24. Kingsley
Kingsley
“So there’s still no leads on Ryland?”
Shawn shakes his head as he flips through a large stack of files. “It’s like he vanished into thin air. I don’t even know where else to look.”
I lean back against the leather seat and groan. Every meeting I have with Shawn kills my mood because it always ends exactly where we started. Nowhere.
Shawn runs a hand through his hair. “I won’t lie: I’m not sure he’s even alive. If he were, someone would’ve found him by now.”
“Stop being so pessimistic,” I scold.
But honestly, I’m thinking the same thing.
Ryland’s always been tough; that’s why he’s assigned to guarding and patrolling the grounds—he’s skilled at it.
But, like most, he can’t hold on forever.
Whoever’s got him and whatever they’re doing to him, he’s likely fed them the information they wanted.
And once they get what they want, they have no further use.
I swallow the lump in my throat. Are we looking for Ryland’s corpse? It wouldn’t be the first time we searched for a dead body, but it’d be the first time that body belonged to my friend.
Shawn frowns. “Maybe I’m wrong.”
“Damn straight you’re wrong.” A voice booms behind us.
As I glance over my shoulder, a familiar face greets me. I gasp. “Mateo?”
With a huge smile, Mateo opens his arms, going in for a strong bro hug.
Shawn and I are quick to reciprocate. My cousin Mateo has the same faint mustache I’ve been telling him to shave, but his brown curls are longer, and he has more piercings than before.
And by the looks of his newly decorated leg, more tattoos too.
Shawn looks up at Mateo. He’s always hated their height difference. “When did you get back?”
“About a week ago,” Mateo answers as he sits in the booth across from us. “This is my first time back in the base, though. Lee, I’m surprised to see you.”
Shawn, Mateo, Ryland, and I used to frequent this area of the base. It’s a cozy spot two floors above the fight club, tucked away from the training chaos and equipped with lounge chairs and a bar. This specific booth became ours.
After Sylvie, I stopped showing up, like I stopped hanging out with the guys. I didn’t realize it, but once I stopped coming, so did my friends.
Mateo has been going on jobs out of state nonstop for the past six months, so much so that we’re always surprised when he’s back in town. He isn’t a man who likes to stay in one place for too long.
He drapes an arm over the seat. “Word on the street is you’ve been back in the business. I heard about your fight with Victor, and I gotta say, I would have killed him too for pulling a knife on me.”
“Who told you I killed Victor?”
Mateo’s hair swings before his eyes. “Basically, the entire Crown. They think after the neck bite, you finally lost your shit and turned into Uncle Xavier.”
I look to Shawn, who’s already shaking his head in frustration. Rumors spread like wildfire around here. Do these people believe I’d be reckless enough to murder Victor for an attempted stabbing? And the day of the attempt? I’m not an idiot.
Mateo’s brow raises. “You didn’t kill Victor?”
“I’m not a fucking idiot,” I say dryly. “If I killed every person who ever wanted to kill me, I’d have no one to fight in Fight Club.”
“This organization gossips like teenagers,” Shawn grumbles.
My cousin grabs the wineglass from the middle of the table and pours it into the crystal glass. “If not you, then who killed Victor? I know the guy wasn’t exactly a saint, but he didn’t have any bad blood with anyone. He was a drug addict.”
The question is something I think about often. So much weird shit has been happening lately, and a lot of questions remain unanswered. Is the person who kidnapped Ryland the same one who murdered Victor? Are those two things completely unrelated to the rat leaking information?
I rub my forehead to ease the brewing headache. Fucking hell, if this is a glimpse into the life of a crime boss, I’m not sure I want it. Dealing with everything makes my head pound and my chest feel heavy, and the only time it lets up is when I’m with Rip.
And that is not a positive thing.
“Probably the same person leaking intel,” Shawn says, side-eyeing me.
My jaw tightens. How many times are we going to go over this? “Yeah, the person we haven’t found yet.”
Shawn’s green eyes glare daggers my way, as if he’s about to swing on me. With a deep breath, he shifts his gaze and turns toward Mateo. “Tell me, when two random social media managers show up and that’s the moment everything starts to go to shit, who’s likely the one to blame?”
Mateo looks between the both of us, reluctant to pick a side. “Uh, probably the social media managers?”
“Ex-fucking-actly!” he exclaims with a clap. Shawn points at me accusingly. “But Kingsley’s fucking one of them, and he’s got his heart wrapped up in it, so he can’t see two feet ahead of him.”
Tension burns in my veins. Of course, I enjoy my time with Rip—his gruff and taunting personality is what sparks me to get up in the morning.
It’s like his fire ignites something in me, pulling me out of the slump I was in after my fiancées death.
I would have remained a prisoner in my body, undead, without him. I’m mature enough to admit that.
But to suggest that I’m so caught up with him I’d neglect the empire my great-great-grandfather built from the ground up? Shawn might as well have slapped me.
“Go to hell, Shawn,” I curse. “You haven’t found an ounce of dirt on Rip and Thomas.”
“Yet,” he says, his lip curling in a smirk.
Mateo can’t figure out who to look at. He leans forward, propping his elbows on his thighs. “Do you have a grudge against these people, Shawn?”
“No, dumbass. I have a brain.” Shawn taps his temple. “Put two and two together.”
“Shawn is right, Lee. The timing is suspicious.”
Shawn grins like my sister does when she proves me wrong, wide and taunting.
“But…” Mateo drawls, “King is right, you have no evidence. And I think you’re underestimating him. If he doesn’t think it’s them, I’m sure he has his reasons.”
I smile. Take that, Shawn.
We can always count on Mateo to speak honestly. He has always been the most level-headed out of us all, playing the rational side while making us both feel heard.
“You see how much Sylvie fucked him up. Can you really say that?”
Mateo stiffens, and Shawn gasps as if he wasn’t aware of the words that left his mouth.
How dare he speak so ill of the dead woman I was supposed to marry? It was common knowledge that Shawn never cared for Sylvie, and others weren’t exactly her biggest fans, but they knew better than to voice it. Besides, none of them knew her like I did. He has no right to speak her name.
Sylvie often took her anger out on me with words. Our relationship was never loving, but it was protective and caring. At the end of the day, she was to be my wife, which meant putting her above everyone, even if it screwed me over in the end.
Silence lingers between us. Shawn and Mateo are watching me like they’re waiting for a cannon that’s about to blow because when I’m not feeling anything, I’m feeling everything.
“Sorry, King,” Shawn grits through his teeth. He would rather swallow a bag of knives than apologize, so when he actually does, it means he overstepped.
I want to stay pissed, but stewing in anger won’t be any help. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I’m going to find who took Ryland,” I say slowly, enunciating each word clearly. “Just like I’ll find the traitor.”
“And if it turns out to be your new buddy?” Mateo asks the million-dollar question.
Shawn waits for my answer, feigning indifference while steeling himself for what I’ll say. I look down at my lap, fingers fiddling with each other. With all the time I’ve wasted searching high and low for the asshole and coming up with nothing each time, the answer is clear.
“Then I’ll kill him. Just like I would anyone else.”
Or maybe I’ll take myself out first.
After spending the day wasting my time with interrogations and the entire evening with Shawn and Mateo like old times, I’m ready to call it a night. My entire body aches as if burning, and my mind is a whirlwind of countless thoughts. Sleep is the only thing that’ll silence it.
But when I enter the house, there are people in my living room.
Dad is in mid-conversation when he spots me, stands up, and waves me over. “Kingsley. Just the man we’re looking for.”
Rip and Thomas are sitting with my dad on the couch, drinks on the table, probably having some sort of meeting. That is the only reason these two are ever in my home, which is more often than any other employee of ours. Isn’t that what an office is for?
I don’t bother sitting. “What’s up?”
“You know about the charity event, right?”
Besides the art gala with an old family friend, I thought my next few weeks were gathering free. “No?”
“We have a large charity event we’ll all be attending next week. Me and your mom, your sisters, your uncle and cousin—all of us,” he explains. “I thought Odette told you.”
I resist the large sigh brewing in my chest. I’ve had my fair share of classy events for the next few months. Hell, I took for granted the year of my life I spent away from all of this.
“With everything going on lately, it slipped my mind,” I say.
“That makes sense.” Father nods. “We’ve been to this one a few times before. Many other families will be there, as we’re all donating a sizeable chunk of money to the New Horizon and Recovery Charity for recovering addicts. It’ll be a lovely event.”
I’m still not seeing the reason Rip and Thomas are here.
Rip is already looking my way when I turn. He scrutinizes me from head to toe, his gaze like an intimate touch, sending a jolt through my body. Damn, I shouldn’t focus on him.
I shift my eyes away from the blonde man, hoping to find some distraction in Thomas, but he’s staring intently at the ground. He’s nervously fiddling with his fingers, like either something’s bothering him, or he has to piss real bad. I don’t know which one.
“The Wright boys will tag along for professional photos and advertisements.” Dad’s voice pulls me back to reality. “Not only for us, but for the Moonclafs, Crenshaws, and everyone else.”
“Don’t we have paparazzi and reporters for unsolicited pictures?”
“We’re doing a segment with those who have benefited from the charity,” Rip answers. “So it’ll take some professionalism and coordination.”
Oh, fun. Now, not only do I have to go to a charity event, but I also have to put on a smile for a video.
“Sounds awesome,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.
Dad slaps his legs as he stands. “That’s all I have for you, Rip and Thomas. I’ll see you both next time.”
Thomas is on his feet and out the door in a flash the second Dad leaves, without even looking at me. He doesn’t wait for Rip to catch up as he closes the door behind himself.
I point to the door. “Is he okay?”
Rip rubs the back of his neck. “He’s had a rough day.”
That’s it? Please, the man couldn’t sit still to save his life. Rip shakes his head, willing me not to worry about it. Then he gives the house a quick scan, and finding it empty, he snakes his arm around my waist.
“How was your day?” he asks smoothly.
I do a once-over myself. “Is this what we do now? We ask each other how our day was?”
With a gentle nudge, he presses his hips against mine, his body moving lightly against me. “Am I not allowed to ask you how your day was?”
This situation never started with him asking how my day was. He was a sexually conflicted man, while I, though touch-starved, recoiled from everyone but him. Now? It’s more than that, and it has been for some time.
Shawn was right; he’s got a bigger hold on me than I’m comfortable admitting. My heart never skipped a beat for Sylvie. The thought of kneeling to her and doing her bidding, of being controlled by her, was something that disgusted me. I may have been passive with her, but never submissive.
But Rip? The way he orders me around sends me over the edge. He’s always in charge, and I revel in it.
“It’s out of character for you,” I say simply. “For us. You’re too self-sufficient to care, and I never have the energy to ask.”
Rip’s face pinches, confused. I probably sound fucking crazy. Then he speaks softly, but firmly. “Tell me how your day was.”
“It was fine.”
“Just fine?” he presses.
Of course. Besides wondering if you’re the one behind this, like we first thought, and how the mere thought makes me feel even worse inside than I did when I lost Sylvie. Damn Shawn for putting this in my head again. I’m getting whiplash.
“Yeah,” I whisper. Rip doesn’t look convinced.
“Can you two hurry up?”
The voice makes us jump apart. Thomas is standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as he stares.
Rip glares at his brother. “When did you come back in?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s getting late, and we need to leave.”
Thomas’ tone is snippier than I’ve ever heard. Rip’s lips twist into a grimace, and I expect him to ignore Thomas, but then his shoulders loosen, and he nods. He scans the room before placing a fleeting kiss on my forehead, catching me off guard, and then leaves with his brother.
I stand like a statue in the middle of the room. “See you guys.”
Rip blows me a playful kiss, and I can’t help but smile. My eyes meet Thomas’s as he is leaving, and there’s a hint of something unspoken in his gaze. Not irritation, or the urgent need to pee, like I originally thought. No, he looks guilty.
I’m not sure if the Wright brothers are the moles yet, and I’ll know that in time, but in this moment, I do know one thing for sure.
They’re hiding something.