50. Kingsley
50
KINGSLEY
T he house is worse than I remember it. Well, what I remember of it is the way my room had been wrecked. In comparison, the rest of the house is demolished. I gasp as I walk through the front door, which hangs off its hinges. Obviously, something had blown it off. Tate’s men had meant business.
I’m not sure why we’ve come back to the house. The location is now compromised, and there is not a clear surface on which one could lay their head. But it isn’t long before I find out why we’re here. Dante takes me to the den, what looks like the only room that still has a door, and shuts us in, opting for some privacy. He stands at the door, his hands on his hips, his contemplative eyes following me around the room.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice a soft balm to my soul. I nod. I don’t know that there is anything to say at this point. Getting into the conversation with him would only take away from what little time we had to regroup and find Tate before he makes his next move. I’m sure that he won’t stop here. And I have no idea what’s coming. For all my fearlessness, I am terrified. Like I’ve never been in my life.
“Tate?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.”
“Promise?”
He nods. Which is as good as a promise, I have come to realize. Dante only says things when he means them. And he wouldn’t lie to me. This I know for sure. He might evade, but he’d never lie.
“I need to speak with you about something.”
I watch him carefully as he looks toward the ceiling, as though summoning some sort of courage to discuss something delicate with me. Something he prefers not to discuss, but out of necessity has to.
“Tell me.”
The least I can do is offer Dante my ears. He’d been the one to warn me that I was in danger. Even when I hadn’t believed him. He’d warned me and he’d been right. And the danger had been right there in my own home, had been in my life since I’d been born. I couldn’t understand why my father had kept him around for so long.
“I don’t want to do anything against your will, so I won’t.” Why is he finding it so difficult to speak? “But I believe that Tate placed a tracker in you, and that’s how he’s been able to find you every time we’ve been attacked.”
“What?” I stare at him in disbelief. How would Tate have ever had that sort of access to me?
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Down to you being at the club the night that you were attacked. Tate sent those men. How did he know you were there when you told me yourself he didn’t know about your nightly escapades?”
I am hearing everything that Dante’s saying, but it’s like nothing is registering. I now know that Tate is evil. He’s done a lot of bad things, probably even more than I am unaware of, and he is power hungry. He had me tied up to a Goddamn chair, for fuck’s sake. And I’m his boss! My head thumps with a resounding bang as I take in everything he’s saying, and everything he’s trying to avoid telling me.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you more than likely have a tracking device implanted in your body.”
“How is that even possible?” I ask him.
“There are ways. The important thing is that if I’m right, we need to get it out of you.”
“Is that how he found this house?” I ask, looking at the destruction around the room. Guilt surges through my body. People who are supposed to be in my circle brought about this destruction. The damage is not confined to what is cosmetic; the meticulous condition in which the house has been maintained, almost preserved, when he doesn’t even come here often, tells me this house is sacred to Dante. And now it’s gone.
“This is not your fault, Kingsley.”
He is firm in his conviction, and I’m sure he believes that more than I do. As it stands, I now feel more than responsible for what has happened to Dante’s home. To everything that has happened to Dante since I’ve come into his life.
“I have a doctor arriving shortly,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “The choice is yours, but that’s why I brought you back here. I can’t compromise another one of my strongholds without checking first.”
“You’re worried if it’s true, the tracker will lead them straight to our next destination.”
“Tate more or less showed his hand. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And if the damage here is anything to go by, he has some pretty dangerous people behind him.”
“I’ll do it.”
I have never been more certain of anything in my life. If this will help keep Dante and his men safe, that is the least I can do after what he’s done for me. Dante steps toward me, reaching his hand out to my cheek. I step back away from him, my step decisive and final. There is much to be discussed between us. I will do anything to protect him, but that doesn’t mean I will forgive the reasons he entered my life in the first place.
Dante gives me a questioning look. Up until today, I had folded myself into his hand any time it turned my way. Now I am drawing back, holding something of myself at bay instead of giving him everything. I have to protect my heart at all costs.
“I don’t want you to mistake my agreement to be checked by a doctor for anything else. We need to deal with this one thing right now. But I won’t ignore the things I learnt today.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning regardless of how I may or may not feel about you, let’s keep our distance until we’ve had the discussion we need to have.”
“There’s nothing to discuss Kingsley.” He tries to make another move toward me, and once again, I step away, folding my arms across my chest defensively, letting him know the matter is not up for discussion.
“I would really prefer it if you gave me some space, Dante. Until we’ve discussed what led you to me in the first place.”
* * *
The doctor moves the detector up and down my body, across my arms and down my legs. The one consolation is that he’s thought to bring in a female doctor, which quietens the embarrassment I feel when the scanner hovers between my legs. But it is only when the scanner floats over my face that it is set off. Once twice, three times, in the region of my lower face.
“Have you had any implants in your head, face or neck? Anywhere in your upper body?” the doctor asks.
“No.”
“Any surgery? Metal plates inserted?”
“No.”
“And you don’t wear braces,” she points out. She stops to think for a moment, frowning as she considers all the possibilities. Until finally, she looks up, asks me to open my mouth, and shines a flashlight in my mouth. “Fillings,” she says. “When was your last one?”
“A few years ago.”
“Which side?”
I indicate the tooth in question and answer her follow up questions about where the procedure had taken place, and who the doctor had been. With no way to verify names, addresses and specifics – the whole affair had been attended to by Tate – the doctor tells me most likely it would be that the GPS tracker had been inserted into my mouth by way of a filling.
“That small?” I ask, surprised.
“You’d be surprised. These devices are getting more and more sophisticated with time. The important thing now is that we need a dentist and possibly an orthodontist to attend to the tooth.”
“It couldn’t possibly be anywhere else?”
The doctor gives me a sympathetic smile and touches a hand to my arm. “This is the only region that has indicated activity. I think it’s highly likely the chip was placed in your tooth.”