Kingsley
If there is one thing this new assignment solidified, it’s that I’ll never be an actor.
I’ve lived before the cameras for my entire life, but never for shit like commercials or TV shows. Reading lines for the camera without sounding like a broken robot is harder than I would have thought, even when I genuinely put in effort. Well, as much effort as I can muster up.
My guess is Dad gave me this task either to keep me busy or to get under my skin. In what world is playing the actor with the Wrights going to help me get back into the life? It’s not, and Xavier’s too smart a man not to get that. My assignment was on purpose.
What really boils my blood isn’t that he still wants out of the way; it’s that he gave me busywork to waste my time. I was fine on my own and would have stayed that way if he hadn’t bothered me. But at least him pissing me off means I care somewhat.
Rip, Thomas, and I have filmed every day for the past three days. I’ve spent more time with those two than I have with anyone in a year, and it should be exhausting, but when I leave them for the day, I realize the urge to run home and have a beer alone isn’t as pressing.
We aren’t friends by any means—especially not Rip and me after our conversation at the golf course—but they haven’t been terrible company. It’s a work relationship, but I overlooked how nice it is to be in people’s constant company.
Rip’s company, specifically. Considering his attitude and how I had to put him in his place, he should be halfway back to the hole he crawled out of in England already. Anyone else would have fired him, because you can’t tame someone who thinks they’re better than everyone. But I didn’t.
Call me crazy, but I want to see this play out.
It’s a first, having an employee act so sickened toward me, especially a close colleague.
Rip’s entire vibe, his messy blonde hair, the tattoos wrapping up his neck, and that damn tongue piercing showing when he talks, all caught my attention since that night at the club.
These few days of getting to know him have only made me want to learn more, which means not firing him.
I’m on my way to my sister’s bedroom after receiving her “hurry up before I change my mind” text.
I’ve had twists for a bit, but with all the filming, they need a refresh.
That’s where Odette comes in handy. She’s been styling my and Aralynn’s hair since we were kids, and it’s why she is now a hairstylist in her day job. She is going to fix me up for tomorrow.
I’m passing through the kitchen when Zara, chopping celery on a cutting board, stops me.
She sets the knife down, eyes lighting up at the sight of me. “Kingsley, good afternoon!”
“Afternoon, Zara.” I eye the state of the kitchen, ingredients scattered all around and the smell of tomato paste wafting through the air. “What are you making?”
“Spaghetti,” she says proudly. “But I’m trying a new recipe. Will you try it?”
My teeth gnaw on the inside of my cheek. “Odie’s waiting for me.”
“Oh, nonsense. Your sister can wait; she’s all bark and no bite, Kingy.”
Zara’s food has always been a delight, but right now, the thought of having any is daunting. I swallow the excess saliva in my mouth. For all the picking I’ve done lately, she probably thinks I’ve grown to hate her cooking. That’s anything but the truth.
I guess a taste won’t kill me.
Zara claps, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she removes the lid from the pot, causing the low flame beneath it to sizzle. Using her ladle, she scoops sauce onto it and holds her hand beneath as she brings it to me, blowing on it.
She makes sure it’s alright before holding it to my lips. “Don’t hesitate to tell me if it isn’t up to par with my usual meals. I trust your judgment, Kingy.”
I’m not sure that’s wise.
The warm paste slides down my throat as I swallow, and all the spices attack my taste buds in the way every one of Zara’s meals does. “It’s good.”
Wrinkles appear on her face when she frowns. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” I say, but I don’t think it came out sounding genuine.
The woman’s lips press together. “I can tell when you’re lying, love.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know it’s the impatient Odette without even having to look. “Zara, I wouldn’t lie to you. Your food is and will always be amazing.”
She stares, seemingly unconvinced, but then sighs. Zara gives my arm a comforting rub, but in a way like a grandmother who knows something but is keeping a secret for my sake.
“Okay, I believe you. How about I bring some to your room when it’s done?”
So half of it can end up in the trash? “That’d be great, thank you.”
Zara gets back to cooking with a gentle kiss on my cheek.
The older woman has been making scrumptious dinners for our family forever, making her one of the few employees who actually know what the Beaumonts get up to behind the scenes.
She may be an employee, but Zara is family, and she’s always been a pro at sensing shit about me, not even Odie and Ara can sniff out.
But I don’t have time to go down any rabbit holes with her.
Odette gives me a good talking-to about how long I took to get to her before starting on my hair. Somewhere between her washing it and sitting me down to twist it, Shawn shows up, having finished his shift patrolling the property’s gates.
Besides being a guard, Shawn’s one of my best friends, along with Mateo and Ryland.
It feels like just yesterday we were running up the streets, but with Mateo taking jobs that send him from country to country and me killing all sorts of outside life this past year, we haven’t hung out as a group in forever.
But Shawn and I are still tight, and he likes to come around when he can.
“Ouch, Odie,” I say, wincing.
She’s still roughly running the comb through my wet hair. “Oh, quit being a baby. I have to make sure it’s detangled.”
“There won’t be any hair to do if you yank it all out.” I go to touch the sore spot on my head that she’s pulling, but pull my hand back when she smacks it.
Odette sighs in the dramatic way she does. “Shawn, why is he so whiny?”
Shawn is sitting on my dresser, leg propped back, leaning against the wall, watching. “She isn’t even combing that hard, Lee.”
A curly black hair floats down and settles among the scattered curls. “I’m gonna be bald.”
“Odette has to get you looking spiffy for your next acting gig.” He smirks, and I give him a deadpan look. He knows nothing about this is amusing, but the shithead enjoys my pain.
“How were the first few days with the Wright boys?” Odie asks.
My shoulders slump. “Uneventful.”
“C’mon, King. I know Rip isn’t a boring man who loves marketing businesses on social media,” Shawn muses. “Have you seen the biceps on that guy? The tongue piercing? He’s too scary to advertise for a living. I’m telling you, the dude has layers.”
Looks like I’m not the only one intrigued by Rip.
“Rip isn’t scary, only na?ve. I don’t know how they worked in his other jobs, but somehow he got it in his head that he’s the boss of me.”
Odie’s frozen behind me, and Shawn’s mouth is hanging open, totally stunned. Yeah, someone trying to pull rank on us? Never happens. We don’t think we’re royalty, but since my parents own the entire property, it’s wild that anyone thinks they can boss me around, especially a random employee.
Shawn’s smirk broadens. “I told you there was something about him. What did you do? Threaten the innocent civilian employee with his life if he refused to worship the great King Beaumont?”
Shawn thinks he’s hilarious. “I told him to stay in his place.”
“Did you say it as unconcerned as you did just now?” Odie asks. “Because if you did, don’t expect him to listen to you. There is not an ounce of authority in your tone.”
Jesus, she sounds like Dad.
When my sisters and I hit double digits, Dad began taking us along with him to “handle business.” We got a front-row seat to everything from spying to interrogations to torture, and everything else short of murder.
They always said you shouldn’t witness your first killing until you’re the one dealing it, and my parents abided by that.
But everything else was fair game. It’s clear as day—the yelling and cursing our enemies tied up in the cellar endured as Dad and the others tried to get them to talk.
The first time I saw the Crowncrest handle a hostage was when I was eleven.
I can still feel my heart pounding as younger me hoped the captive would tell my family what they wanted to hear before they resorted to something worse.
Turns out, the yelling method is only attempted for a few minutes before they get fed up.
But Dad swore up and down the way to get someone to do what you want is by popping a vein, despite how miserably it had failed. I’ve never agreed, and it’s not only because I tend to be the calmer one out of my family.
Besides, do they know how goofy one looks when screaming at the top of their lungs? Pure comedy.
“Kingsley is trying to assert authority?” A deep voice booms from behind me.
I snap my head around to see him, but the comb smacks my head.
“Yeah, to Rip and Thomas,” Odie answers.
My dad is standing there, looking at me intensely, like I’m some kind of exhibit. I snap up like one of his soldiers, as if that’d make him regret giving me this worthless assignment.
His gaze softens as he rubs his stubble beard, and I let out a breath. Shit, I haven’t been this on edge around Dad in… yeah.
“We have a mole,” he states casually.
Odette gasps. “Again?”
Dad nods. “Rodger’s group got bombarded on the last shipment. The cops were waiting for them, and they barely made it out without getting caught, like the last two times. Someone has been tipping off the police.”
What makes people think it’s smart to go against the Crowncrest and its goddamn army?
“Damn,” Shawn curses, his hair falling over his eyes as he shakes his head. “Do we have any leads?”
“No leads yet,” he says, disappointment clear.
Last time we had a mole, we lost good people trying to snuff out who the culprit was. That was years ago, and we’ve bounced back since, but we don’t need another hit.
I think back to the past year. Could this be because of me? Everyone in the organization mentally labeled me as weak after I’ve been MIA this past year, but is that the case for other syndicates too? I’m not the very top, but I may as well be.
If I’m weak, the Crowncrest is weak, which makes it the best time to strike.
I’m about to voice my concerns when Dad’s head snaps my way. “But Kingsley will find them.”
I poke my chest, dumbfounded. “Me?”
“Yes, son. You’re going to work on that while you keep helping the Wright boys get Beaumont Grand more business.”
Am I hearing this right? First, he assigns me grunt work, then he wants me to find the traitor ratting us out to the police?
I know better than to argue his decision. Saying he’s not giving me enough is one thing, but I could never say he’s giving me too much. If Dad thinks I can handle it, I have to step the hell up and prove him right.
Whether or not I feel like myself.
“You too, Shawn. You’ll be Kingsley’s right hand someday, so you should take on the case together.”
Shawn turns my way with a smirk. “Yes, sir.”
Pleased, my father turns on his heel. Before he leaves, he quietly says, “You’re doing great on his hair, Odie.”
I would hope so, considering she owns a whole-ass hair salon.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she beams.
My father shuts the door behind him, and it’s the three of us again.
“How are we going to do this, King? We can’t exactly go around interrogating every member of the Crown,” Shawn says. I can see the gears in his head spinning. “We have to be smart about this.”
“What do we do?” I repeat rhetorically. “We wait.”