Page 74 of The Spare (The King Dynasty #2)

Epilogue II

" H m," I frown at the open laptop on the patio table in front of me and take a sip of my coffee, watching the latest celebrity news anchor just word vomit all over my family's legacy.

I'm only watching it because it's not usual for our family to be splashed over celebrity sites as we're solidly business, not celebrity.

Every now and again I might see Teresa on during a broadcasting of some major fashion event.

But nothing like what I'm looking at now. "Typical."

“As of two days ago, a simple trip to the lobby of the revered King Dynasty building shows Mason King's finance plaque is still firmly in place next to the other businesses spanning across forty-five floors.

Mason King is the youngest son of Oligarch, Richard King, and brother to current CEO Hendrix King.

If you try to visit his former business, you will find the floor non-operational as Mason King now resides in California with his new bride, Melody King.

A simple google search shows an LLC opened under his name; however, the finance business is only but a third of what Mason ran while he was stationed in New York.

King Dynasty has sustained a staggering three-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar loss in revenue since his departure. "

I whistle, shaking my head. "Damn, that's pretty steep."

My eyebrow rises when a picture of my older brother and Maribel flashes on the screen.

"As if things weren’t bad enough, there are also reports that Richard King and his wife of forty years are on the cusp of a divorce.

Subsequently, it has not escaped our notice that Richard King’s younger brother, William, who is the current Communications Director of a charity in Italy, has taken a leave of absence and is back in New York.

One brother moves out, while another moves in.

Does this spell disaster for the King family, and what does this mean for New York society?

As we know, the King Dynasty reach spans across both business and politics, with many of the city's influential voters and heavy hitting donors to political campaigns often mirroring the Kings.” I shake my head on a muted curse.

This is why our family is being featured on a celebrity news outlet.

Fuck.

Scrubbing my hand down my face, I wish more than anything I could pick up the phone and call Richard. Mother would be utterly horrified at the King family making these sorts of headlines. I can see her rolling over in her grave right now as our family seemingly rips apart at the seams .

Unraveling the very threads she almost killed herself stitching together with her blood sweat and tears, rebuilding King Dynasty after the horrific death of her husband and the senseless murder of my sister.

My heart squeezes painfully at our misfortune splashed across every major news outlet.

The stocks consistently going down. Acquaintances I haven’t heard from in years crawl out the woodworks as news of my stay creeps into the other wealthy families’ homes, and rumblings of an imminent coup is billowing like smoke from glowing embers just waiting to ignite with real fire.

This is the last thing I need: for Richard to feel like I’m trying to trump Hendrix and take over.

I reach over for my cup of coffee but pause at the sound of the doorbell.

Seeing as I don't have staff here, I rise from the seat, tossing a heavy linen napkin left over from my breakfast on the table, and carry my coffee with me through the sliding glass doors into the penthouse.

I frown, reluctant to go see who it is since I'm not expecting visitors. Today's not the best day as I'm a bit homesick for Italy and the feel of the Mediterranean sun, so I came out here for breakfast and a bit of warmth and relaxation. I don't care to break it for an unexpected guest.

Since they now live in California, Mason and Melody graciously loaned me their place to use while I'm stationed in New York, and I've made every second I've been here these last two months since the Balducci wedding count.

Whether it's visiting with old acquaintances, or attempting to heal my relationship with my brother, I've done what I can to keep my mental health strong.

But Donna's constant rejection has been wearing at it.

The concern over my brother's mental health hasn't been helping, either .

What's worse is it's piled on top of all the issues between us, and so not only do I have to deal with Donna's rejection, I'm dealing with Richard doubling down on his disdain for me.

And now with Maribel gone, he's also suspicious I'm trying to take her from him, as if it were forty-one years ago all over again.

With so much familial strain I've been nervous at spending too much time with Hendrix, much less have enough time to get to know Mariah…

God, this family is in shambles, and I desperately wish I knew the magic phrase to fix us.

Answering the door, I pause briefly in shock. Attempting to mask it as the one person I hadn't expected to come calling comes into view.

Maximus.

Not wanting to show him my displeasure, I raise a brow and step to the side, letting the underboss in and closing the door behind him.

He walks in leisurely, like he owns the place.

And I guess as Melody's father he would feel like it.

He rakes a hand through thick, deep brown hair as he hesitates just inside the foyer, taking in the portrait of Melody and Mason posing on a beach, laughing.

I told Mason it was an odd spot to put such a picture, and he replied by saying they hung it there to always remind them to come into the house happy. The boy is wicked but sickeningly sweet sometimes, and I'm so proud of how far he's come in life.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" I ask wryly, seeing as he's not going to talk first.

He turns to face me and tilts his head. "Are you not going to offer me a seat?"

"And why should I?"

"Well, for one, it's polite." He gives me a knowing smile. "And two, because we have things to discuss. Obviously. "

I scoff, folding my arms and spreading the stance of my feet just a bit. "I have nothing to discuss with you."

"I beg to differ."

I lower my brows, but he just stands there seemingly unaffected. Holding his stare, I gesture with a hand to the kitchen where there's a small breakfast table, wondering at his lack of security.

"Where are your people?"

"Out in the foyer," he says lightly. "May I have a coffee?"

My face hardens. "Do you plan on being here for a while?" I ask in a bored tone in an attempt to let him know he's not welcome.

"However long it takes." He gives me a charming smile, and I bristle at how open and at ease he is, because deep inside I want to break his face open for having had Donna first. He's part of the reason she won't trust again.

He and the world he's connected to.

Striding over to the counter I pour him a cup of coffee, leaving it black, and then set it in front of him with a clank against the glass table top. He picks it up, takes a sip, and sighs appreciatively. "Perfect."

I'm sure it is, dick.

"Can you get to the point? I have an entire day waiting for me, and I don't want to waste it looking at you." I sit across from him and cross my arms, informing him with my body language that I'm over it. Whatever it is.

"I spoke with Donna-"

I scoff, shaking my head. The audacity.

"And she told me that she was seeing you. I wanted to ask you if that was the truth."

"It is not, no," I say simply. "Now, if that will be all?"

"No, that will not be all." He gives me another one of those smiles, and I take a deep breath, searching for calm. "She said she was seeing you, and I had every intention of informing you that I wanted to get you out of the picture."

I laugh, glancing at him in amusement. "So, you're here to kill me?"

He takes another sip and sits back, eyeing me. "No. She wants you, William. So I wouldn't dream of it."

"Thats interesting, because she has rejected every attempt for me to get close to her. The furthest she has let me in is a coffee date."

He nods thoughtfully, rubbing the rim of his cup with a forefinger.

"Not only is she scared to move on, she's also fearful of the mafia.

" He eyes me for a second, seeing too much.

"And there's the little matter of you being Richard King's brother.

Of course she's not letting you in. I haven't had any luck either, if that makes you feel better. "

I tilt my head. "So you came here to ask for my help? How bold of you."

He shakes his. "No, I came here to see if you'd be willing to indulge me in something."

Staring at him for a minute, I fight feelings of uncertainty.

Thanks to my brother's verbal lashing, and emotional and physical ostracism, I often find it hard to be in men's company.

And I don't trust his patience or how careful he's being with his words.

I feel the walls I've spent years keeping erect begin to shudder slightly with the way Maximus is so calmly regarding me.

No yelling… no evil looks, even though it's so very plain we want the same woman. Is this to be my fucking life?

Am I cursed?

Raising my brows, I take a sip of my coffee, regarding him quietly. "Go on."

"I can tell you from experience that Donna's a brat."

My inner dominant stretches and then stands to attention. Heat crawls up my neck, and a shiver flows down my spine at his words. Because brats are my absolute favorite to play with. My pleasure is slightly dampened at the reminder that he's had her first. Had a child with her.

"That's what's wrong with her," he continues. "I think she's had too much leeway. A woman like her craves a firm hand and sure guidance."

My cock thickens, and I almost purr with desire, imagining Donna under my hand, because if only this man knew what I was like in the bedroom. My tastes. I could get that woman to scream, to sing out her pleasure. Scream it.

I've imagined the woman under me more times than I care to admit. To the point I feel insane with the need.

Fucking feral with it.

And I refuse to leave New York until she lets me have it.

"She's flailing, not sure which direction to turn.

Scared to make a decision one way or another.

So…" Leaning forward, he braces thick forearms on the table and levels me with a stare so serious that if I hadn't had the background I do with my monster of a father and a stoic, no-nonsense brother, I'd be cowering. "I say we make her choose."

"Between us?"

He nods. My interest is piqued. I stare at him for a second, seeing his demeanor is open. He's serious.

Well, what's a friendly competition?

"It'll never work here in New York; she's got too many places to run. Too many resources with the King family."

He nods. "Well, we'll have to take her somewhere if we're to do this the right way."

I smile. "I live in a different country. Does Italy sound stimulating to you? "

"Maybe in the beginning. She won't want to be that far from the girls and the babies for that long, I wouldn't think.

" He thrums his fingers on the table top.

"I've got a property out that way. It's unoccupied at the moment because I've been busy with my nephew, but I can have it staffed and running soon.

Roughly around three weeks, give or take. "

"Hm." I avert my gaze to the floor-to-ceiling windows, contemplatively.

"Who gets her first?"

I throw him an irritated look. "Whoever manages to get her first."

He clears his throat and then sips his drink. "So, how dirty are we willing to fight?"

A wicked grin tips my lips. "Dirty as I want. Has anyone ever told you how the Kings procure their spouses?" I ask slowly, bringing my eyes back to his.

He gets a wicked grin and shakes his head. "No, but this sounds really interesting."

I smile back, elated at a challenge. "You got time?"

Crossing his legs, he sits back and takes another sip of his coffee. "I got all the time in the world, friend." His eyes narrow. "Only one problem, though: She's a fighter; from memory I can tell you she hits hard, like a man."

Leaning forward, I feel a wicked smile curve my lips. "That's never bothered me any. Does it bother you?"

He sips his coffee and a muscle clenches in his jaw. "Never. I like 'em rough."

"As do I." I chuckle and tip my cup at him. "May the best man win."