Just My Luck (The Kings)

The interrogation room of the Remington County Sheriff’s Office was cramped and cold. The air hung heavy with the acrid smell of stale coffee and lemon-scented cleaner. The harsh, fluorescent lighting cast a murky pallor over the worn-out linoleum floor, where I counted the scuff marks beneath the table. The cold bite of handcuffs against my wrists was the only distraction from the unforgiving metal chair.

After walking me to the interrogation room at the back of the police station, they’d deposited me into the chair and started asking questions. I offered a half-truth that Jared had been punched, and I allowed them to believe it was me who’d done it.

They determined that that made me a threat, and I was unceremoniously handcuffed and left while they figured out their next move.

I assumed making me wait was only part of their interrogation tactics.

The muted whir of a distant air conditioner provided a feeble attempt at comfort, but the oppressive atmosphere clung to the room like a heavy fog. My every breath seemed amplified in the small space, each inhale bringing with it the musky odor of anxiety. The oppressive weight of the room pressed on me as I waited, handcuffed and vulnerable.

The look on Ben’s face as they walked me away from my home played on a loop in my mind. I shifted in the uncomfortable chair, an ache settling between my ribs.

Sloane didn’t deserve this. None of them do.

Shame coursed through me as the metal hinges of the door groaned and a detective in an ill-fitting, shit-colored suit walked in.

“Mr. King.” He nodded once and looked down at the file folder in his hands.

My jaw clenched. “Am I a suspect? Am I being charged?”

His eyebrows popped up. “A suspect?” His head tilted. “For which crime, exactly?”

Fuck.

Sloane’s plea to keep my mouth shut echoed through my mind. I had the sinking feeling that something bad had happened, and I was public enemy number one. Only, this time I hadn’t actually done anything, yet it didn’t seem to make any difference at all.

I gathered my breath. “I would like to speak with my lawyer.”

The detective chuffed. “I’m sure you would.”

My brows scrunched down as I raised my head to look at him. My stomach pitched as his gaze communicated that, to him, I was nothing more than a common criminal breathing his air and taking up his space.

The room’s cold beige walls seemed to close in on me, suffocating, as if they held secrets whispered between the peeling paint and the microscopic cracks. The one-way mirror mocked my every move, a silent spectator to the tension that electrified the room. The taste of dread clung to my senses like the damp chill that permeated the air.

I had fucked up by willingly walking into the station and running my mouth. Now I was no longer able to leave on my own accord.

The electric click of the door lock drew our attention as a second officer entered. She leaned in and whispered something to the detective as he stared at me. Annoyance flickered over his features, and his gaze swept me up and down.

“You’re sure?” he asked the officer. She nodded before silently exiting. The detective slapped the folder onto the table in frustration. “Well, Mr. King . . .” The detective rounded my seat, towering over me. He reached down, slipped his hand under my biceps and yanked upward. A pinch in my shoulder screamed as I stood, my arms still locked behind my back.

At my full height, I looked down at him over my shoulder. He shook his head and reached into his pocket to pull out a set of keys. “Looks like today is your lucky day.”

Without tenderness, he jostled my arm and yanked on my handcuffs to release me. Once I was freed, I rubbed my raw wrist with my other hand.

“You’re free to go.” He gestured toward the door, but paused. “For now.”

Unease rolled through me, but I was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He led me down the hall toward the precinct’s lobby.

My steps faltered when it was not Sloane standing by the reception desk, but rather my father.

Without a hair out of place, Russell King stood eerily still, his hands clasped in front of him.

I blinked. “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here.” He turned to the detective. “Thank you, sir—for your duty and care of my son.”

I watched in shock as my father shook hands and charmed everyone in the office of the police station.

He turned to me. “Let’s get you home, son.” His hand landed in a hard thump on my shoulder as he pulled me toward the door.

I moved with wooden steps, and we walked into the sunlight. Dad’s car and driver were waiting for us. Russell King climbed in and I followed, sitting next to him in the back seat of the luxury car.

The mood shifted as soon as the door to the outside world slammed shut. “These messes of yours, Abel . . . they’re really getting to be an inconvenience.”

“I’m sorry.” My apology was so automatic it made me sick. I swallowed past the pebbles in my throat. “It was a misunderstanding. Sloane’s ex-husband was giving her and the kids some trouble. I only had a conversation with him, but—I’m working it out.”

My father laughed. “Harassing a man in a public place with the help of Sullivans? You’re better than that and you know it. We have to be smart about this, son.”

I lifted a noncommittal shoulder. I didn’t trust my father and wasn’t about to divulge my suspicions that Jared was behind the fire at the Robinson place. I was already looking into it, and knew it was going to take some time. My father was undeterred by my stony silence.

The car wove down county roads in the direction of our hometown. The closer we got, the more a hot ball of tension pinched behind my shoulder blades.

“No more outsiders, son.” It was clear from his tone that my father’s words were a warning.

I stared at my calloused hands.

His disappointed, long-suffering sigh was so familiar I could recall it in my sleep. “Did you really think a half-rate criminal like Oliver Pendergrass was going to take care of things for us?” Disdain rolled off his tongue as he scoffed. “Please.”Belonging © NôvelDram/a.Org.

How the fuck did he know about Oliver?

I struggled to maintain my composure. “I am doing what I can to figure it out. But now her ex is missing, and they’re looking at me, apparently.”

He waved a hand in the air. “He won’t be an issue anymore.”

I stared at the side of my father’s face as the car rolled down the street. “What did you do?”

My father adjusted his shirtsleeves beneath his suit jacket. “What I always do. I took care of the problem. Stop asking questions, Abel.”

Ice ran through my veins.

Like you took care of my mother?

I opened my mouth to ask—to accuse—when he stopped me.

His heavy sigh dripped with parental disappointment. “I assumed you would have learned your lesson the first time.”

My blood ran cold. “My lesson?”

Dad shifted against the leather seat. “My children don’t seem to appreciate all I do for them—the lessons I have taught. That’s my cross to bear, I suppose.” A chilling smile spread across his face. “But you learned, didn’t you? I knew a little time away would prove to you where you belong. This new, unfortunate development was just a blip, and it’s taken care of. Tell me you’ve finally learned your lesson, Abel.”

Dread and sweat prickled my hairline as realization settled over me. “It was you. You were the reason the judge was so harsh at my sentencing?”

“Harsh?” he chuffed. “You killed a child. Do you know how bad that looks?”

I blinked, unwilling to accept the truth scratching at my brain. “I fell asleep. It was an accident.”

The words felt foreign, and I waited for the inevitable shame to seep in, reminding me that I was truly a monster. Only . . . there was nothing. The pain and guilt never really subsided, but for the first time, I was starting to accept that what happened was truly an accident.

“True. It was very unfortunate.” He swallowed the word as if holding back his disgust. With a sigh, he spread his hands. “But look at you now. You’re home, running a successful business.” His shoulder bumped into mine. “You’re a King and finally acting like it—thanks to me. Though we still have to talk about your little stunt with Sloane’s trust fund. If it were anyone else who’d done that to me, things would have gone very differently, but you are my son.”

My nostrils flared. “Leave my wife out of this.”

Russell tsked his tongue. “Wife.” The word spat from his mouth like venom. “Are you still putting on that charade?” He shook his head and sighed. “As an unlikely couple, you two are pretty convincing, I’ll give you that. You’ve fully seduced Bug into thinking the marriage is real.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. “It is real. My feelings for Sloane are very real.”

My father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear, when will my children learn to stop moving through life tethered by their heartstrings?”

I barely recognized the man sitting next to me. His navy bespoke suit was a stark contrast to my simple jeans and scuffed work boots.

He sucked in a deep breath through his nose and exhaled. “To be honest, I’m quite proud. You found a way to pull the brewery out from under me.” His wink sent an oily shiver down my back. “Maybe there’s hope for you to live up to my name yet.”

Reeling, I sat against the black leather interior with closed eyes and let painful realization wash over me.

Everything in my life was made of tinder, and Russell King had lit a match.