The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(27)

What he said made sense, but she still wasn’t prepared to trot out the stuff her nightmares were made of for strategic purposes. “He was abusive. Physical. Not sexual. That’s all you need to know.”

She didn’t actually hear Frank sigh, but the slightest movement of his shoulders gave the indication of it. “Noted.” He leaned back against his desk, the only warning she got before his tone lost its softness. They were down to business. “Your father has a long history of dancing right up to the edge of the law, but on the first pass of checking, it doesn’t seem like he’s ever broken it.” He paused, obviously waiting for her to jump in, but Journey just lifted her chin.

Finally, Frank continued, “That said, I had my man look at why Elliott Bancroft suddenly decided to take an interest in Kingdom Corp.” He held up a hand. “I know what he said. But he’s spent his entire life dodging responsibility. Even if he planned on draining the company dry, that’s still a hell of a lot more work than just taking the stipend Lydia had been paying him for the last twenty years.”

Mother paid him off.

Journey had suspected, of course. Her mother was terrifying in many ways, but for Elliott to leave and never come back…for them never to have ended up divorced…

Lydia had done what it took to keep him out of their lives—and away from Kingdom Corp. The only thing Elliott loved as much as power over people weaker than him was money. It still made Journey twitch to think about. “You think he’s got a larger plan.”

“I think that’s the only thing that makes sense.” Frank stood and pointed to the overstuffed couch situated diagonally to the desk. “Sit down before you fall down.”

“I’m fine.” But she moved to the couch anyway. Her knees were still feeling a little wonky, and as aggravating as it was to take orders from Frank Evans, it would be worse to collapse in the middle of his office out of sheer stubbornness.

Frank joined her on the couch, but he kept the middle cushion between them. It was just as well. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he touched her now. Her demons rode her too hard, and Journey didn’t trust herself one way or another. She was just as liable to jump him as she was to lash out.

She cleared her throat. “It’s one of the Bancrofts pulling his strings if he’s not here for a smash-and-grab. If he’s got any loyalty, it’s to his family.”

“They’re your family, too.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, technically, yes, Elliott Bancroft is my father and he’s a Bancroft and therefore my siblings and I are, too. But Mother drew her line in the sand when she gave us the King name.” Journey gave a faint smile. “You can’t be loyal to two masters. I’m a King.”

Those dark eyes showed nothing. “It’s possible the Bancroft family wants Kingdom Corp, and they’re utilizing Elliott to do it since they obviously don’t believe you and your siblings will fall in line. It’s equally possible that Elliott has gotten tired of dancing to the tune his family has set and wants his own kingdom to rule, so to speak. Either way, we’ll figure it out.”

It sounded so simple when he put it like that. Hope unfurled cautious wings in her chest. “You really think we can win.” He was the one who helped Beckett prevail against her mother, so there was no reason to think Frank couldn’t pull this off, too. It just seemed too good to be true.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to do this if I didn’t.”

She had the insane desire to throw her arms around him and hug him for all she was worth, but Journey managed to resist the impulse. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Duchess. I’m not doing this for charity.”

The reminder killed her good mood, though she fought to keep that truth off her face. “Right. Of course.” She and Frank weren’t friends—fake relationship, business deal, and one outstanding orgasm aside—and she couldn’t afford to forget that. The only reason he’d agreed to help her was because he got something out of it. In all the chaos and emotional spiraling she’d done in the last few days, she’d lost sight of that along the way.

If you forget again, the damage your father can do to you will be nothing against the pain Frank Evans can cause.

*



Frank woke to the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside his room. In a single move, he was up with the shotgun he had stashed in the holster beneath the bed. No time to throw on clothes—not with the footsteps heading toward Journey’s guest room—so he threw open the door and rushed into the hallway.

“Holy shit!”

He had the presence of mind to point the damn gun at the floor, but Frank’s thoughts flowed sluggishly as he tried to reconcile the fact that there was no intruder. It was Journey. She stood in the middle of his hallway, her hands up in a defensive gesture, wearing only his T-shirt and nothing else. He blinked, but the image didn’t morph itself into something more realistic. “What are you doing out here?”

“I…” She slowly dropped her hands to wrap around her body. The move pressed the white fabric against her breasts and, even in the low light, their curve was clearly defined. Journey’s gaze dropped to the level of his hips and then shot back to his face. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Then read a fucking book, Duchess. I could have shot you.”