“As long as you want me to be,” he breathes.
My lips pull into a smug grin as I wrap my arm around him and pull him into my chest. “My slut, and my prince. That means if anyone lays a filthy hand on you, I’ll snap their fingers in half one by one.”
Kingsley smiles as if I’m joking, probably finding the statement corny. Corny or not, there is no humor behind my words.
“Alright, Rip. If I’m yours, then you’re mine too, darling.”
23
Rip
When my eyes open, there isn’t the familiar crispness of standard white hotel sheets or the unnecessary firmness of a hotel mattress. No, these are navy blue sheets, and are like sleeping on a cloud, soft and buoyant.
And instead of a chick lying on my chest, it’s a certain cute-faced man snoring on me.
Kingsley, asleep, is the calmest I’ve ever seen him. He puts on a brave face, but you can see the stress eating away at him. But not now.
In my arms, the intimidating man who runs his father’s organization and rips the flesh off opponents in a fight turns into a big cinnamon roll who carries more burdens than people realize.
Once I’m sure he’s asleep, I carefully untangle myself and sneak out of bed. It’s two a.m., and there are no guards inside, only outside. If I flip the lights, I might get noticed, so I’ll use my phone’s flashlight and make it choppy. I don’t want to run into someone needing a late-night piss.
After being in Xavier Beaumont’s office, I knew I needed to get back in there and check out the place for myself. Those locked cabinets have to be where he keeps all the business files and contracts. Probably not everything, but more than what I’ve found.
I don’t know how much longer Thomas and I will need to stay hidden. Mother says we can come back when we get all the information we need, and there’s no telling how long that will take. Searching the place may speed things along.
Not that staying bothers me as much as it used to.
I have to force each careful step to the office. Once I make it there, I turn the knob, praying it’s not locked, so my life will be easier. But of course, my luck is shit. I use a pick to pop the lock and get inside, looking over my shoulder every couple of seconds, waiting for someone to catch me in the act.
Finally, the door creaks open. I slip in, shut it, lean against it, and let out a sigh. Great. Now I need to make this snappy so I can get back in bed with Kingsley.
I rummage through the unlocked drawers, cabinets, and even the trash, only finding paperweights, blank paper, and unused pens. They’re unprotected, so of course nothing valuable is in here anyway, but why does he have so much junk?
I’ve run through almost every drawer when I come across a key buried underneath a stack of blank loose-leaf paper.
I try the key on every lock in his desk, and they all open up with ease. It’s looking like I’ve wasted my fucking time. If everything opens with one bloody key, my chances of finding something worth my time dwindle to zero. Hell, I’d be lucky to find Xavier’s phone bill in here.
Still, I rummage through the shit. I have to make sure.
I come across some files, but not the illegal kind. Still, I take pictures of them. There are a few contracts in here, some of which are about Xavier’s connections with certain charities,and I snap pictures of all of them too. Maybe I’ll run across something about my mom. If that truly was my mother in the photo…
Jordan came up blank, and so did all the investigators he forwarded the picture to. I told him not to sweat it—I’ve been trailing my parents alone for years. But something about how quickly the Requiem was to say the picture was a dead end rubs me the wrong way.
The truth is rarely found in quick answers.
I came across the New Horizon and Recovery charity only to find out it’s a bunch of nothingness on paper. I’m going to have to figure out a way to ask Xavier directly if I want another lead on it. Or Kingsley.
Photos fill a drawer, including some of a young King and his siblings, much like those on Xavier’s desk. There are photos from gatherings and events involving other crime families allied with the Crowncrest that look like typical snapshots of happy, wealthy families together. Outsiders don’t know these are purely for appearances.
One picture in particular catches my eye. There stands Kingsley, tall and beaming, his perfectly straight teeth catching the light, with a blonde woman clinging to him. Her expression was a barely-there smile, her lips pressed together as if she were already tired of posing for the photo. Sylvie.
My lip curls as I snap a picture of them too.
I spend another five minutes scoping out the small office before I head out. After ensuring the room is as I left it, I sneak back into Kingsley’s room as if I never left.
Stealthy as always.
“Rip?”
