Kinglsey nods. He fuckingnodsas 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 thanme.
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 toreact,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 youremployees?”
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 Istraighten 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 ignoreme.
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.
