High Stakes (The Kingdom Book 2)

by Groom, Nikki

  I make a coffee, and before I can call down and order something for breakfast, there is a knock at the door, and I open it to find that breakfast has come to me.

  It’s not Anthony today though; it’s a young girl in the uniform that looks too big for her and a very nervous expression. It looks like she’s new to this job, maybe it’s even her first day, and the poor girl has been sent to the penthouse, no doubt with specific instructions to do everything right. She fiddles with her fingers, picking at the skin around her nails, just like I do when I’m nervous.

  “Good morning, miss.” She manages to push the words out, and I can see how hard it was for her. She’s really going to have to come out of her shell to work here, but I’m sure it won’t take more than a few good days and kind words.

  “Good morning.”

  “Mr. King instructed that I bring you breakfast. Where would you like it?”

  “Just over there by the table will be fine,” I instruct and take a second to look at her name tag. “Thank you, Natalie.”

  That name brings memories to the forefront of my mind. Memories I was forgetting, regardless of how long or short the time that has gone by, I was actually leaving it all behind and moving on. She reminds me of me in so many ways and I want to sit her down and tell her about everything, everything I went through, if for nothing but to make her more aware of the big wide world, and how much she needs to toughen up to survive.

  I stop the racing thoughts. I breathe and I sigh.

  Natalie stands next to the cart with eyes so wide, she looks like a stunned rabbit.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, N—” I can’t bring myself to say her name again. “Here,” I say, hurrying over to my purse and pulling out a bill for her.

  “Oh, no, miss. I couldn’t possibly. I mean, I don’t think I’m allowed,” she stutters, shuffling her feet backwards in the direction of the door.

  “Please, take it,” I say. Taking her hand in mine, I push the bill into her palm and close her fingers around it. “Is this your first day?” I ask with a smile, hoping to put her at ease a little.

  “No, it’s my third day, I’m trying to do everything right today,” she answers in a dejected voice.

  “Oh, you didn’t do everything right yesterday?”

  “I tried.” She shrugs.

  “Well, I think you’re doing a great job today. I wouldn’t tip you if you weren’t,” I reassure softy.

  “Hopefully the dragon lady will think so too, although I doubt it.” Her eyes instantly widen as she realizes she just voiced this out loud. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I’ve spoken out of turn, please don’t tell Mr. King, please, I need this job, I need it bad.”

  “Hey, calm yourself. I won’t be telling anyone anything, other than to say how good I think you are. I happen to be a friend of Mr. King and I will be sure to tell him how impressed I am, okay?”

  She nods, although the worry lines are still etched around her lips.

  “Now, you want to tell me who the dragon is, and why she’s giving you so much trouble?”

  “I really shouldn’t … I’ve been here far too long, and said far too much already. I must be going.” She scampers toward the door, leaving her trolley behind. “Damn,” she mutters, and comes racing back toward me, taking the breakfast tray and placing it on the table. “I’m sorry miss, please, enjoy your breakfast.” She pushes the trolley out the door, with her eyes downcast all the way, and she doesn’t even look up when she turns to close the door behind her. My heart hurts a little. She’s so shy, so innocent and vulnerable and I instantly feel protective over her. I want her to feel confident and special instead of timid and nervous. But, she’s not my concern. She must have a family, maybe even a boyfriend. And, I only spent a matter of minutes with her so don’t really know her at all. My hormones are running riot.

  I huff out a breath and sit at the table to eat breakfast. Pancakes with maple syrup and a bowl of fresh fruit salad. Perfect.

  When I finish the pancakes and move the plate to the side, I notice a card underneath it.

  It’s a playing card. The King of hearts.

  I twirl it between my fingers and on the reverse side is a note.

  ‘Every King needs a Queen … D x’

  I laugh out loud. He’s always thinking of me. Always letting me know he’s thinking of me.

  I eat the entire bowl of fruit salad with a smile on my face, and then take a shower. After having so much company and a permanent chaperone lately, it feels good to be able to do things on my own. Not that I don’t love spending time with Denham, Lottie and everyone else, it’s just, I need time for my mind to put things in order. Time to think logically, and make sense of the crazy occurrences that seem relentless.

  The shower makes me feel much more awake and although I promised Denham I would be wearing exactly the same as when he left, I really need to put on fresh underwear. I take out a matching set that I bought from Victoria’s Secret and smile to myself. This is going to drive him crazy! I stand in front of the mirror in the underwear, and know that I have to put the shirt back on so that it covers the bruise on my ribs. It’s blackened since yesterday but looks far worse than it feels. In fact it’s only a little tender and not nearly as bad as it looks. It frustrates me that I’ve been covered in bruises the whole time I’ve known Denham so far, and I wonder when it will end. Am I that clumsy?

  I sit at the vanity, and comb through my hair. I admire the roses in the vase, and only just notice that there’s one more than yesterday. Blood red and perfectly shaped, even the sharp curved thorn on the stem has a beauty about it. As much as I have always hated roses, knowing that they’re coming from Denham, changes my perspective. They are just a beautiful innocent flower. There’s nothing sinister about the beauty and simplicity of a rose petal. As with everything, it’s the intention behind them and in this case, it’s Denham showing me that, again, he’s thinking about me, even when he can’t be here.

  I smooth moisturizer gently over my cheeks, and it instantly gives my skin a fresh dewy glow, replacing the moisture that has been sucked out by the heat in Las Vegas.

  I take my time, just pottering around the apartment, using every minute to settle and feel relaxed. It feels good. Really good. And I think back over the short space of time that I have been here, it’s never felt any different. Even though every day seems to have brought a new challenge, for the most part, it feels right.

  I rearrange clothes, admire my new shoes, and get stupidly excited about shopping for more pairs. I hum to myself as I tidy and explore. I find myself cross-legged on the bed, flicking though my designs once again. It’s where my passion lies, and it seems to call to me when I have any amount of spare time.

  I pick up the soft lead pencil that feels so right in my hand. The same little pencil that has sketched most of these designs, and is now really too small to use but I can’t seem to part with it. Stupidly I think to myself, what if it’s the pencil that works the magic? What if I can’t sketch with a new one? I laugh to myself, what a ridiculous notion, and really the least of any worries I might have.

  I lose myself, for what might have been minutes or longer for all I know, before I’m snapped out of my little world by a knock at the door.

  I hop off the bed, and half jog through the living area toward the door. I pull it open toward me, and before I can see who’s standing on the other side, I realize I’m still only wearing underwear and Denham’s shirt. But, by now it’s far too late, and a pointed white stiletto followed by a slender, tan leg appears in the gap. As the door falls open further, my eyes travel up and take in the white shift dress, worn by none other than … Amy.

  Ugh. I actually feel the cold creep through my veins. There is nothing warm or friendly about this woman, and I struggle to see what attraction she holds for anyone.

  “Arianna, dear. It’s nice to see you again.” Amy pushes past my shoulder, inviting herself in and taking ownership of the air around us. “Although, I wasn’t expecting to see so muc
h,” she sneers, letting her eyes drift down the length of my legs.

  I stand tall, trying not to be intimidated by her, trying to stand my ground in my apartment, but instantly feeling threatened by the way her body reacts to me, and the way her gaze makes me feel cold and uncomfortable.

  She lifts her hand toward me, and tucks a long, red, predatory nail under the collar of the white shirt I am wearing, lifting it between her fingertips and gently brushing against my collarbone through the fabric as she does. It sends chills through me. She’s cold. Her aura, her demeanor, and her intentions are all icy and it radiates from her in steady pulses.

  “I bet he likes you in this. I bet he asked you to wear it, am I wrong?”

  Of course, she’s not wrong. She’s pretty much as correct as can fucking be. I swallow hard. Shards of her persona stick into me like little icy pins. Her words, like little needles of reality, stab into my veins. She knows him better than I do. She knows what he likes, and what he doesn’t. Has he asked her to wear his shirt for him? Has he told her to dress in nothing but heels and diamonds for him?

  The thoughts make me feel sick. But, I know that she’s playing me. I've seen Denham’s reaction to her. I’ve seen the contempt in his eyes when her name is mentioned, and I’ve felt the tension radiate from him when he encounters her. She’s a bitch. Pure and simple.

  How fucking dare she come in here, and make me feel like this.

  I push her arm away with the back of my hand, and pull myself as tall as I can. I still don’t match her height, but I hope she feels the pissed off vibe I’m giving her right now.

  “What do you want, Amy? If you’re looking for Denham, he’s not here ...”

  She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh Arianna, you’re such a pretty, naive little thing, do you know that?”

  She throws me off balance a little as that wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

  “You think I don’t know where he is? I always know where he is ...” She arches a brow, but doesn’t elaborate further. She waits. That pointed look is etched deep into her features and I know she’s waiting for my reaction. She thinks she’s clever, and she is … to a degree. She’s also more transparent than she would like me to think. That’s the problem with people like Amy, they get complacent. She’s had so many years of being that way, that she believes people can’t see the hollow soul beneath the layers. She can try to intimidate me as much as she likes. She can goad and push and dig away at my confidence. But, she doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know what lies beneath my layers. Every blow of the past that’s beaten me down, has also forced me to be stronger and overcome it. And that is something that she’s underestimating.

  I might not be fully healed, but the bitch in me is fighting back, and adrenaline is making me feel brave.

  “Out,” I order, nodding my head in the direction of the door. I place my hand on the edge of the door and hold it wide open.

  “I beg your pardon?” she says surprised.

  “Are you fucking deaf? I said OUT.” I keep my voice even but arm it with enough assertion that she knows I mean business.

  “But, you don’t even know what I came here for … I—”

  “I couldn’t give a flying fucking monkey what you came here for. You could have come here to tell me I’m the winner of the world’s biggest fucking lottery, and I wouldn’t care. I said get out of my apartment.” Calm. Calm with an undercurrent of pissed off. Which I would say is the most dangerous type of calm.

  She straightens her shoulders indignantly, but I watch her nostrils flare and I know I’ve gotten to her. She’s pissed off.

  “You’re making a mistake—”

  “You see, that’s where you’re wrong ...” I step toward her and raise my finger in warning. My nails aren’t designed for clawing out eyes like hers are, and I’m sure she could remove mine with one swipe, but the determination and promise in my body language, makes my posture menacing enough. “I think you’ll find it’s you that’s made the mistake, now get out.”

  The elevator bell pings and we both look out of the door to the hallway. As the door cracks open an inch, it is forced open by frantic hands, and a booted foot in the gap. Denham comes bundling out, he’s a little out of breath and has a frantic look on his face.

  “Arianna? You okay?” He crosses the hall in two strides, stops and places his hands on his hips filling the large space in the doorway. “What the fuck are you doing up here?” He spits the words toward Amy. She visibly shrinks, and I almost see something human in her. I wonder if Denham is her Achilles heel.

  Just seconds later, Spike appears in the doorway of the emergency steps. I hadn’t even noticed they were there before now, and everyone now turns to look at him. It’s almost comical. He stands in the hallway with a red face, his chest heaving with exertion and he bends down, placing his palms on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

  “For fuck’s sake, Spike,” Denham shakes his head at his little brother, then looks back at Amy and pinches the bridge of his nose, screws his eyes shut, and takes a deep breath.

  “Amy, what are you doing up here?” He repeats his question to her, but with less tolerance than last time.

  She opens her mouth to speak but I speak for her. “She was just leaving. Weren’t you, Amy?”

  Denham looks between us, just as confused as to what’s going on here as I am, but steps into my side, making room for Amy to leave.

  She regains her composure, making the slip in her mask seem like a figment of my imagination. The hard exterior is reinforced, and she’s back to the persona everyone is familiar with. She raises her finger and lightly places it at Denham’s jaw. She looks him directly in the eye, and trails her pad the length of his jawbone. His jaw twitches, then he snaps his hand up to grab her forearm. “Don't push me, Amy,” he grates out, low and threatening.

  By now, Spike has regained his breath and stands by the elevator, holding the doors open.

  “I gave you many chances, D, baby ...” Despite Denham still having a hold on her wrist, it doesn’t stop her from leaning closer into him. I immediately want to tear the hair from her pretty head, but he’s handling this and I know better than most that violence doesn’t solve anything. “I wasn’t joking before either ... about the threesome. She’s pretty, and I’ll bet she’s a screamer,” she whispers, but she does so in a way that everyone can hear.

  I actually gasp at her statement. There is nothing remotely sexual about the tension in the air, how she would even think of such things in a situation like this, is beyond my comprehension. Is she that desperate to have him that she’d do that? Would she really take him any way she could get him? He’s addictive. I get that. Maybe, like a drug addiction, the withdrawal is driving her crazy. How would a junkie react to see someone that’s high on the very substance that you crave?

  Denham adjusts his grip on her arm, and marches her toward the elevator. She digs her pointed heels into the plush carpet, and stumbles. But Denham doesn’t slow or stop. He half drags her, although she’s still upright. He lets her go with a little force, and she trips over the lip of the door.

  “Get out, Amy,” he growls. “You’re a fucking trouble maker, just go and find a life somewhere else.”

  “You forget, King. You need me. This place will crumble and fall if you don’t have me.”

  He laughs, but it’s not warm and inviting. “You think I need you? You think The Kingdom needs you? You’re wrong. So wrong. I’m buying you out, Amy.”

  “You can’t,” she fires back.

  Denham steps forward. Spike takes a step back. This is between Denham and Amy, and I almost feel like this should be done in private, but I can’t turn away.

  “No? Did you read the clauses in the contract?”

  They square off in the doorway, standing on separate thresholds but with determined looks in their eyes.

  She smiles as if she knows something no one else does, and raises her perfectly arched brows. “Did you read it through, D? A
re you sure you read every clause? Every word? Small print, baby. Small. Print.”

  She smirks, then steps back from the doors and presses the button to descend. Her smug grin is fixed until the doors slide closed, and Denham bangs the flat of his hand against them in frustration, and then puts his hands on his hips.

  “Spike, get your ass down those stairs and make sure she doesn’t leave the fucking building. It’s about time this was sorted. I want her taken to my office, but make sure there’s security. This could get ugly. Then get Dom to change all the codes on the elevators, offices, and all the doors that have the entry systems. Got it?”

  “D-Man, I just ran up ten flights of stairs to get here, are you telling me that I have to run back down them?”

  Denham thuds the elevator button with the side of his closed fist, and tries not to break out into a grin. He claps Spike on the shoulder as the doors open again “Cheers, man.”

  “You’re lucky you’re my brother,” Spike grumbles with a shake of his head.

  “I know, Spike. Now get your butt downstairs.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles under his breath. “You’re like a fuckin’ mother hen, do this, do that.”

  Denham turns to me, and smiles at his brother’s antics. But, he looks sad, tired even. There are visible lines around his eyes, and it makes me wonder just how much of a burden he carries around with him, and how much I’ve added to that.

  DAMN IF SHE DOESN’T look fucking hot in my shirt. She’s showered, so she smells edible, and after seeing her stick up for herself with Amy, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a little turned on right now. The only thing stopping me from carrying her, cave man style, into the bedroom, and showing her just how sexy she is, is the fact that I have that crazy bitch to deal with in my office. Seriously, could she fuck anything else up for me today?