King for a Day
Authors: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
Tags: #Fantasy, #dark, #Suspense, #Paranormal, #Romance, #Mimi Jean Pamfiloff, #King Trilogy
I effed up. There’s simply no other way to say it. None at all. At every turn, I made decisions I thought were right, but they weren’t. Oh God, they weren’t even close. And now he owns me. Even the dark spaces inside my head, just like he said. The irony is that there’s a line of women around the block who’d do anything to be his, but they don’t know him like I do. They don’t know who he really is. They don’t know his darkness, his ghosts, the horrors of his past that have made him into this beast with a thirst so deep, he’d kill anyone, do anything, to quench it. They only see the stunning good looks, the expensive suits…the power.
But I see him. I know everything. I know the ecstasy and the pain he’s capable of producing. I know how his lips twitch when he secretly desires to kiss me. I know the way he scratches his stubbled chin when I get under his skin and make him question that blackened heart of his.
But Lord, oh Lord, I don’t know what to do. Even if I could get away, I don’t know if I want to. I’ve fallen into his trap.
He owns me.
KING FOR A DAY
The King Series
Book Two
Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
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OTHER WORK BY MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF:
KING’S (Book 1, The King Trilogy)
FATE BOOK (a New Adult Novel)
THE ACCIDENTALLY YOURS SERIES
Accidentally in Love with…a God?
Accidentally Married to…a Vampire?
Sun God Seeks…Surrogate?
Accidentally…Evil? (a Novella)
Vampires Need Not…Apply?
Accidentally…Cimil? (a Novella)
Accidentally…Over? (Series Finale) AUGUST 2014
COMING JULY 2014
HAPPY PANTS CAFÉ (a Contemporary Romance Series)
COMING LATE 2014
KING OF ME, Book 3 of the King Trilogy
FATE BOOK 2 (a New Adult Novel)
COMING 2015
IMMORTAL MATCHMAKERS, INC.
Copyright © 2014 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Paperback
ISBN-10: 1497587867
ISBN-13: 978-1497587861
Ebook
ISBN-10: 0990304809
ISBN-13: 978-0-9903048-0-7
Cover Design by EarthlyCharms.com
Table of Contents
Dedication
To Vicki Randall.
Thank you for giving me that last push.
PROLOGUE
San Francisco.
Present Day.
Have you ever been wrong about someone? I mean, really, really wrong?
I’m not talking about guessing an age incorrectly or going out on a date with some “nice” guy you had a good feeling about, only to discover he’s a chauvinistic a-hole.
I’m talking about the kind of wrong that shatters the foundation of every belief you’ve ever had. The kind of wrong that wrings your heart bone-dry, and then infests your mind with a corrosive acid made of concentrated fear. Suddenly, you don’t know if you’ll ever breathe right again. Because if you could be wrong about this one person, then everything else in your reality is fair game. Nothing is sacred or real or unchangeable.
Have you ever been that kind of wrong?
I have. Holy hell. I’ve never been so wrong in my entire life. Because the beautiful, evil man at the center of the sloppy, tangled mess deep in my stomach is not who I thought.
Not even close.
I shook my head, mentally berating myself.
You knew something was just not right with King. But this?
I’d completely had my blinders on.
Hell, Mia. No one could have seen this coming. No one. Because it’s…fucking impossible.
Still, I couldn’t help thinking, if I’d just opened my eyes, I might’ve seen the truth.
Maybe I’d been distracted by his seductive lips or the hypnotic effect of those pale gray eyes outlined by thick, black lashes. Perhaps my attention had been hijacked by the godlike perfection of his masculine body and that deep, room-filling voice he used to control my emotions. Maybe I’d missed the truth because he scared the living hell out of me. Yes, his ferocity was a definite distraction. No man should be that lethal and powerful. No man.
And, as I read the entry of his journal while curled up on the antique leather armchair in his private chamber, two floors above his secret warehouse filled with priceless art, mystical artifacts, and hundreds of thousands of other objects he’d collected, I suddenly understood what it was all for, who he really was.
I closed the thick leather-bound book and crushed it against my chest, clenching my eyes shut, holding back the tears of horror that begged to be set free with a scream.
The man known as King, the man who was said to be able to “find anything or anyone for a price,” was so good at hunting because he had spent a lifetime searching for the one thing he needed most. It wasn’t more power or money—God knows he had enough of both to last an eternity. But what King wanted, only my death could bring.
And, dear Lord, despite every terrifying detail I now knew about the man, a tiny, sad little part of me wanted to give it to him. No one should be allowed to suffer so much in one lifetime. Not even King.
I just wished it didn’t have to end like this. Because at any moment
they
would be coming for me, and I would become the property of a man who intended to “pick the flesh from my bones.”
I dropped my face into my hands. “King,” I said with a sad breath, “if there’s any chance in hell you can hear me, I want you to know that—”
The heavy steel door to King’s chamber suddenly burst open.
“They’re here,” I whispered to myself.
CHAPTER ONE
Approximately Twenty Hours Earlier.
Key in hand, I gaped at the football-field-length warehouse overlooking the San Francisco Bay. It was six thirty in the evening, and a cool fall breeze drifted off the salty water. The street was empty but for a few plastic grocery bags rolling with the wind.
Go inside, Mia. Don’t be afraid. Nothing bad will happen
. I glanced at the ominous, oversized steel door, and then closed my eyes, trying not to let my fear send me packing. I had to do this. If there was any chance of finding King, I owed it to him to try. Didn’t I?
I shook my head and ground the ball of one foot into the dirty sidewalk. No, perhaps I didn’t. King had disappeared two weeks ago. Two. And Lord knew my life was infinitely safer without him in it, but if I didn’t help him, then who?
The other demons from hell?
Okay, he wasn’t a demon. That I knew of.
He was, however, evil and beautiful and powerful. He also demanded complete obedience from those who “worked” for him, showing no mercy for those who pissed him off. Plus, he considered me his property.
Let me repeat that: His. Property.
How was that possible? It was a long story that can be summarized in one brief, twisted, unbelievable story: my brother went missing in Mexico; my life was threatened when I went searching for him; I couldn’t get help from anyone, including the authorities. In short, King had been the only option to present itself in a moment of desperation. So I went to him, a complete stranger, begging for help, unaware that doing so would cost me dearly. “My price is you,” he’d said. What he’d really meant was that I would have to trade my life for my brother’s.
I agreed. Yes, I had been
that
desperate. And I believed, at the time, that King couldn’t possibly have been serious when he said I’d have to work for him indefinitely.
Unfortunately, he had been dead serious. What was more unfortunate, I later learned, was he not only had the power to enforce our deal, but also had abilities far beyond that of any normal person, including causing pain and death with the flick of a wrist. And let me tell you, his punishments were no picnic because he knew exactly how to get inside my head. Literally and metaphorically speaking, which was why I swore over and over again that the man was the devil himself. How else could I explain his powers?
So why would a college-educated, professional woman of twenty-six mourn the loss of a sadistic, mysterious billionaire who wanted to own and control her like an obedient pet?
Simple. But I’ll get to that in a minute.
Because at that very moment, my hand had found the courage my heart could not. It had shoved the key I’d found taped underneath a desk drawer in King’s office into the lock at the front of the warehouse. My brave, brave hand had even managed to twist the key and give the icy steel door a push.
My body became an unmovable mass, determined not to step an inch closer toward the darkness or toward the powerful, toxic cloud of death and despair lurking inside. To say the place had a bad vibe was a gross understatement.
I wondered if it wasn’t King’s body swimming in a pool of blood. After all, the man had enemies. Or perhaps King had tortured and killed people in there, leaving behind some bad juju. Or possibly the abyss before me was nothing more than an empty warehouse filled with the imprints of objects that had once occupied the space. After all, I could see such things. I was a Seer of Light.
