“Pack a bag,” King says from behind me, closing the door with a soft click.
I glance over my shoulder; he just crosses his arms and waits.
I roll my eyes but go through to my room, packing up my things and placing them in a bag, just enough to see me through until Monday morning. It was a colossal mistake, giving up my fight but if I was honest, I didn’t want to fight anymore.
Today was nice. It was almost normal, or as normal as it would get with a man like Kingston. He thinks I didn’t notice how stiff he was, how he watched everyone in that market like they were a threat. I guess that’s how he saw the world. Everyone in it posed some form of danger.
In his life I guess that’s how he survived.
I meet him by the door where he takes my bag and then my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. His brows twitch, wanting to pull into a frown, but he stops it and pulls me towards the door, back to the car.
The drive across the city to his penthouse is quiet, both of us trapped in our heads, thinking about that latest conversation. He would let me, he would give me everything I wished for, but I would give him the same. He liked to watch. I expected to feel a little disorientated by that, I expected to judge him, it was human nature to do so, to judge what we do not know, but I didn’t feel at all like that. All I wanted was to give him what he wanted.
I follow him to the elevator and inside it’s much like the car, quiet but not uncomfortable. The penthouse, as far as I can tell, is empty, quiet and King goes about making coffees, his back to me while he works.
Something has changed. Something monumental. I open my phone ready to idly scroll through social media, but a text message freezes my hand.
Tate: Hey Eleanor. I’m just checking in to let you know I’m all good. Hope you’re okay. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m enjoying this time away. I hope you understand.
A choked sob sounds as I drop the phone.
I didn’t see Kingston move, but he’s there in an instant, pulling me to his chest and holding a knife he pulled from the block on the side, prepared to fight off the invisible threat. I shake my head against his chest, “The phone,” I hiccup.
He lays the knife down and lifts the phone, lighting the screen to show the text message.
“They started after I asked Garrett if he had seen her, I’d told him I was worried, he’s using her phone.”
“And you’re sure these aren’t from her?” He asks, scrolling through the others I’ve received.
“She calls me Ellie, always has and is the only one who does. And she doesn’t speak like this, she’s a lot more relaxed, and she always puts kisses on her texts.”
“How long have you and Tate been friends?” King asks.
“Seven years.”
He sighs, “she means a lot to you.” He continues
“She was there when I moved to the city, the only person who was, we bonded, moved in together. She’s family.”
He smooths his hand down the back of my head, soothing me, “We’ll get her back.”
“Why her?”
He sighs heavily, “I’ve been looking into Tobias for a long time, and his son along with the organization he works for, I’ve told you already, they use women like nothing more than meat, but I will admit, this isn’t their usual MO.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tate has connections, people who will notice her missing, friends, co-workers, family, they usually go for girls with little to no family or women from shadier backgrounds.”
“So, Tate isn’t their usual victim? Surely that’s not a good sign.”
“I wouldn’t speculate, Eleanor, I can’t promise she’s alive, but the fact that they’ve done something that could get them caught doesn’t mean they’ve hurt her. They want people to think she’s still alive and free, she’ll have to eventually show her face in order for that image to stay believable. What of her family?”
“They’re convinced she’s fine,” I sniff, “But the way she speaks to them is different from me. Her family is strict, conservative, with me she wasn’t like that.”
He continues to smooth his tattooed hand down my hair, “We’ll end this, Eleanor, we’ll get her back.”
I don’t say anything, but I hoped he was right.
The rest of the afternoon is quiet until Ace and Micha show up. They bundle into the penthouse, huge bodies and loud voices shattering the peaceful quiet King and I had fallen into. I felt King didn’t get it very often, a moment to himself, a moment of quiet, I couldn’t help but resent them for disturbing it.
Ace is dirty, his brow split and blood trickling from a cut on his bottom lip, Micha is in a better state but still, he looks tired with a growing shadow beneath his eye.
King is up in an instant, “What the fuck happened?”
Ace waves a hand, bypasses the coffee machine and pulls a bottle of beer from the fridge. “We ran into a couple of guys sniffing around Crimson. “
“Who?”
Ace shakes his head, “They weren’t willing to answer questions. We took care of it.”
“Is that normal?” I ask.
Micha looks over to me and then King, who nods once. “Sometimes. We have everyone sign an NDA upon joining to stop them telling people about it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, it’s usually someone scorned, kicked out or rejected who tells the wrong person and they then come sniffing, wondering how they can use it or profit off it.”
“But why?”
“A lot of people think what we do there is illegal, they try blackmail, but the more insidious plots have more to do with what they can get out of it. Who they can hurt when they’re most vulnerable.”
I shudder.
“It isn’t Tobias?” I ask.
“I doubt it,” King answers.
I look back to the guys, to Ace whose brow continues to bleed, “Let me help,” I say to him, “Where’s the first aid kit?”
“Under the sink,” King tells me. I pull it from its place and open it up, pulling out the supplies.
“I’m fine,” Ace grumbles as I step up to him, pursing my lips. Up close, I can see the bruises forming under the skin, dark shadows against light. The split in his lip is shallow, barely a graze but that one in his brow is a lot deeper.
“Shh,” I admonish. I start on the brow seeing as it’s the worse of the two, ripping open an alcohol wipe to clean it. He hisses through his teeth as I make contact but otherwise stays quiet.
I feel King watching me, I feel Ace watching me, both of them burning holes through me, but I try not to pay attention to that as I carefully clean away the new and old blood and then dry the area.
I find steri-strips in the kit and cut off three strips.
“I’m good, little one,” Ace mumbles.
I huff out a breath, “Shut up, Ace.”
Chuckles sound behind me as I get to work applying the steri-strips to his brow, pulling the skin together to seal the cut. When I’m done, I pat his cheek and put the supplies away.
This earns a whole round of laughs from the guys behind me.
“Did you just – did she just…” Ace stutters.
I shake my head, grab a wine glass from the cupboard and pour myself a big old glass of red, listening to them as they talk shit to each other.
It was normal. This.
This family that was not family at all.
This, I could get used to.