The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(58)

“Do you want me to be with you?”

“No,” Kingsley said. “I think I need to do this alone.”

He didn’t want to be alone, but if the results weren’t what he wanted, S?ren wouldn’t have to see him fall apart.

“I can respect that,” S?ren said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call, then?”

“I wanted to tell you I went to Rome.”

“So that’s where you disappeared to. Sam wouldn’t tell me when I called.”

“She’s overprotective,” Kingsley said, smiling to himself. He liked that Sam didn’t tell S?ren where he was. The woman wasn’t afraid to annoy S?ren. He should give her a raise. “I met your friend Magdalena.”

“What did you think of her?”

“She was very mean to me,” Kingsley said, an understatement. She’d taught him types of kink he’d never known existed, lectured him on consent and safe kink practice and forced him to practice with a whip until he, too, could split a business card in half. He wished he could have stayed longer.

“I warned you about her,” S?ren said, laughing. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Did you miss me?”

“I missed being mean to you.”

“About that…” Kingsley said. “Are you busy today?”

“Why?”

“Do you want to beat me?”

“Kingsley, haven’t we had this talk?”

“Beat me in football,” he said. “I mean, do you want to play football with me again? Pardonnez-moi…soccer.” He felt unreasonably stupid right now, like a nervous teenager asking the most popular girl in school on a date. He’d never done that. He’d skipped the dating and gone right to the f*cking. “You’re busy, aren’t you? And—”

“Kingsley.”

“Never mind. I forget you have a job.”

“Kingsley. Focus.”

“Quoi?”

“Yes. Come to my church,” S?ren said, and Kingsley was certain he could hear S?ren smiling. “Sacred Heart in Wakefield. Be there at five.”

“So, you do want to play with me?” Kingsley asked.

He heard S?ren softly laugh. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Still smiling, Kingsley hung up and headed back to his town house to change clothes. He hadn’t seen Sacred Heart yet. He’d been waiting for an invitation, not wanting to force himself into S?ren’s world. Now he found himself unexpectedly nervous. What if she was there? The new love? The Virgin Queen? Eleanor Louise Schreiber, thief of cars and hearts.

“So, how was it?” Sam asked as Kingsley walked into his office. “Did Anita work her magic?”

“I thought she was going to kill me. I’ve never been in so much pain in my life. And I’ve been shot four times.”

“So…”

“See if she can get me in again this week.”

“I told you she was a miracle worker,” Sam said.

“Speaking of miracles, I have to run. I have a date with a priest to play football.”

“Real football or fake European football?”

“Fake European football.”

“Soccer,” she said, with a wink and a finger point. “Something came for you while you were out.”

She handed him a padded envelope with his name on it and nothing else.

“Where did this come from?” Kingsley asked.

“Courier dropped it off. Why?”

“No reason,” he said. He ripped the envelope open. A minicassette tape slid out into his hand.

He looked at Sam. She shook her head in confusion. Kingsley walked around his desk, pulled out his tape player and stuck the tape in.

When he hit Play he heard his own voice speaking.

“Friend of a friend.”

“You have friends who are friends with fifteen-year-old girls?”

The other voice on the tape belonged to Robert Dixon. The tape continued.

“I have interesting friends.”

“I didn’t know you had any friends, Edge.”

“Kingsley? What is this?” Sam asked. He raised his hand to silence her.

“I put my job on the line helping a fifteen-year-old girl get out of going to juvie for stealing cars, I want to know the story.”

“Fine. Old friend of mine is a Catholic priest now. Her priest. He asked me to help her. I owe him a big favor. This is the favor.”

“You’re friends with a priest?”

“Trust me, no one is more shocked by that than I am.”

“Is he f*cking her? The priest?”

“What?”

“It’s all over the papers,” Dixon said. “Every damn day there’s a new story about a Catholic priest f*cking some kid. Boston’s exploding. Phillie, Detroit, Chicago… I get caught helping a priest with the underage girl he’s f*cking and—”

“He’s not f*cking her.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m f*cking her.”

Kingsley shut off the tape.

Sam stared at him.

“I’m not f*cking a fifteen-year-old girl, Sam,” he said. “But—”