Chapter 39 Kingston
Kingston
Ifeel like this night is never going to end.
There are so many questions and not enough answers.
With my elbows on the desk, I rest my head in my hands, scouring my memory for any information I might have to Regina’s whereabouts when my office phone rings.
Looking at the screen, I can see I’m being paged from the security room.
Answering it, I hear Lou’s voice echo through the speaker in my office.
“Hey, Boss?”
“Yeah?”
“D’s back with your girl.”
My girl. I open my mouth to deny it but finally accept the truth. If the knots in my stomach are anything to go by, then yeah. I’m going to say that she’s my girl. I just need to convince her of that.
“She looks pretty bad, Boss. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”
Swallowing the bile as it burns down my throat, I rub my face roughly.
“Thanks for the update. Any news on Regina?”
A heavy silence is all I get as a response before Lou hesitantly answers me. “Not yet. But we’ll find her.”
“Is there a possibility that she left her phone there for a reason? That she didn’t want to be followed?
I mean…it’s possible, right?” Stefan’s voice echoes through the phone, and I assume they’ve put the call on speaker.
He’s been working as diligently as Lou to find Regina, but I’m afraid I already know the answer.
“It’s possible,” I admit. “But I think the odds are stacked against us, considering how we screwed up Burlone’s plans last night. Keep looking. And keep me updated. I need to deal with Ace right now.”
A couple of, “Yes, sirs,” echo throughout the room before the line goes dead.
Standing from my chair, I head in the direction of the garage when I see a girl who looks nothing like the one I’ve grown accustomed to seeing. With her arm cradled to her chest, she whimpers as soon as she sees me.
“Hey.” A pitiful smile accompanies her weak voice as she limps closer with D by her side.
She looks like she got ran over by a fucking truck.
A fat lip that’s begging for some ice, dried blood crusted beneath her nose, and two swollen eyes that are nearly swallowed whole from the dark purple bruising surrounding them.
I’ve seen a lot of shit in my life, but nothing has crippled me the way the broken girl in front of me has.
Rushing toward her, I wrap my arm around her shoulders then guide her down the hall and to the couch in the family room. Without protest, she follows before collapsing onto the cushions. She looks so tiny. So frail. My knees hit the ground so I can take a closer look.
As gently as I can, I touch each side of her face to examine the damage. My blood boils at the sight.
“You sure this was Burlone’s men?” I grit out.
Her chest rises and falls slowly as a single tear slides down her cheek. “Yeah. You were right, Kingston. I messed with the wrong guy. I’m so sorry.”
Sorry? She’s apologizing?
I press a gentle kiss to her forehead then move to sit beside her on the couch. Pulling her into my lap, I hold her close and rock her back and forth. Back and forth. She melts into me a little more with each movement.
“Shh,…it’s okay, Ace. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I do, though,” she whimpers. “I didn’t know who to call. You didn’t sign up for this. You have no obligation to help me, yet here I am.” Raising her arms, she motions to the family room of my estate. A place that very few people have ever really been invited into.
“All I wanted was to take something from him the way he took something from me. But, instead…,”—she shudders in my arms—“all I won was a living nightmare I’ll never be able to erase.”
My hands tighten around her tiny waist, and it takes everything in me to loosen them. She doesn’t need to see Dark King right now. She needs the tender King. The one only she’s ever been privy to.
“You’re right,” I offer. “I didn’t sign up for this.
Neither of us did, yet you fell into my lap anyway, and I wouldn’t change it.
Listen to me, Ace.” Carefully, I raise her chin with the pad of my forefinger until I have her full attention.
Or at least, as much as she can give me when her entire face is smashed in.
I grit my teeth, but push my anger aside and focus on how I can harness it.
“You’re mine now. Do you know what that means? ”
She shakes her head.
“It means I’m going to burn every single one of them for what they did to you. And I’m not going to let you go.”
The feel of a cold compress is pressed against my bare shoulder. Diece is hovering over us like a mother hen as I take the offered ice pack and give him a nod of thanks.
He returns it with one of his own before addressing the wounded girl in my arms. “Hey, Ace?”
“Yeah?” she mumbles, pulling away from me then looking up at D.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I think we need to take a look at that hand.”
I had almost forgotten about the way she cradled it against her, and I feel like an ass for not addressing it sooner.
Lowering my head to get a better look, I gently wrap my thumb and forefinger around her wrist then pull it away from her protective embrace.
Blood drips down her elbow, staining the black cocktail dress covering her tiny frame.
“Shit, Ace. What the hell happened?”
A fresh wave of guilt hits me harder than a sledgehammer. I should’ve been there for her. I should’ve protected her.
“It’s just glass,” she murmurs. Her whole body tenses at my examination.
Glancing up at D, I don’t need to utter a word before he offers, “I’ll go get the first-aid kit.” We have doctors for this shit, but we both know that Ace needs me right now, not some stranger.
With a hesitant smile, Ace whispers, “Thanks, Diece.”
“Anytime.” He reappears seconds later with a decent sized plastic tote we use for quick fixes. Anything other than surgery can be handled in-house, and Ace is about to learn that firsthand.
“Thanks, D. Will you go check on Regina’s situation?” I need some privacy with Ace. I need to know she’s going to be okay. Physically and emotionally.
“Sure thing, King.” He leaves without a backward glance.
Turning to Ace, I can almost see her soul losing its luster as she tries to process her experience.
There will be time for that later. Right now, she needs a distraction before I lose her to the darkness.
She needs the suffocating weight to be lifted for a few minutes, and I need to help her carry it.
I gently slide her off my lap and back onto the couch before moving to kneel in front of her.
Opening the kit, I give her my best doctor impression with a side of cocky superhero.
“Usually, I let the doc take care of these things, but I’m feeling generous tonight.”
With a quirked brow, she returns, “Is that right?”
“Sure is.” I start rifling through the bandages, gauze, and antiseptic in search of some tweezers.
When I find them, I set them aside then grab a few other things we’ll be needing.
Needle. Thread. A sterile syringe and a vial of lidocaine to numb the skin, along with a few other items. Ace’s face is filled with fascination as she watches my every move, and I know I’ve officially distracted her.
Epic meltdown averted. For now, anyway. There will be time to process things later.
“Have you done this before?” The awe is clear in her tone.
“Maybe a time or two.”
“Really?”
I laugh, dryly. “I learned how to give stitches by the time I was nine and could feel the difference between a sprain and a break long before that.”
“Really? I just…I can’t imagine that kind of life.”
“Says the girl who learned how to count cards when she was…twelve?”
Pursing her lips, she corrects me, “Ten. But that was mainly to pass the time. This? This is crazy, Kingston.” It seems our conversation is distracting her from the fact that she got the shit kicked out of her, and I’m happy to see the real Ace come back to the surface.
“Nah, just a part of life. Now, bring your hand over here. I want to see it better in the light.”
She does as I ask, placing her hand palm up in mine as I take a look at the damage.
The wound is almost three inches long and looks angry as hell, surrounded by inflamed, red skin.
The bravest of men would be feeling a slice like this.
A swell of pride spreads throughout my chest for being able to claim Ace as mine.
“Damn, Ace. This is a good one.”
With her mouth tilted up on one side, an amused expression paints her face.
“A good one?”
“Yeah. Growing up, we’d always refer to our injuries on some fucked-up scale.
That’s nothing, was a scratch or a bruise.
Something that didn’t even deem the attention of bringing it up in the first place, and if you did, you’d get shit for days.
But a good one means it’s likely going to scar and requires stitches or a cast. This,”—I gesture to her hand—“is a good one, Ace.” Leaning closer, I place a soft kiss against her busted lip and nose, being careful not to hurt her.
“So are these.”
She looks so vulnerable right now with my big hand cradling her bruised face, and her big doe eyes peeking up at me.
I’d do anything to take away her pain. To steal the burden of her recovery and carry it by myself.
But the only thing I can do is hold her and tell her it’s going to be okay.
I just wish I knew if it was the truth or not.
“Thank you, King.” Her voice is nothing but a whisper, quiet enough that it could easily get lost in the intimate ambiance if I hadn’t been paying attention.
With a brush of my fingers against the silky skin on her forearm, I pull her closer.
“Anytime, Ace. Now let’s fix this hand.”