The King - S.R. Jones

PART ONE

Come not between a dragon and his wrath.

William Shakespeare

CHAPTER ONE

Cassie

Pain. Pain and nausea. I daren’t even open my eyes. Am I sick? My throat hurts, dry as the dessert, and my eyelids are heavy.

Shit, maybe I’ve caught the flu?

Everything is groggy.

My eyes blink open, and I slam them shut at the unwelcome intrusion of light. I’m going to be late for work at the coffee shop.

Then my mind catches up with reality, and I remember I now work for Bridge Tech in my dream job. Except my stupid fiancé, ex fiancé, has ruined it for me. I now must go to work every day and see his disgusting face, and I hate him so much it burns.

God, where am I? I move and nausea hits me. Oh, Lord, did I get drunk?

I try to remember last night.

I sit up and stare at the opulence of the room I’m in. Huge bed, with me in the center of it like some lost child. There’s heavy, expensive furniture everywhere. Am I in a hotel?

Clubbing… I went clubbing.

It all comes rushing back. I’d been clubbing, drank far too much, and pulled a total hottie.

Then more of my memory comes back. Ugh, the total hottie had been terrible in bed. Truly awful, he’d humped away on top of me, no rhythm at all, and then collapsed on me after he came, and I didn’t.

I glance around me. Where is the hottie now?

I never have one-night stands, and this is why. I imagined they’d be awful, and the reality was even worse. Shitty sex, even shittier morning after.

I need to get out of here. I check my watch. Nine in the morning, on a Sunday. I should be able to get a train, but I have no idea how far we are from the station. I remember arriving here. The hottie brought me to this house with his friend, a quiet, pissed-off guy who was supposedly celebrating his stag night, but seemed about to go the gallows. From what I remember, this is the friend’s house, not the hottie’s house. Shit, how awkward.

The outside of the house struck me even in my drunken stupor last night. This place is like some sort of modern stately home, a grand design in the middle of nowhere. Humpmeister must have rich friends.

At the grand old age of twenty-four, I’ve pulled my first toy boy. In fact, I’ve just had my first one-night stand, and it has been disappointing to say the least. Probably a mutual agreement on that score, because Humpmeister has gone. The epic shit.

It’s a pity that my first walk on the wild side and first ever one-night stand proved as disappointing as I feared. For a moment I let myself indulge in a fantasy of how different it might have been if only my one-night stand had been with the man of my dreams.

The sexy Russian who used to frequent the coffee shop I worked at before finding my IT job. He was gorgeous. He used to come in regularly and then one day he just … stopped. It was a sad day because I really missed his visits. Even after I left the coffee shop and started working in an office, I would find myself thinking of him often.

And here I go again, pining for a man I never really knew, but built up to some fantasy in my head. I yawn and sigh. Time to get moving.

I slide out of bed, taking care to be quiet. I don’t want to wake anyone else in this house. I need to get out of here, and the friend of Humpmeister who lives here won’t want to be bothered with me.

Hardly daring to breathe, I pull my clothes on. Shorter than short skirt, strappy glittery top, and high heels. All crumpled, of course. Then I head to the bathroom and take a pee. I try not to grimace at the state of my face and use the towel on the rack to wipe some of the worst of the black from under my eyes. I spy some toothpaste in the glass holder on the side and rub it around my mouth with my pointer finger, rinse and spit.

I don’t normally wear makeup or, at least, not much more than a touch of mascara and a swipe of lip balm. I don’t normally go clubbing, and I hardly ever get drunk.

Wetting my hands and tapping my face, I blow out a deep breath and try to get