he raised a hand to his face and rubbed his forehead.

“King…I’m so sorry.” Griffin touched him on the shoulder, and Kingsley nodded. No doubt Griffin mistook Kingsley’s moment of frustration as grief for his dead dog. Let him think what he wanted. The truth could never come out, anyway.

“As am I.” Kingsley faced Griffin with a smile. “But there’s nothing for it. She’s gone and we must do what we must to protect us all. Someone, whoever it is doesn’t matter, wants to harm us. I can’t allow that.”

“No. Of course not. What can I do?”

Kingsley exhaled. What could Griffin do? Nothing now. Not really. Kingsley trusted so few people in the Underground that simply having Griffin back in the city calmed him. He needed his closest companions with him now, those he could rely on. The Mistress had abandoned them. His Juliette he’d sent away.

“
La Maîtresse…
she is away. And I believe the person who killed Sadie also has designs on her.”

“On Nora? Why?”

Kingsley heard the fury lurking underneath Griffin’s question, and knew that’s why instinctively he’d sent for him. Griffin had loved Nora once…or tried to. And he still loved her, although not with passion and hunger anymore, but with loyalty and devotion. Nora had brought Griffin and his young lover together, and for that reason alone, Kingsley knew Griffin would walk on hot coals to protect her. And if things continued as they were, he might have to.

“Why? I cannot say,
mais…
I believe the person who killed Sadie is also responsible for the theft of a file from my private office. The file of
La Maîtresse.
”

“Shit. Someone’s breaking into your office…killing your dog. Kingsley, what the hell is going on?”

“I wish I could say,
mon ami.
As you can imagine, I would prefer if this does not get far. Rumors that my home is unsecure…” Kingsley let his voice trail off. He didn’t need to tell Griffin how bad it would be if the world knew that Kingsley’s home had been breached. Fear kept the city in line. Fear of Kingsley and his reach. In the archives in Kingsley’s office were thousands of hours of footage of the upper echelons of society engaging in every decadent, tawdry, immoral, indecent and criminal act known to man. And a few acts that had surprised even Kingsley. Rich and powerful alike had been caught on tape engaging in bondage and sadomasochism, participating in drug deals and arms deals. And in shadier deals that had lead to the deaths of more than one wealthy benefactor who’d made the fatal mistake of having a far too generous last will and testament. All this footage Kingsley had saved and cataloged after, of course, letting the police chief or the judge or the senator or the mayor or the socialite see the video. Kingsley would never use their crimes against them, he’d promised. He wanted neither their money nor their favors. He merely asked that if the time came, they would do him the kindness of taking his call and giving him five minutes of their precious time. He never had to explain the threat more than once. If they wanted to save themselves, they’d merely have to promise to help him whenever called upon.

“God knows I don’t want anyone getting into your office,” Griffin said, shaking his head.

“I burned your tapes long ago,” Kingsley lied. Griffin exhaled with obvious relief. He’d been a good boy for the past few years, but he was no saint when Kingsley brought him into the Underground. His drug addictions had nearly lost him his trust fund. In one particular high-definition photograph in Kingsley’s possession, one could even make out the wings on the butterfly tattoo on the back of the stripper underneath the pile of cocaine…and, of course, the face of Griffin Fiske with a hundred-dollar bill rolled up to his nostril.

“Thank you. So what? I’ll do anything for Nora. Hell, I left my honeymoon for you,” Griffin said with a roguish wink.

“The honeymoon can continue. Take your pet to
La Maîtresse’s.
Stay there. Watch the house. She keeps too much there that could harm her. I don’t want the house unattended.”

“Where did Nora go?”

“
La Maîtresse
is in Kentucky.”

Griffin’s eyes widened before he quickly composed himself. “That’s…news. How is Søren taking that?”

Kingsley paused before answering. He did trust Griffin. The boy had earned his regard and his confidence long ago. And without Juliette here to confide in…

Carefully, so as not to betray how much pain he suffered with each movement, Kingsley unbuttoned his shirt and held it open.

“Oh, fuck. Jesus, Kingsley…” Griffin flinched as he took in the mass of bruises and welts that comprised Kingsley’s chest. He looked and then glanced away before looking back again in horror.

“I believe you have your answer. That is how Søren is taking it.”

Kingsley buttoned his shirt up to his collarbone. He’d need a tie if he went out. His neck bore the unmistakable imprint of fingers.

“Did you…was that…”

“It was consensual, I assure you. Consensual if not entirely comfortable.”

Griffin shook his head. “I didn’t know you were…I didn’t know. Kingsley…you’re a switch?”

Sighing, Kingsley ran his hands through his hair. So hard to explain.

“I suppose. If we need a name for it, a label, that would do. I trust this is also nothing you will share with any others, not even your pet.”

“No. Of course not. Although he’d probably feel better knowing the most intimidating man in the city played sub sometimes. He’s still trying to get comfortable with what he is.”

“And he will still be trying when he is my age.”

“Does Nora know?”

“
Oui. Bien sûr.
What the priest knows she knows. And she…she’s almost as good at it as he is.”

The implication of Kingsley’s words took a moment to sink in. Then Griffin’s handsome face lit up with a combination of mirth and shock.

“Oh, shit. Nora’s kicked your ass? God, I would have paid through the nose to see that.”

“Not for all the money in the world, young man.”

“Damn. Well, I did ask her once who her first client was when she became a Dominatrix, and she wouldn’t tell me.”

“And now you know.”

“Now I know. Damn,” he repeated, laughing softly. Kingsley couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps this was the real reason he’d summoned Griffin—to force him to smile for the first time in what felt like ages. “Okay, I’ll take Mick to Nora’s house, as ordered. Fucking Mick in Nora’s bed will be a dream come true. Or would be if she was there, too. But we’ll make do.”

“See Sophia. She’ll have a set of keys for you. The house is alarmed. She’ll give you the codes, as well.”

“We’ll stay there until you give us the all clear.”

“Bon. Merci.”

“Of course. Anything. You know you just have to ask.”

Griffin headed for the door. But he paused before leaving and turned around.

“He is good. Søren, I mean,” Griffin said. “Couple of weeks ago, I had to let him top…I did it for Mick.”

“I know. Anything that happens at The 8th Circle, I know about it.”

“He didn’t even lay a hand on me. He didn’t have to. Broke me in half with words.”

“He knows how to break you and yet leave you feeling more whole than you ever had before.”

“Don’t tell him I kind of liked it,” Griffin said with a wink.

“Your secrets, as always, are safe with me.” Kingsley gave a slight bow and Griffin laughed on his way out the door.

Kingsley straightened up, wincing as he did so. Alone now, he didn’t have to hide his pain. He considered sitting down and then thought better of it. He could still barely move, much less sit or lie down. The adrenaline from his night with Søren had faded, leaving him in agony. Everything ached, everything throbbed. Søren had nearly killed him last night. Kingsley could only hope that he still healed as quickly as he used to.

The only thing that would truly heal him would be another night with Søren.

Summoning Sophia, he ordered a muscle relaxant and something sturdier to drink than sherry. She brought them quickly and Kingsley discarded the pills and the drink before imbibing either. All the Underground knew of his penchant to overindulge. Kingsley cultivated with care the reputation of being a lush. Few people realized how little he actually drank, how rarely he ingested any illicit substances at all. He wanted everyone to think he had more weaknesses than he did. And now more than ever he needed the shield of the debonair drunk to protect him.

For the rest of the afternoon, Kingsley worked in his office. Or pretended to. In reality he merely stared at reports from the managers of his various clubs and enterprises, while his mind lingered thirty years in the past.

How…how had it happened? Had he known? Thirty years…how could anyone...it made no sense, yet it made perfect sense. He refused to believe it, but it was the only explanation. He wanted to rejoice, knowing the truth now. But what was the truth?

Christian. He should go talk to Christian again. That priest knew more than he’d said. He’d tried…tried to tell Kingsley, but couldn’t.

“Sophia,” Kingsley barked into the phone. “I need to return to Maine. Make the calls.”

“Oui,
monsieur? When?
”

“Now.”

He hung up before the girl could say another word. Now was no time for conversation or questioning of his orders. He considered calling Søren, but decided against it. Søren had an uncanny gift for reading people. It served him well as a priest and a Dominant, but made it nearly impossible to keep any secrets from him. One look and he would know that Kingsley knew…knew who their stalker was, who the thief was, and the motive behind the threats.

Threats. Only threats, Kingsley reminded himself as he returned to his bedroom and pulled on his jacket. No one had been hurt yet. Just a dog. And no one would get hurt. Not if he could help it.

He headed down the stairs and toward the front door of his town house. He had to get back to Saint Ignatius, get more information out of Father Christian. And he would, if he had to string the priest up by his ankles and flog him.

“Monsieur?” Sophia called out as his butler raced to open the door for him.

“No time, Sophia. Take a message.”

“It’s Master Griffin, sir. He’s at Mistress Nora’s home.”

“Lovely news.” The door opened. He saw his Rolls-Royce idling out front on the street.

“But, sir…he needs to talk to you.”

Finally, the panic in his secretary’s voice penetrated Kingsley’s fog of concentration. He whirled around and faced the girl, who stood pale and shaking, a black phone in her hand.

“About what?” Kingsley asked, not wanting to talk to Griffin, already fearing the worst.

“He says he got to the house as fast as he could but…”

“But?”

Sophia swallowed, her pale skin now white.

“Someone got there first.”

SOUTH

This was what heaven felt like. Had to be. All his life he’d heard about heaven from pastors and preachers and teachers. He’d read it about it in the Bible, learned about it in Sunday school... Heaven was paradise where everything became complete, where man saw God and rejoiced in the knowledge that this place of ethereal beauty and utter peace would last forever and ever.

Wesley looked down and smiled at the sight of Nora’s hair draped across his stomach, her mouth around him, taking him between her lips, caressing him with her tongue. A knot tightened in the pit of his stomach as she moved from the base to the tip, over and over again.

“Nora…I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”

Nora paused long enough to give him a look of amused annoyance. “That is sort of the point.”

“But—”

“No butt,” Nora declared as she stroked him with her hand. “We’ll do that later. Blow job now. I’ve wanted to blow your bugle for years. Shut up and let me.”

Wesley laughed as she put her lips to the bugle tattoo on his hip and gave him a noisy raspberry.

“I’m in much less danger of coming now.”

“I can fix that.” Nora moved to take him in her mouth again, but Wesley caught her off guard by rolling her onto her back and sliding down her body. Without a word of protest, she opened her legs wide and Wesley pushed easily into her wet heat.

“Sorry…” he whispered into her ear. “I just needed this.”

“It’s okay.” She wrapped her legs around his back and drew him even deeper into her. “I need it, too.”

He did need. Inside Nora he felt…he couldn’t even think of the right word for it.

Complete, maybe…that’s what Wesley felt when inside Nora. He lacked for nothing as she lay beneath him, her thighs wide and open, her breasts rising with every gasp of pleasure, her dark eyes glowing like the aura that surrounded the moon. Her skin…so soft…he’d dreamed so long of touching her. But the parts that he’d fantasized about—her breasts, her thighs—while as spectacular as he’d hoped, paled before the parts of her that had never before entered his imagination. If he kissed her spine a few inches under her neck, her shoulders would raise and she’d laugh like a child. Lower…if he touched the small of her back with his fingertips, she’d moan like she did when he’d penetrated her the first time. He’d never felt anything softer than the skin at the back of her knee or underneath the bone of her ankle. This was the second time he’d made love to her that night. At one point during the first time, she’d put her legs on his shoulders and he’d turned his head to kiss the inside of her calves. She had a tiny birthmark by her left ankle. How had he never noticed that before?