The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,58
I?” Since when did my voice become so small?
“No, no choice.”
I sigh and put the last few things into my bag.
I try to tell myself it could be worse. Konstantin might be a very bad man, but he’s not a monster. A monster wouldn’t pay for my grandpa to get top treatment in a private Swiss clinic. In fact, Konstantin might be a lot more human than he tries to let people see. He’s dangerous and hard, but he’s not a monster. In fact, he’s my grandpa’s savior, and no matter what else, I’ll always be grateful for that. He’s rotten alright, but there’s a kindle of good in him, a tiny flame flickering away inside. If only that flame could burn bright and banish all the dark in him.
“You got everything?” he asks.
I nod, and he grabs my arm as he leads me out the door.
Not wanting him dragging me after him like a dog, I yank my arm out of his hold. Konstantin shoots me an annoyed glance but doesn’t take hold of me again. He knows I’m not going to run. Where would I go? He has the medical care for my grandparents hanging over my head.
We head to the basement where the vicious one, the one called Vasily I have learned, climbs into the front of a sleek, dark car, and Konstantin pushes me into the back, after taking my bags and shoving them in the trunk.
He slides into the seat next to me, his size intimidating in this small space. He smells amazing. How can such a rotten soul smell so divine. Look so divine?
He stares out the window, one hand rested casually on his thigh, the other, the elbow against the window and two long fingers tapping at his chin. He’s thinking, pondering something, but what? Not my fate, I hope.
Will he kill me? Decide I’m simply too much trouble and do away with me?
He paid for my grandpa’s treatment, though, didn’t he? If he wanted me dead, I doubt he’d do such a thing. He also punched Vasily in the face when he hurt me. I rub at my cheek absentmindedly where it scraped the carpet. It burns. I decide there and then that I hate Vasily. More even than I dislike Konstantin. He’s a disgusting man. Who manhandles a woman that way? He might not know his own strength, but I’m not buying that; he simply doesn’t care. Whereas Konstantin, he’s hardly nice, but I kicked his extortionate car and marked it, and he didn’t do anything. So out of the two of them? Yeah, Vasily is the one I hate.
We arrive at the same house where I had the most disappointing sex of my life, which seems like a lifetime ago now. The door opens as we arrive, and a man dressed in a dark pair of trousers and a dark shirt opens the door. He looks to be in his late fifties to me but could be ten years older or younger easily.
“Sir,” he says with a tip of his head to Konstantin. “Ah, and Mr. Vasily. Welcome.”
“Derek,” Vasily says and claps the man on the back as he moves into the house.
A face appears from the far end of the hallway. Michael.
He stares at me, looks at Konstantin with his brows raised comically high.
“Cassie is staying for a while. She has some work to do, and it’s safest she does it here,” Konstantin says.
Michael shrugs. “No skin off my nose. The house is going to be a bit full, isn’t it?”
“Good job it’s fucking massive then, isn’t it?” Konstantin snaps. “Anyway, you’ll be out of here in a couple of weeks, married.”
“We need to take you out and get you … how do you say here? Messed up? Fucked up,” Vasily says with an evil grin. “We must get you fucked up.”
“Not happening,” Konstantin snaps. “He’s already had a stag night.”
“Oh, and you didn’t invite me,” Vasily says.
“Yes, we didn’t think London could take it, Uncle V,” Michael says easily with a laugh.
“Well, isn’t this cozy.”
I glance up to see a woman I recognize from the gossip magazines left lying around at work sometimes. She’s a model, who dated a footballer and a reality TV star at one point. She must be Konstantin’s friend. Ugh. I hate her on sight. She’s false, her whole demeanor is fake and phony as hell, just like her eyelashes and probably her hair.
Then my gaze travels down her body and stops dead at