Rip #2
I press the buzzer at the front of the large, golden gates and am let through. Once I reach the front door, I knock, expecting to be greeted by Kingsley’s parents. Instead, I’m met with a girl half my size.
She wears a tight crop top with a black leather skirt and matching jacket, and she’s put her braids in a bun. This is the same girl from both the club and the dinner. Odette, I think. Kingsley’s sister.
Realizing I’ve been staring, I clear my throat. “Odette, hey.”
She puts her hand on the doorframe and leans. “You can call me Odie.”
Nickname basis? It’s my first time speaking to her, and I’m already closer to her than I am to her brother.
“Cool, Odie. Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand, and she shakes it. “Is Kingsley here?”
She’s got that look on her face like I asked something stupid. “I’d hope so. The meeting starts in forty-five minutes.”
“Yeah, obviously,” I chuckle through my nose. “I know I’m early, but I wanted to see if your dad’s offer about the wine was still on the table.”
Odette’s eyes peer up as she thinks back. “Oh, yeah. I mean, you could’ve asked after dinner, but okay. I’m supposed to be meeting my friends, and I’m already late, so I don’t have time to walk you down there. Maybe my mom is around here somewhere.”
“You get to your friends, Odie.” The deeper voice pulls my attention. Odette’s lookalike stands behind her, hair freshly done while wearing his white dress shirt and slacks. “I’ll take him.”
Kingsley’s sister’s eyes widen, almost as if he’s a ghost standing behind her. “You’re down early.”
He nods, and after a moment’s pause, he gestures for her to go ahead. Odette’s eyes linger on her brother, and she licks her lips as if she has something to say but is keeping it to herself. Then she shrugs, and she’s out of the house.
Once she’s through the door, he signals for me to trail him. We pass through the living room, and it’s like it has gotten bigger since I was last here. The walls grew, the windows expanded, and the lights intensified—it’s a wonder the room doesn’t echo when someone speaks.
We go through the back door, past the patio, and head deep into their backyard. Are wine cellars usually outside? He should be leading me to his basement, not the grass.
The hairs on my neck prickle as I watch Kingsley’s movements from behind. He isn’t taking me somewhere he shouldn’t, is he? Surely they can’t have figured out who I really am. We took many precautions for that.
I mentally note the pocketknife in my sock. Can never be too safe.
I clear my throat. “Aren’t cellars usually in the basement?”
“Yeah, it’s in a basement,” he answers casually.
“But we’re outside.”
Kingsley doesn’t bother acknowledging my concerns.
He continues on as if I haven’t spoken, and I clench my fists.
It’s been a struggle to keep my temper in check while this arrogant mafia heir speaks to me like I’m not worth the effort.
With no face to punch or person to lose it on for almost two weeks, his every sly look or lack of response makes me want to break his jaw.
He doesn’t even do anything, and that’s all the reason it gets me so heated.
“I’d love to get some information, Beaumont,” I grumble.
Kinglsey nods. He fucking nods as if that’s an answer. And I have no choice but to continue following him.
Eventually, we reach a shed-like building. We’re still in the gated area of his home property, but the house has become distant behind us. After Kingsley enters the shed, he uses a keypad to unlock the steel door and then opens it.
A dark, eerie stairwell spirals downward. It’s one straight out of a horror movie. I’m on alert now, fearing that this is their damn dungeon that he led me to.
To keep the door from closing, Kingsley wedges a large rock, one that was purposely left nearby, into the doorway. He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “The door can be opened from the inside, but I keep it propped open because I’m paranoid. I got trapped in here a few years ago.”
“Oh,” I mutter, letting my shoulders visibly relax for Kingsley, but still keeping in mind the weapon in my shoe.
The cellar itself, once lit and visible, is much less creepy than the dark stairwell. It’s large, like every room on Beaumont property, and filled with racks of various expensive wines. Some of them have to be older than me.
Kingsley leans against the wall. “Pick one.”
“This would be a nice place to keep hostages.” The chill in the cellar has me rubbing my arms as I browse the alcohol.
“What?” My offhand comment causes Kingsley to straighten with a stern, wide-eyed gaze fixed on me. Hmm.
“A dark, scary cellar in the back of your secluded property would make one hell of a prison, Prince,” I say casually. “Don’t you think?”
Kingsley’s eyebrow stays raised for a moment, then he loosens up. With his head against the wall, he’s looking at the ceiling, impatient for me to choose some booze.
I want a reaction from him again. “Don’t you think?”
He gives me a quick nod, brushing me off. Jesus, fuck. It’s like pulling teeth trying to get him to react, and it’s making my head spin.
“Is speaking a chore for you?” I clutch the wine bottle in front of me, acting like I’m looking it over, and squeeze it hard to stop myself from launching it at Kingsley’s head. “Are you too pretentious to make small talk with your employees?”
The word employee feels disgusting coming out of my mouth. I’m no one’s fucking employee, especially not Kingsley Beaumont’s.
“Of course not.”
I scoff and move closer to him. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He’s so close I can smell his expensive cologne. See? I know he cares more than he shows.
“Do you want me to apologize?” he asks stupidly.
I want to put my knife to his goddamn throat. “I want you to treat other people like human beings. When someone is talking to you, you fucking respond. When someone asks you a question, you bloody well answer it. You’re not royalty who gets to have someone else do the people skills for him.”
We’re mere inches apart, and Kingsley doesn’t cower before me as I half-expect him to. I don’t know why I thought he would when all he’s done is prove me wrong. He stands tall, and I straighten up to get the inch over him, since it’s about all I can do at this point.
“I don’t treat any of my employees poorly, Rip,” he says calmly. The lights flicker, but I’m too peeved to care. “Stop projecting your issues onto me.”
Projecting?
In a fit of anger, I shove Kingsley in the chest. His back slams again the wall, and I grit my teeth as I speak. “Stop ignoring me when I speak to you. Stop acting like because you’re a daddy’s boy that you don’t have to have basic manners.”
I need to pause and catch my breath before I dig myself deeper into this mess, a mess I don’t even understand why I’m creating.
It’s not that I’m upset I haven’t gotten close to him in two weeks—nothing is ever that easy.
So am I angry because he doesn’t ever have much to say?
Because he ignores everyone until he gives enough of a fuck to respond?
No, it makes my blood boil that he chooses to ignore me.
Kingsley’s eyes widen in shock, and there’s that spark of emotion again. I can’t help but be proud I got a glimpse of the feelings he no longer shows anyone.
How dare he not treat me with the respect I deserve?
My name is Rip fucking Redgrave. I came from a civilian family, and then at twelve, I was thrust into the Requiem.
I adapted faster than any kid ever had, executed my first kill at fifteen, and now, at a young twenty-three, I’m one of the top men in the Req.
Anyone who discredits that gets his tongue cut out.
Yet Kingsley does without a care in the world. What will it take to get him to care?
His tongue glazes over his bottom lip, but his eyes never leave mine. Kingsley quirks a sly grin—the first one I’ve ever seen from him that is genuine. The way he’s staring at me, it’s like he’s figured something out.
And then it’s dark.
We each instinctively pull out our phone flashlights, the atmosphere still tense. What the hell put the lights out?
“It’s fine, the doors propped open,” he mutters.
It’d better be fine. The last thing I want is to spend any more time alone with the prince. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep down the impulse to strangle him.
Following him, I go up the stairs and notice the faint light from outdoors filtering through the propped-open door. It’s bloody freezing in this cellar, worse than when we first came in. We need to get out now.
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind burst through the shed and cellar doors, pushing us back. It’s so powerful that the rock stuck in the doorway comes tumbling down the stairs, and the cellar door slams shut.
We stop in our tracks, now in pitch-black darkness. Kingsley’s eyes are huge, and his jaw dropped in awe when I hit him with the light.
I move past him and push on the large door, hoping to gain the strength of the Hulk to free us from this terror. It won’t fucking budge.
“That’s not how it opens,” Kingsley croaks. “It’s command-operated.”
He points to the big button, probably meant to glow when you press it, but the power’s out.
“Kingsley,” I speak slowly.
It’s so quiet, I can hear his short, quick breaths. “Yeah?”
“Are we trapped in the bloody wine cellar?”
“I think so.”
I’m going to freeze to death in a cellar with Kingsley Beaumont.