The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(62)

“Consider it done. I have a friend whose cousin works at the Cellar. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks.” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

It was time to get some answers. What the fuck was Elliott up to?





Chapter Eighteen



Eliza still wouldn’t see them. It didn’t matter how much Journey argued with the nurses and doctors, she was turned away every time.

In the end, there was nothing they could do about it.

She almost called Frank, but she was feeling too damn raw to handle the intensity that arose from being around him. Not from being around him, Jo—from being with him. It wasn’t the sex that changed things for them. It was the fact that she’d ripped herself open in front of him time and time again and it didn’t seem to faze him or make him think less of her. Journey didn’t know how to handle that. Frank was so damn overwhelming, and it would be so incredibly easy to just roll with it and let him guide them to wherever he wanted to go.

She couldn’t.

She refused to.

The one thing she needed most was control, and it was the one thing neither of them had around each other.

She called Samara instead. Her friend arrived in record time, and Journey barely waited for the car to slow for her to jump into the passenger seat. She frowned at the buttery-soft leather. “Wait a minute—you don’t have a car.”

“Correction—I didn’t have a car. But since I’m driving out to Thistledown Villa a couple times a week and Beckett and I have such insane schedules, I bit the bullet and bought one.” She checked her blind spot and pulled into traffic. “How’s Eliza?”

“She won’t see us. Not even Bellamy.” She crossed her arms over her chest and slouched deeper into the seat. “He’s crushed that she won’t let him in the room.”

“Hmm.” Samara took a turn, heading in the direction of Journey’s apartment.

“Don’t hmmm me. She’s my sister. She’s hurt and she’s vulnerable and she shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m not arguing with you.” Samara’s tone was as dry as the desert. “Though you’re obviously pissed about something. Is it a belated freak-out over Eliza or is it something else?”

Too many things to list without a couple of bottles of wine and a conversation she wasn’t sure she wanted to have. Frank knowing the truth about her history was different from telling Samara.

“Journey, you know you can talk to me, right?” Samara huffed out a breath. “Something is bothering you and has been bothering you for a long time. You’ve lost weight and you have this look in your eyes…” She pulled into the parking garage of Journey’s building. “If you don’t want to talk to me about it, I understand, but you have to talk to someone about it. I’m not going to sit here and let you waste away.”

Samara was the best of friends and Journey didn’t deserve her.

“I love you.” The words just burst out.

Samara parked. “I love you, too.”

Did she really think that Samara would look at her differently if she knew the truth? Journey closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Maybe it was time to stop treating her abusive childhood like her dirty little secret and thrust things out into the sunlight. “Can we talk? Really talk?”

“As if you have to ask.” Samara held up her phone. “Takeout?”

“Yes, please and thank you. I just need a shower and to change and then I’ll tell you everything.” They headed upstairs, and it wasn’t until Journey unlocked the door that she remembered Frank’s concern about her security. It’s fine even if whatever new upgrades he ordered haven’t been finalized yet. Frank fired the guy who let Elliott up and replaced him with someone trustworthy. The knowledge didn’t stop the small hairs from raising along the nape of her neck, but she still opened the door and stepped into her apartment.

It was untouched.

She blew out a breath. “Wait here for a second, okay?” Journey walked into the room and waited until Samara closed and locked the door behind her. Then she did a full sweep of the apartment. It didn’t take long to ensure no one was lying in wait. As best she could tell, no one had been in there since she left. She hesitated in her bedroom, and then unlocked her gun case and took out her .22. Journey had a license to carry concealed, but she rarely hauled her gun around with her.

That changed now.

She popped out the clip, checked to make sure there wasn’t a round in the chamber, each move as automatic as breathing. When she was fifteen and her grades and mental health were suffering because of nightmares, her mother dragged Journey to a private shooting range every day for a month straight. It was a nontraditional method of dealing with her fear, but learning to control her breathing and narrow her focus as she sighted down the barrel at the target had helped.

Time with her mother had helped more. That month cemented Journey’s determination to make herself a valuable asset for Kingdom Corp—for Lydia.

Satisfied everything was in working order, Journey replaced the clip and walked back into the main room to set the gun next to her purse on the kitchen island. She had a holster around here somewhere, but she’d find it later. “Okay, we’re good.”