The King Brothers Boxed Set

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  "What you want is down there."

  Twenty-Six

  STONE

  "I can't open it."

  Ariana is exhausted. What little energy she had left after working a long shift at the hospital is being drained from her because of this clusterfuck.

  "Why not?"

  "I don't have the key."

  "Well where's the fucking key?"

  He points the gun closer to her face.

  I could smash his head like a pumpkin into the concrete countertop, but that still leaves the two other dickheads with guns in their hands. I can't risk it.

  "My father is the only one with a key. I just know that the safe is down there."

  "The key's probably at her house, man." One of the other men says. I notice that he has a tattoo of a wolf on his hand. "But that shit is like thirty minutes away."

  They know a lot. Too much. They know about the safe. They know that Ariana lives with Nate. They even know where they live. This shit isn't good. I can't allow them to leave this place breathing.

  "It's not there," she says fearfully. "My father always carries it on him, and he's out of town."

  "I don't believe her."

  "Me either."

  The one in charge is thinking it over. He didn't anticipate this kink in the plan, but that's the thing about armed robbery. You always have to consider the possibilities and plan for contingencies, and even then, you're taking a huge risk.

  "Everybody up," the leader orders.

  We all stand and he has Savannah and I walk over to the trap door, making sure to put me in front.

  "Open the door," he tells me.

  I lift the trap door and find exactly what Ariana said. Steps to a dark cellar. There's a light switch at the top of the stairs and it works. Nate must come down here occasionally. At least to change the bulb. Each of us descends down the stairs, and I'm shocked at what we find when we reach the bottom.

  A safe that looks like it's the size of a fucking bank vault built into the stone wall of the basement.

  Fuck me.

  This is where he's keeping the money.

  "Sit down."

  They order all three of us to sit on the floor of the cellar while they take a look at the safe. It doesn't require a key. It's a huge combination lock. Just like you would see on an old school bank vault. Ariana has just been caught in a lie. Making our amateur thieves even angrier than they already were.

  "I thought you said this was a key lock!"

  "I thought it was," she cries. "My father told me it was."

  "You expect us to believe that shit. You've never seen this safe in your life? You knew where the trap door was."

  "I've never been down here though. He told me about the safe. Told me where it was in case something ever happened to him. But that's it."

  "How about you?" they ask Savannah.

  "I didn't even know this cellar existed, and I've worked here for years. They don't tell me shit."

  I look around and notice there are several things down here besides a safe. There are a couple of old wooden closet doors, an out of service dehumidifier, a rusted oil fuel tank, and some old copper piping left on the ground.

  I think I could take at least two of them out with one of the pipes but not all three of them. One of them would definitely have time to shoot me in the head or worse one of the girls. I need to separate these bozos, but I have to think of a smart way how and soon. There's no way they're going to get in that safe, and then they're going to be left with the task of figuring out what to do with us.

  And then serendipity strikes.

  We all hear them the moment they chime. Those idiots forgot to lock the door, and now someone has entered the shop. We hear the heavy footsteps of at least two or three booted men. Right above our heads.

  "Savannah! Where you at?!"

  The voice sounds familiar and for once I'm glad to hear it. It's Jake from the Chosen Riders and it sounds like two of his friends.

  "Fuck!" one of the masked men says.

  "Stay quiet," the leader warns us, "or you're all dead."

  Both girls look at me with desperation in their eyes. I know it's now or never. I reach for one of the copper pipes and swing around hitting the guy on me at the knees. He jerks back and his gun goes off as he falls to the floor.

  "Run!" I yell to the girls as I wrestle with the leader for his gun. He gets a good shot in and knocks me in the back of the head with the butt of his gun before I get it from him.

  Finally, I hear what I've been hoping for.

  Thunderous footsteps finding the door behind the counter and running down the steps with guns drawn. First Jake and then Max. Then two minutes later there are five more bikers behind them.

  "Put your guns down, assholes, or you die right where you stand."

  My guy stops moving and drops his gun to the ground.

  I touch the back of my head and discover blood as a result of the blow to my head; just because I'm completely furious that he got a lucky hit, I punch him dead in his face and knock him the fuck out.

  I run over to Ariana who at this point looks shell-shocked. Jake is trying to ask her questions she can't answer, while some of the other Chosen Riders tie the assailant's arms back with plastic ties and lead them up the stairs.

  "Where are they taking them?" I ask Jake.

  "Away."

  "They know where she lives," I say to him. Knowing he'll understand what that means.

  "Not anymore," he promises.

  Then I scoop Ariana up in my arms and get her the fuck out of there. I don't even give a shit about the safe or the store. I need to get my girl back home where she belongs.

  Twenty-Seven

  TINY

  MAY

  "You tired?"

  "A little. I pulled a long shift."

  It's been a few weeks since the robbery attempt at the shop and while I'm not looking over my shoulder every ten seconds like I was before, I still feel discombobulated and confused. The three of us almost lost our lives because of something they thought was in my father's safe, and he's so shook by it, that he refuses to discuss it. At least not with me. More than ever before, I want to leave this house.

  "What do you usually do to relax?"

  "You already know what I do. Cook or bake. Watch TV. Read. Sometimes I go clubbing with my friends, but that's kind of quieted down since Elizabeth got pregnant."

  "Who's Elizabeth?"

  "She's one of my closest friends from college."

  "I never hear you talk about her."

  "I've been out of touch with my friends for a while. I work a lot. I like to keep busy."

  "You're not running from me, are you?"

  I'm a nurse. I know that something's wrong with me. I've been through something traumatic, and I'm having some difficulty processing it. Not only am I shaken by the fact that I almost died in a cold, damp cellar, but when I relive the whole thing, I burst out in tears when I think about how I almost watched Stone get shot in the head. The only reason why I didn't totally lose it down there was because of the look he had on his face when that gun was being pressed into his temple.

  He was calm.

  Eerily calm.

  And in turn it gave me a sliver of hope that we could possibly make it out of there. Even if The Chosen Riders hadn't come, I know that Stone was prepared to fight each and every one of those criminals to the death if it came to that.

  "Everything isn't always about you, Stone."

  "I'm just saying. I can count on my hands the number of times you've been here in the last few weeks. You seeing somebody I don't know about?"

  I could have sworn that he just asked that with a jealous edge to his voice, but Stone always has an edge to his voice. I chalk that up to me being pathetic and hearing what I want to hear.

  "I didn't realize you were counting."

  "I think you meant to say that you didn't realize I could count."

  "I never said you were a moron."

  "T
hat was supposed to be a joke."

  "Oh, well you're not good at them. Keep practicing."

  I put down my things and begin to make myself a cup of coconut and mango herbal tea. It's one of my favorites.

  "You want some?" I ask since he seems to be watching me so intently. He's really picking up a lot of bad habits from my father.

  "No, I'm just watching."

  "Always watching," I mutter under her breath.

  "Come sit with me after you fix your tea," he orders in a deeper voice than normal.

  I kick off my shoes and enter his room with my tea cup. Slowly mixing my blossom honey in with a small spoon as I walk. It's already completely dissolved, but I'm nervous. So I stir.

  The room looks almost exactly like it did when he moved in. Clean. Neat. Sparse. The sheets on his bed are smoothed and pulled tight with military precision, two pairs of boots sit by the base of his dresser, and his small collection of clothes are hung in his closet by type and color. When he notices me looking, he pulls the sliding door completely closed.

  "What exactly happened to you?" I ask.

  "What do you mean, Ariana?"

  "How did you end up in prison."

  "I was convicted for possession and intent to distribute."

  "No, I mean what happened to you? Not what you did. How did you end up getting mixed up in drugs? Nothing about your personality seems like you would make a decision like that."

  "I needed the money."

  He motions with his hand for me to take a seat. I sit as far away from him on the brown sofa as I can. His bed looks too neat to sit on.

  "For what?"

  "What kind of a question is that. I needed it for everything. I grew up in foster care. Then Jack. He always took care of the bills. I knew a lot but not enough. I lost my way. Got in way over my head. I was desperate to save the house which went into foreclosure but the vultures were circling. The bank wanted that property. They wanted to sell it for twice what it was worth. They didn't want me to save it and they succeeded. I didn't have any decent income or credit history. I barely got out of high school when he died."

  "What about Jack's pension? The army has great benefits."

  "You had to fill out a whole bunch of paperwork. Like I said. I was grieving. I was lost. I didn't do what I needed to do, and there wasn't anyone around to ask."

  "That still doesn't seem like you."

  "You don't know me like you think you do."

  That seems like a loaded statement.

  "I don't know everything about you, but I know enough. I know that you are an observer. You watch and assess and then only make a decision after you've examined the situation. Like right now. You're calculating something in your head about this conversation. I don't know whether you're leaving something out of your story or you just told me a complete boldface lie, but there's something. I just don't have any idea what it is."

  "And how do you know that?"

  "Your stormy gray eyes give you away every time."

  Those eyes.

  He stares at me with such intensity, I start to blush.

  "You want to know what I'm thinking about right now?"

  I shake my head silently.

  He ignores me.

  "What your hair looks like out of that ponytail you wear every day."

  "I don't wear my hair out."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. It's not practical for work."

  "Take it out now," he commands.

  I take a jittery sip of my tea.

  "For what, I just–"

  "I want to see if my assumption is correct."

  "And what do you assume?"

  "That you'll look even sexier with your hair out framing your gorgeous face."

  "Stone."

  I hold onto my mug tightly as he reaches over and behind my head to pull the black piece of elastic from around my hair. He watches with rapt attention as my auburn curls fall and bounce freely around my face.

  When a genuine smile spreads across his face my head drops.

  He has a killer smile which makes warmth spread from my cheeks straight to the rapidly swelling folds between my legs.

  That's how I know I need to leave. If I stay one more minute in this room, I may not be a virgin in the morning.

  Twenty-Eight

  STONE

  I'm awestruck by her.

  Not just because she's drop-dead gorgeous, that's a given, but because it's so fucking obvious that she doesn't know it. That's what makes her even more attractive.

  She stands up to leave. To run. I'm not sure why she's so frightened. Maybe she can smell that I'm reeking of lust. That it's taking every ounce of self-control I have not to pick her up and toss her over on my bed.

  "You should wear your hair like that more often."

  "I told you, it's not practical."

  "For work but work isn't everything, Ariana."

  "Why do you always say my name like that."

  "Like what?"

  "Like I've never heard it before. Like I don't know that it's my name. Like you want to make sure that I understand how to pronounce it."

  "It's your name."

  "I'm well aware, Stone."

  "It's a beautiful name."

  She sighs as if she's exasperated.

  "Take the compliment," I tell her.

  "Thank you."

  "It's the name your parents gave you. You should use it all the time."

  "Your point?"

  "I don't like your nickname."

  "It's just a name. It doesn't mean anything."

  "It's more than that to you and you know it."

  "What are you psychoanalyzing me now, son of jack?"

  I grab her hand.

  "You're not that hard to figure out, daughter of Nate."

  "Don't use my lines."

  I chuckle.

  She pulls her hand back gently.

  "I think I should head upstairs now and crash. Good night, Stone."

  "You watch Supernatural, right?" I blurt out.

  She looks surprised by my observation.

  I don't want her to leave.

  "Sometimes."

  "What season?"

  "Are you saying that you watch Supernatural?" she asks incredulously.

  "Sit down, Ariana."

  "No, seriously."

  "Yes, I watch Supernatural. Last time I remember I think I was on season four."

  "Season four?" She chuckles. "Ha, I'm on season ten."

  "Sit. Back. Down."

  "I'm not watching season five all over again."

  "Then we can do something else."

  I grab around her waist and hold her steady in front of me, so that she can't run away.

  "What would that be?" she asks softly.

  With my hands around her diaphragm, I can feel her breaths quickening. That's how I already know the answer to the question before I ask it.

  "Are you attracted to me, Ariana?"

  "What...what are you asking me right now."

  "I asked you a simple question. Are you attracted to me?"

  "You're an attractive man, yes, but–"

  "But what?"

  "But nothing. I just...yes, you're attractive."

  "I need more specifics."

  I pull her down next to me and lift her legs across my lap. Then I start massaging her feet and calves.

  "Specifically...does this make you feel good when I touch you?"

  "I've had massages before, Stone, and yes I like them.

  I work my hands farther up her legs, kneading her thighs.

  She sucks in a deep inhalation of breath.

  "Not a massage by me. What about here? Does this feel good?"

  This is not a smart move. She's a virgin. Anything close to sexual that we do is only going to forge a stronger connection between us. One that I can't afford. But I've been thinking about doing this every night since I walked through the door, and my blue balls are the ones calling the shots right now, not my
common sense.

  Her body tenses up.

  Then that damn dog on the other side of my door starts barking. I guess she senses Ariana's anxiety. I thought Bottle and I came to an agreement that I would sneak her extra jerky treats if she would stop treating me like an intruder. I guess something got lost in translation.

  I look deep in Ariana's eyes so that she can understand me. Feel me.

  "You don't ever have to be afraid of me, Ariana. I would never hurt you. Never."

  "I'm not afraid."

  "Uh huh...how about this then. Does this still feel good?"

  My hands have moved closer between her legs. This is a no fly zone for me. Once I cross this line there's no going back. I have to live with this woman. I can't just wake up one day and pretend that it never happened. There can be no room for error on my part. But when her lips slightly part and she gasps ever so softly for me...that's when all of that shit goes out the window.

  And I go for mine.

  "How about now?" My voice descends lower. Thick with lust and desire.

  Her eyes close as I begin to massage her pussy through her scrubs. All I feel is softness and steam heat. A heady mixture that makes me want to dive in and discover what she tastes like. It's been a very long time since I've tasted a woman.

  Too long.

  It used to be one of my favorite things to do. As far as I know, I was pretty damn good at it.

  "Stone." She purrs my name in part angst and part pleasure.

  "Ariana."

  "I don't think we should."

  "I didn't ask you to think. I asked you if you're attracted to me, and I asked you if it feels good. If you can't answer those two questions, then I don't want you to say another fucking thing."

  I smile when I feel the increased wetness between her legs.

  She likes this.

  She needs this.

  Just like I do.

  She just needs a little gentle guidance to get her there.

  "You're drenched," I growl.

  Her legs tighten together. I've embarrassed her, and she's trying to keep me from further exploration, but an explorer won't be denied.