The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(46)
It might be a pressure point to examine. If they could convince Esther Bancroft that Elliott was up to no good in Houston, she might pull funding until he fell in line. It was a long shot, but they couldn’t afford to ignore a potential solution. One never knew how things would shake out. “Keep digging. A man with his habits and history hasn’t kept his nose clean all these years. There’s something we can use. We just have to find it.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Mateo hesitated. “You coming back to the office today?”
“I’m taking an unscheduled trip. I’ll be back in a few days, but I’ll be in contact the entire time.”
Mateo very carefully didn’t ask why he was taking an unscheduled trip. Or point out that Frank didn’t do unscheduled—not when he had as many balls in the air as he currently did. “You want me to move your meeting with Jacob about Cocoa’s to early next week?”
“Yeah.” He looked up as Journey strode back down the stairs and headed toward the SUV. “I’ve got to go. Keep me updated.”
“Will do.”
He hung up and joined her outside. Frank ran a critical eye over her. She’d changed in her apartment and now wore black leggings and a long shirt that hit her around midthigh. She was flushed, but aside from the looks she kept shooting at the other hangars, she didn’t seem much the worse for wear. “Now’s a good time to tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“I’ll tell you when we’re in the air. Come on. Ethan got the suitcases, so the only thing missing is you.” She took his arm and tugged him behind her.
Frank allowed it, his mind whirling to click the pieces together with each step he took. It wasn’t until the plane door closed behind him and the tension bled out of Journey’s shoulders that he understood. “He didn’t threaten you.”
She dropped into a seat and waited for him to take the one opposite. Journey leaned forward and shook her head. “No, he didn’t threaten me.”
The plane jerked into motion. Frank shot a look at the window and gritted his teeth at the sight of the pavement running past. “What did your father say, Duchess?”
“He knew about this afternoon.” She wouldn’t quite meet his gaze. “And he’s furious. He isn’t the type to issue explicit threats, but he came closer than I’ve ever heard him today.” She finally looked at him, her hazel eyes filled with too many things. “He’ll kill you, Frank. Or make you disappear.”
“I’m not going to be brought down by the likes of Elliott King.” Better men than him had tried and failed, but telling her as much now wouldn’t accomplish a damn thing.
She shook her head. “You’re not listening to me. He won’t come at you in a fair fight. He’ll play on your weaknesses—he’ll use someone you care about to get your guard down—and that’s when he’ll strike. You can’t defend against an attack you don’t see coming.”
Frank sat back, shock temporarily stealing his ability to respond. This wasn’t about a threat leveled at Journey like he’d thought. She was reacting differently because, this time, the perceived danger was for Frank.
She frowned. “Are you okay? You’ve got a weird look on your face.”
“Your father didn’t threaten you again. He threatened me.”
Guilt flared across her features, but she set her jaw in a way he was coming to recognize. She wasn’t sorry that she’d let him believe she was the intended victim in the most recent threat—and she’d probably do it again if given half a chance. Journey lowered her voice, but she didn’t look away. “I won’t let him hurt you. Not because of me. Not at all.”
“You don’t have to protect me, Duchess.”
She didn’t blink. “If I don’t, who will?”
Frank didn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t know if there was an answer for that. People didn’t protect him. He protected his people. He was the one who’d fought tooth and nail for power to be able to do so. Because he’d looked around after his father was arrested and realized that if he waited for a savior, he’d be waiting his entire life.
Their world looked at people like him a certain way, and he’d never be able to change anyone’s prejudices by being a good person. No, the only way people changed was because they were forced to, and the only thing capable of that was power.
If Frank’s father had the kind of power he now wielded, maybe things would have fallen out differently. Then again, maybe not. He’d been a black man on trial for killing his white mistress—in Texas. If there was ever a deck stacked against someone, it had been stacked against Henry Evans.
But if he’d been powerful enough, maybe those charges wouldn’t have landed in the first place. Those assholes wouldn’t have dared put him on trial with nothing but circumstantial evidence.
Henry Evans was determined to be a real-life superhero. Larger than life and putting the wealth and influence he’d worked his ass off to acquire to good use to help those who couldn’t help themselves. In his ideal world, that was the only logical course for rich men to take—to give a hand up to those who needed it, who could spend their entire lives fighting and never make it to the next tier. People had loved him for it. Frank had loved him for it.