The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(51)
Frank hadn’t really thought he’d get away with that subject change, but it didn’t hurt to try. “She’s in trouble, Beck. Big trouble. I agreed to help when I thought it was merely business, but best I can tell, Elliott is setting up to actually hurt her—not just remove her as COO.” He walked to the vanity that was set up opposite the bed. “Apparently the bastard took exception to me personally, because he’s decided to focus his threats on me and Journey for the time being, rather than on the rest of his children.”
“He’s threatening you?”
“Yeah. It’s nothing I can’t handle, though.” He cleared his throat. “Be careful, Beck. Whatever hard-on Elliott has for the Kings might not extend to you, but you can’t know that.”
“Save some of that worry for yourself. Elliott is a concern, but if you break Journey’s heart, Samara will go on a warpath. Take it from me—you don’t want that.”
No, he didn’t. He liked Samara, and he didn’t want to cause her unnecessary grief. He couldn’t even defend himself without exposing that things were more complicated than he wanted to admit. This might have started out as a fake relationship, but he and Journey had muddied the waters beyond repair. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He ended the call and went in search of the woman in question. Sounds in the kitchen drew him in, and Frank stopped just outside the doorway and watched the one-woman whirlwind. She dashed some unidentified spice onto the dish on the counter and then swung around to slide it into the oven. Then she was off, snagging two wineglasses in one hand and a bottle in the other.
She turned and startled. “Jeez, Frank, you’re as quiet as a cat.” Journey made a face. “Well, as a traditional cat. Every single cat I’ve ever owned has been clinically insane and vocal about it.”
Her frenetic energy drew him in despite himself, dousing his questions for the time being, and he walked through the kitchen to the bar stools set up opposite the peninsula from where she worked. “How many cats are we talking about?”
She held up the wine bottle and set a glass in front of him when he inclined his head. “Four cats, all owned individually. The first was Cletus, which was our family cat when I was six.” The light died in her eyes, but she shook her head and poured him a healthy glass of wine. “He liked to wander the halls at night and sing the song of his people until he woke up the entire household. My father killed him, though we told Eliza that he was going on grand adventures to keep her from feeling too bad about it. She didn’t take his abandonment well, and Anderson caught her at the edge of the yard one night going out to search for him.” She poured herself a glass of wine. “Then maybe we would have lost her, too.”
Elliott killed their cat. Fuck. He tapped his finger on the marble countertop. “Lot of responsibility on two you, taking care of your younger siblings.”
She laughed. “Really, Frank? I’m pretty sure you sprang from the womb as a fully grown human being, complete with impressive walls and that exact look on your face.”
He didn’t make a habit of thinking about his childhood up until age fifteen because the betrayal lay too damn thick over everything. If his old man had been content with what they had instead of trying to expand his influence—legit motivations or not—then maybe power wouldn’t have gone to his head. Maybe he would have stayed faithful.
Or maybe it wouldn’t have mattered in the end, because the hounds of Houston would have come hunting at some point to set the balance right and remove Henry Evans from the picture, one way or another.
Frank wasn’t sure what he believed, but it was a moot point all these years later.
There was such a hopeful aura about Journey, he couldn’t shoot her down like he might have under other circumstances. “We had a dog when I was a kid. A mutt with the auspicious name of Gomez.” The dog had preceded Frank’s existence by a few years, and Gomez had become a partner in crime through all of his earliest memories. He’d buried Gomez himself when the old fellow died a peaceful death right before Frank turned twelve.
Journey’s smile went wistful. “Did you two have a lot of grand adventures?”
“They seemed like it at the time.”
“They always do.” She walked over to check on a pan of what looked like brownies and then covered them with a plastic lid.
“You know, when I told Ethan to take us to the airport, I had a specific destination in mind.” A property in Florida that he rarely visited, but kept up to date with the best security money could buy. A place he’d had every intention of convincing Journey to stay until he could deal with the growing threat back in Houston. When she finished her glass of wine in several large gulps and poured a second one, Frank considered how best to bring her around to the subject. He sighed. “Duchess…we’re in the Hamptons.”
She studied her wineglass. “Hmmm, yes.”
That wasn’t encouraging, but he couldn’t seem to leave this alone. “You went behind my back and conspired with my men to change the plans. You brought me to the Hamptons.”
“You said that already.” She sighed and set the glass down, meeting his gaze directly. “You were threatened, Frank. Because of me. He wants to kill you.” She lifted her chin, her hazel eyes blazing. “He already took too much. He’s not going to take you, too. I won’t allow it.”