14. Kingsley
Kingsley
“Iheard about your appearance at Fight Club last week,” Dad paces around his office desk as he speaks. “I’m impressed.”
I straighten my back in the chair. “Thanks.”
He stops across the desk from me, looking over. “Even I wouldn’t have bitten into someone’s neck just to win. People have been whispering about it, which tells me they have nothing better to do, but it’s nice to know you gave the lazy fucks a scare.”
I nod absentmindedly. First Shawn and Odie, then Dad, and now even some of the Crowncrest are impressed with how I dealt with Victor Plaster. Biting into someone’s trapezius muscle isn’t a common thing that happens, even in Fight Club, but should that make it the topic of the year?
If it’s the most interesting thing to happen in a long time, then yes.
My dad sits down in front of me, as I stare at the shelf I always focus on when I’m in Dad’s office. The shelf of his favorite booze that’s been collecting dust since I was a kid. I think it’s for display rather than drinking, at this point.
“Kingsley,” he states in a low, firm tone. The tension thickens, and I’m realizing that the reason he called me into his office wasn’t for a lighthearted chat like I’d hoped. “What made you want to rejoin?”
I blink. “Same reason I’ve started working out again. I need to find the mole, and to do that, I need to be active again.”
“So after a year off, all it took was me telling you to find the traitor for you to get back at it?”
“No. It was a lot of things, I guess.”
He raises a brow. “Like?”
It’s hard to say what one thing is making me want to go back to the way I was, and while I’ve gotten back into what I used to enjoy, I haven’t yet started enjoying it. And until that happens, I won’t truly be back.
“I’m supposed to take over someday, and the Crowncrest will not follow me if they think I’m irremediably weak,” I explain. “And you forcing me to take on the pointless assignment of the Wright boys pissed me off enough to want to do something about it.”
“You think what you’re doing for the marketing of the family business is pointless?” Dad asks, genuinely curious.
My teeth grind together. “I think you could have gotten anyone else to do it, but you chose me. Your first job for me in forever was to babysit instead of something that utilizes my skills.”
“What skills? The ones you put on the back burner while Sylvie’s murderer continues to walk free?”
My blood goes cold, and I focus on my lap. Dad’s stare is steady, his expression neutral, not a lick of anger or disappointment anywhere in him. Just pure curiosity.
The funeral was the last time my dad and I acknowledged Sylvie’s passing away. He put his arm around me during the service, and that’s the most comfort I’ve gotten from him since.
My dad has guided me since I was born, but he never once sent me to find out who killed her the way he has with the rat. He left it up to me, believing I’d want to avenge her and not need his command. Xavier believed incorrectly.
He, like everyone else, continues wondering why I never sought to avenge my fiancée’s death. And what do they all have in common?
No one has the guts to flat-out ask me.
With a gruff sigh, he leans across the desk. “You have little to say these days, King.”
I chuckle dryly. “You sound like Rip.”
“I’m sure I do. You understand your job with him and Thomas is not pointless, right?’
I lift my head. “I know it’s good for the business. Just not seeing how it’s doing much for me.”
“You’re going to film with them in a little while, yes?” he asks. I nod, and he smirks like I proved his point. “You don’t run before you can walk.”
My brows narrow. Fuck is that supposed to mean? I’d appreciate it if he didn’t speak in riddles.
“I’m glad to see you getting back into the life. You are my heir, after all.”
He pulls out his non-decorative liquor from the desk drawer. “And I need you to know something: you don’t need to prove your capabilities to anyone, family or not. Just prove that you’re worth it, and the Crowncrest will follow, no matter what you did or didn’t do in the past.”
My heart swells at the hint of pride in Dad’s tone. He doesn’t think I’m a full-blown failure? That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Just one problem.
How do I prove myself when I’m not sure I’m worth proving?
Would Sylvie think I’m worth proving? If she were here, she’d throw my question right back at me. “I don’t know, King. Are you worth proving?” And then I’d complain about her giving me advice in the form of a question, and she’d do it again an hour later.
That sums up what our brief relationship was like.
I glance at the clock. Shit, I need to get ready to meet Rip and Thomas. We all know Rip’s head might implode if I’m even three minutes late.
The chair scrapes on the floor when I stand. “Dad, can you run another background check on Rip and Thomas?”
Dad blinks, thrown off by the question. “We did before we hired them. Why? Did something happen?”
I didn’t tell anyone else about my potential spotting of Rip at Fight Club after Shawn and the others couldn’t find him. Now with him on my mind, and the way things have been between us lately, I want to be extra sure it isn’t him.
“I thought I saw them when I was in the arena.”
His expression morphs grimly. “Were they there?”
“Doesn’t look like it, but I’d like another background search just in case.”
“Great. I’ll send someone on it, but you make sure they aren’t who you think they are,” Dad states firmly, and I give a soldier’s nod. I’m headed for the door when he speaks again. “And, King?”
I peer over my shoulder. “Yeah, Dad?”
His lip quirks into a sly grin. “I heard Victor wants a rematch.”