The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(112)

“Your aim is excellent, attitude is perfect and you certainly played the part beautifully. You forgot one very important thing.”

“What thing?” Irina scowled at him. “What did I do wrong?”

Kingsley reached into his pocket and pulled out ten onehundred dollar bills. He held them out to Irina who reached for them. He pulled his hand back at the last second.

“Clients pay in advance.” He put the money back in his pocket and walked out, certain Irina would never forget that detail ever again.

He walked upstairs to his office and collapsed onto the couch by the window. Good session. Great kink. Irina would make a world-class dominatrix. With her and Felicia as his top dommes, every man in the tri-state area who had even once fantasized about feeling a woman’s boot on the back of his neck would come crawling to them, begging to be let into the club. A beautiful dream that might never come true. Fuller still wasn’t budging. Kingsley still wasn’t giving up. This staring contest had gone on long enough. One of them would have to blink.

Before Kingsley could finish his thought, Blaise burst into his office in her bathrobe.

“King—I need you. The cops are here.”

“Cops? Why?”

“Irina. She’s under arrest.”

“For what?” Kingsley grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. He raced down the stairs and found Irina in handcuffs being escorted to a waiting squad car.

“What is this?” he demanded of the officer. “What’s the charge?”

“She poisoned her husband,” the officer said. “So I hear.”

“That charge was dropped,” Kingsley said, standing between Irina and the squad car.

“Looks like they picked the charge back up again. Excuse me. I don’t want to have to arrest you, too.”

“King, it’s okay,” Irina said. “You did your best.”

“I’ll get you out,” he promised her. “Don’t talk to anyone. Not a word. I’ll call our lawyer.”

She put up no fight as the officer shoved her in the car and drove away. He watched them disappear around the block.

“Mr. Edge?” came a voice from behind him. “Kingsley Edge.”

Kingsley turned around and found a bike messenger waiting for him.

“Oui?”

“Delivery.” The boy handed him two envelopes—one large manila envelope and one small white envelope. He rode off before Kingsley could say another word.

He opened the large manila envelope first and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He f lipped through them while he walked back into the town house.

“King? What is it?”

“It’s from the health department,” he said, not believing what he was reading. “They’re shutting down the M?bius for health code violations.”

“Health code violations?” Blaise repeated. “Because of the… you know?”

The sex club in the back. Someone had tipped off the health department. And who worked at the M?bius? Who knew Irina was staying at his house?

Blaise ran her hands through her hair.

“King, what’s going on? What happened?”

Kingsley closed his eyes.

“Sam happened.”





35


“KINGSLEY, ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?” “What is it you do for a living again?” he asked, glancing

around his still-empty strip club. Was there any place in the

world more desolate or depressing than an empty strip club? Maggie glared at him from across the table.

“I’m a lawyer. Specifically, your lawyer.”

“Then, no, I’m not listening to you.”

Maggie sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She

was one of the highest paid and most respected attorneys in

all of Manhattan. But right now she looked like a beautiful if

exasperated ex-lover in a dark red suit. Which she also was. “You remember you’re paying me seven-hundred dollars

an hour for this conversation?” she asked him, the toe of her

red stiletto clicking on the f loor in irritation.

“Now I’m listening. What’s happening to my club?” Maggie capped her pen and tapped her legal pad with the

end.

“Nothing,” she said. “Unfortunately. There is no organization in the city that works slower than the health department.

And that’s on a good day.”

“And this is not a good day?”

“No, it’s not a good day,” Maggie said, ripping off a sheet of paper and tossing it in the air. He did always adore her dramatics. “All the paperwork is ‘in process,’ which is their fancy way of saying ‘we are doing nothing with this case, so sit there

and shut up.’ You must have seriously pissed someone off.” Kingsley stretched out his legs, threw his feet on to the seat

of the chair next to Maggie, and crossed his boots at the ankle. “It’s possible.”

“Oh, I know it’s possible. I used to sleep with you, remember? You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met and, considering the only people I know are other lawyers, and I’m

using the term people loosely, that’s saying something.” Kingsley narrowed his eyes at her. He’d met Maggie years