All the King's Men (The Turning Series Book 1)

by Krys Janae

  “I thought you were someone else.” She said, disappointed. Danika sat there, amid the splinters and rubble with her legs crossed and her shoulders slouched. She’d been staring at the photographs in her hands for a while now, listening to the house creak, click and fall apart as it adapted to the damage.

  “Sorry to disappoint, darlin’, but I’m your white knight tonight, whether you like it or not.” Sloane stood up straight, holding the whiskey at his side. He’d kept a fair distance from her, out of arms reach but still within earshot. His silence said a hundred things, and she knew he was assessing the damage in his head. Sloane gave a descending whistle through his teeth and he clicked his tongue. “Shame. It was such a nice place too. But you can’t stay here tonight.”

  She huffed. “So, I’m homeless. Don’t you judge me.”

  “Not…” He couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re not homeless. Come stay with me.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously.”

  “And here I thought we were a little old for slumber parties.”

  “You, maybe.” Sloane waggled his eyebrows.

  “Ugh. Can we at least paint our nails before the pillow fight?” Her smile faded, and she shook her head. Everything around her looked so irreparable, damage done far beyond what had happened before. Everywhere she looked there were memories of Charlie invading her most private space, catching her in her most vulnerable state, and comforting her when she faced her emotions about Carter. “I thought Anon’s job was to fix this shit.”

  “No, the job was to divert the police. They’re good at what they do.”

  “Cleaning up our messes?”

  “And then some.” He grinned, a hint of pride in his obscure and secretive contact. “They can pretty much do anything, sneaky bastards. You’ll get your place back, but not tonight. Gonna pony up the dough for the repairs and they’ll restore it to its former glory.”

  While she was still unsure of how Anon actually functioned, she left that trust in her old friend. From what she’d been told, the service was made to assist with Powered missteps and events that threatened their coexistence alongside the norm. Much like what Charlie did when they fought for the first time in her home, Anon could fix anything, clean any mess, create diversions and distractions, and make sure nothing escalated to the authorities or the press. Simple concept of anonymity.

  “Sooo…Do you need to pack a bag or anything?” Sloane asked.

  Danika cast her side-eye at the bottle of whiskey he placed between them like one of those dividers placed between two kids dancing at a church function. He’d learned not to get too close to her without permission or without bearing gifts, but he took her silence as cue that she was pleased with his offering. Still, she chortled at the appearance of the bottle. She still clung to the mementos in her grasp since he’d walked in. Danika let all laughter and banter fade as she zoned in on the items in hand. Photographs, mostly. She mumbled something under her breath.

  He’d at least waited an appropriate amount of time before nudging her gently. “Huh? What do you say, Dani?”

  She sighed, heavily. “I’m not sleeping with you Sloane.”

  “Who said anything about sleeping with me? I have furniture that isn’t…” He walked over and traced his hand over what remained of the couch, up the arm, over the back and through the giant gaping hole in the back of it. “Dani, I have furniture.” Sloane bent down and picked up her gym bag that was sitting beside the corpse of the couch. “Honest to goodness, we’ll be in separate beds, we’ll be in separate rooms if that’s what you want. But you’re coming with me.” He was just shy of pretty-please with a cherry on top when she finally looked up at him, with his puppy dog face and those gleaming blue eyes hardly anyone could say no to—well, apart from her.

  As soon as Danika started to gripe, maybe object to the idea, she threw her hands up to catch the duffel bag that was sent hurtling through the air before it would have hit her right in the face. He knew she was going to refuse.

  “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Danika gave a lengthy, exasperated sigh, and caved. This situation was less than ideal but right now, it was all she had. She sure as hell didn’t want to stick around if Dmitri was going to blast his way through with that noggin of his. Sloane was offering out of the goodness of his heart, so that spoke volumes to her.

  Once she made it to her room, Danika threw open the closet doors. Not much in here had been touched or destroyed, just a few clothes torn from their hangers were splayed on the floor and drawers were rummaged through. She was annoyed that whatever jewelry or makeup she did have on her vanity was thrown down, stepped on or smeared into the expensive throw rug she had running across the wood floor, but that didn’t matter. That could be replaced. Most of her memories could not, and Charlie wouldn’t be coming around any time soon to fix it with whatever voodoo magic he had up his sleeve.

  Danika threw a couple of outfits in her bag and whatever else she could find like toiletries, essentials and whatnot that wasn’t torn or burnt, and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from her nightstand, which made Sloane laugh from his spot in the doorway.

  “I just brought some, and I have other stuff at home if you—”

  Danika glared at him.

  “Alright, geez, you win. Bring all of it.”

  “You drive.”

  He bowed and said: “As you wish.”

  The broken door would have slammed shut if it had its latch still intact, but instead it just lightly shut and bounced back open since she’d pulled it too hard.

  Goodbye for now, she thought, as they walked away from her safe haven. Of course, it wasn’t as safe as she wanted it to be, anymore.

  Sloane carted around in a 2-door speedster he’d recently restored. It was a fairly quiet engine for a classic model, but when he tried to initiate some conversation, she opted to turning on his radio to near full blast. Danika preferred being serenaded by the hum and rumble of an old engine, but if he insisted on conversation she would rather listen to his crappy selection of tunes on the satellite radio than chit chat. A while back, she would have thrown herself from a building before accepting an offer to sleep under the same roof as Ian Sloane.

  After a twenty-minute drive out (which to Danika felt more like forty-five minutes, and probably would have been if Sloan had driven at legal speeds), they pulled up to Ian’s place. She practically jumped from the car before he threw it in park, as she didn’t want to be confined to the moving metal death box for any longer than necessary. It was fairly dark when she stepped out onto the gravel driveway. Danika assumed he’d lived in was a rotting apartment on the lower west side of the city, struggling to get by. However, he’d taken her near the city limits, in a rural part of Augusta she hadn’t seen before. Sloane’s humble abode was more of a palace, something on the cover of a home decorating magazine.

  “Jeeeeesus.” She whistled. “Looks like I’m in the wrong business.”

  Sloane was a bit shy of smug when he grinned, but he was amused by her reaction. He even grabbed her bag for her out of the backseat and bumped the doors locked as they entered through the garage. “Right through here, m’lady.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  *

  After Danika was as comfortable as she could be in her new, fancy, and foreign surroundings, she took a moment to contemplate the events of the evening. The living room wasn’t quite like hers, but it would do. The couch was well-cushioned, unlike the one she used to have at home.

  Used to. Ugh.

  Danika needed to stop thinking about her place, dwelling on things she couldn’t change. She figured she’d be able to relax more by considering this as a hotel stay instead of what it actually was, though she’d never been in any hotel where she slept on a couch. Closing her eyes, she let the tranquil waves of warmth sweep over her, serenaded by the crackling sound of the flames as they brushed over the fresh log Sloane had thrown into the pit. She pulled a breath in throug
h her nose and out through her mouth, before taking another sip of the whiskey she’d brought from home, a little nightcap to lull her to sleep. She held the glass in her hand, tucked it in her lap, and leaned her head back on the couch again.

  Here she was, in Ian Sloane’s lair, spending the night. What the hell?

  “Room for one more?” A voice called from the doorway behind her. “Don’t suppose you can spare any of that for your favorite friend?”

  Danika wasn’t too much of a high-maintenance, hair and make-up everyday type, but part of her disliked he was seeing her at her most bare, exposed without that painted mask or fancy hair. Then again, she knew that Ian had seen her at her worst, so Danika decided she didn’t care anymore. Hair up in a messy bun, dressed down to a pair of yoga pants and a baggy tee, she felt like a heap of shit just drinking there in the dark. She didn’t even have to turn and look, she just pointed to the end table on the other side of the couch to her left, which made him laugh quite a bit. “What?”

  “I’m not sure if I should just be flattered you thought to pour me one or if I’m creeped out that you knew I was coming.”

  “I know you better than you know you, Sloane.” She snickered, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  “It’s true.”

  “Also, I can smell you a mile out. It’s how I recognized you at the Billings’ place. Not like you have any servants in this two-story monstrosity but it’s been a whole year and you didn’t bother to change your damn cologne.” Danika smirked, casting a glance over her shoulder at him.

  He pouted, pushing his lips out like an ornery child. “I thought you liked it?”

  Danika chuckled. “I like that you don’t smell like shit—but I must request that you don’t bathe in it?”

  Sloane plopped down into his seat on the other end of the couch and exhaled. He left the glass where it was for now, because he just wanted to let the relaxation settle in. “Hey, you ever wonder what life would be like if there was no Turning?”

  “Every day.” Danika replied, glumly. The trickle of Powered incidents was rough enough on society, but when their rapture came, the Turning, it destroyed her family and ruined her life. “Even with the Registry they treated us like fucking animals. Registry centers? Yeah. They can fuck themselves. Just glad the movement to shoot us all with trackers or barcodes didn’t go through. That would have been some shit.” The registration centers set up by the feds made things embarrassing at first but even with the acceptance of the Powered, the degradation never faded. Danika shook her head, and after a sip of her drink, turned to look at him again. “What about you? You wonder what it would be like without the mean machine stuffed into that head-box of yours?”

  Sloane stared somewhere in front of him, contemplating her choice words. The demon in his mind, as he often referred to it, was both a blessing and a curse. “Yeah.”

  “If not for Augusta… if not for this Alliance bullshit, if we could travel the way we wanted without those pre-screens? Where would you see yourself?” She asked.

  “Damn, I didn’t think this was gonna be one of those conversations.” Sloane finally grabbed his drink and took a gulp from it. “Are you interviewing me for something, Ms. Carlisle?”

  “Just a question.”

  Sloane shrugged, with smiling eyes, deciding he’d play along. “Ah hey, why not? Let’s see. Where would I see myself… Cabin in the woods up north where it gets really chilly so there’s snow-days and not a lot of people around, or no-no—probably sipping on a drink beachside, on ice with the little umbrella in it?”

  “You always did love those cabana chicks.” Danika shook her head.

  “Did? I still do.”

  “Of course, you do. Perv.”

  “Hey, you asked.”

  The two of them laughed.

  Back in the day, their group was a mixed little bag: she was the outspoken brat, strong-willed, hard-headed. Frost was the no-nonsense ball of sass and class, and always on point with orders. Carter was the pretty boy who always went by the books, a paint-by-numbers superhero. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, and just overall helpful to anyone and everyone. Sloane was the playboy, always charmed the ladies. His roguish habits got them into hot water with Morgan from time to time but they made it work and he kept them on their toes.

  Danika realized that was probably why he was so jealous that Charlie got to take point at the Grand Regal Gala…

  Charlie’s face flashed in her mind and her expression sank into something more serious and stoic than before when they were chatting about their fantasy getaways. A new thought was plaguing her, making her question what she knew of Charlie all over again. Did they really take him, or did he just take off?

  She scoffed, “Dammit.”

  “What’s up?” Sloane was lost somewhere in a daze, probably on that beach with a cocktail and a side of cabana chick. He turned to her and she had his full attention.

  Danika looked over at him with saddened eyes. “I can’t believe I let him in. I let someone in, do you understand what that means?”

  A faint smirk tugged the corner of his lips, “I do. It means you’re finally learning to have more friends that aren’t named Jack Daniels? Or Jose or Tito?”

  Danika was up and away from the couch at once. She paced back and forth, and she felt every fiber of the expensive throw rug under her bare feet. “Ian—H-he lied. He lied to all of us. Tried to give me some flimsy as shit apology about not knowing but…”

  “Did he actually lie?” When Danika looked at him, he had his hands up at his sides to show he was not in this to fight. Sloane, for the first time in a while, was just trying to be the word of reason. “I mean, you know me. I was the one coming to you with the concerns over the new kid in school trying to take the lead, remember? So, far be it for me to defend him, right?”

  Danika nodded. The hotel and the time he visited her at the Ward; both involved conversations they’d had about Charlie’s involvement and accelerated positioning with the Alliance, so she knew he wasn’t necessarily on his side. “Yeah. He used us, and I should have seen it, I should have seen all of this…”

  “Look, you’re not Callista, and even she didn’t realize a lot of that bullshit, so he must have a really good knack for evading psychics or maybe he really did have no idea. He was adopted, you saw the paperwork, he had no known ties to that asshole, King, as a child. Went to school, yadda yadda, graduated summa cum laude, some typical frat bro who just made junior partner at a prestigious firm.”

  “That last part doesn’t sound fishy to you?” Danika swirled the liquid in her glass.

  “What, that he worked his ass off to get where he is? Hey, I might not trust the kid either but he did that on his own, and right now he’s got it made.” Sloane put his hands behind his head and leaned back, and crossed his legs at the ankles as he stretched out.

  “Shit.” Danika made a sour face and shook her head in disapproval. She wasn’t sure what sort of affirmation she was looking for here with Sloane but at least she was getting her thoughts out in the open, no matter how fragmented it was. “After all this, Morgan still trusts him—he thinks if we find him that he’ll be of some use to us, to get to his father and I just…”

  “What?”

  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “I know, Dan. I know.” Sloane sensed her discomfort, but he sighed. What was there to say to someone with this much paranoia? “Like I said, I don’t care for him too much either but your uncle believes he’s a good asset to the team. Trust me, I tried to shake that faith but he’s pretty stubborn, like someone I know.” he nudged Danika to lighten the mood, or ease the burden perhaps. “Yeah, he’s going to help us get closer to outing King—Callie even told me that she read him and as far as she can see, there was no intention of deceit.”

  “That you know of…or that she knows of, like you said, what if he has a knack for deflecting that?” Danika paused. “Wait, weren’t you the one who kept cornering me in your silence-co
nes? Were you just testing me or am I actually hearing that you trust someone other than yourself?”

  Sloane chuckled, the blue of his eyes still bright in the dim light of the room. “I trust you.”

  “Fantastic. I’d say the same if you would just stop being dodgy.” She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, forget I brought it up.”

  “Dan, chill out for like five seconds and just listen to me, yeah? Morgan believes in Charles the same way he believed in Carter. I can see it, and had to learn to deal with it because, bitch and moan all I want, at the end of the day, Morgan’s still leading and I’m still following.”

  There was a dichotomy with Carter and Charlie, one seen by Danika, and the line was blurred by people like Morgan, Frost, or even Sloane. All three of them saw the men in different ways, but somehow their opinions met in the middle. All this time she didn’t think there was any comparison between them, but it hit her like a semi going ninety on the expressway. They were very much the same.

  “Goddammit.” She sighed and sat down on the couch again, this time taking the middle seat, a little closer to Sloane. Danika sat straight against the back of the couch, one hand resting flat on her thigh and the other still clutching her tumbler. It wasn’t until she felt the arm curl around her that she relaxed some, and that stiffness dissolved as she leaned into it.

  “Your man Carter? He was a good one.” Sloane and Carter were good friends and solid partners back when they ran together; people would think they were brothers if they didn’t know any better. He swallowed and solemnly added, “I’m sorry.”

  And there it was…two years in the making—and even after the words left his mouth and floated into the space between them, Danika wasn’t satisfied.

  “I don’t…I don’t need your sorry, Sloane, I was just venting about someone you and everyone else seems to want to compare to him and—Goddammit, where the hell were you when Carter…” She pushed against him, a weak smack against his chest with the palm of her free hand. It might have been the alcohol or the sweep of emotions, but she let loose her words as she remembered her life before Monroe. Danika shrank down, pulling her knees up to her chest.