Can
she find a way to bring back the man he once was,
or will she have to send him
back to hell?
THE TEN CLUB
King Series #5
Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
Released Jan 31st, 2017
From
New York Times Bestseller Mimi Jean Pamfiloff…
Book #5 and the FINALE of the King Series
HE WANTS TO OWN HER. King doesn’t recall dying and he definitely doesn’t recall this feisty woman Mia who claims to be his wife. But he’s happy to make her his if she’ll be obedient and loyal. After all, a king needs a queen, and now that he’s back from the dead, this evil billionaire has big plans.
SHE WANTS HIM DEAD. Mia Turner made painful sacrifices to save the love of her life from his cursed hell. So when he promised to love and protect her always, she believed him. But after he trades his life to save his brother, she’s left all alone with a baby and a broken heart. Until he returns. Evil, more powerful, and with absolutely no memory of her.
Book #5 and the FINALE of the King Series
HE WANTS TO OWN HER. King doesn’t recall dying and he definitely doesn’t recall this feisty woman Mia who claims to be his wife. But he’s happy to make her his if she’ll be obedient and loyal. After all, a king needs a queen, and now that he’s back from the dead, this evil billionaire has big plans.
SHE WANTS HIM DEAD. Mia Turner made painful sacrifices to save the love of her life from his cursed hell. So when he promised to love and protect her always, she believed him. But after he trades his life to save his brother, she’s left all alone with a baby and a broken heart. Until he returns. Evil, more powerful, and with absolutely no memory of her.
EXCERPT
PROLOGUE
MIA
I rolled out
of bed, feeling unrested and sore and out of my mind with grief. It had been
another rough night for me, one of many to come, I assumed. But what else could
I do?
You’ll find coffee. Then you’ll try to
find a way to keep breathing.
Because that was what widows did.
As I stumbled
toward my bedroom doorway to go check on the baby, the phone rang on my
nightstand. The caller ID said Mack.
“Hello?”
“Mia, I don’t
know how to say this, but he didn’t stay dead. He’s back, but he’s not him
anymore.”
“What?” I
blinked. “Could you repeat that?”
“King is
back, Mia. And he made it clear he’s not letting me end 10 Club.”
“I’ll call
you,” I started hyperventilating, “back,” and passed out.
CHAPTER
ONE
KING
Tonight calls
for a celebration. No, it is not a birthday nor an anniversary. Men like me do
not give a dark fuck about life’s shitty little milestones. We care only for
power or money—same fucking thing. And after tonight, I will have enough of
both to break the fucking world.
“Hey, baby,”
says the topless bleach blonde rubbing her ass on my cock over my black slacks
to the beat of the music, “I’m free after work.”
“Shut up and
keep dancing.” Women like her don’t come close to doing it for me, but she is
the hottest, most expensive stripper in this private bar. A thousand dollars a
minute. It’s pocket change to me; however, everyone here tonight now wonders
why I’m treating myself.
Just as I hoped.
My eyes sweep
the smoky, dimly lit bar filled with 10 Club members sitting at little tables,
whispering in the shadows, making their deals and bartering for whatever sadistic
crap will get them off tonight—sex slaves, drugs, torture, murder, whatever.
Anything goes. Of course, they’re all talking about me, as well.
I smile and
take a long victory drag off my cigar, ceremoniously blowing the smoke into the
air above. I want them all to see me gloating. I want them talking to the other
degenerate 10 Club fucks and speculating what I am up to. Because regardless of
what it is, they’ll all want to steal it from me. They’ll all want a piece.
I’m counting on it.
“That’s enough.”
I push the blonde’s ass forward, rise from my seat, and straighten my blood red
tie. I’ve done what I came for and can already hear the phones vibrating with
speculation around the world at the hundred other 10 Club establishments like
this one. “King is here.” “Something’s
going down.” “What do you know and what’s the price?” they’re all saying.
They’ll never
guess. Not in a million years.
I toss a
thick roll of hundreds at the stripper, who goes on her hands and knees to
fetch it from the floor. I can feel her lust-filled eyes on me as I step over
her like the dog she is. After all, she’s 10 Club property, not even human in
my eyes. But she made her choice. We all have. No one is part of this
debauchery by accident. That’s not to say some aren’t backed into impossible
corners, forced to choose between things such as death or becoming part of our
secret society comprised of two levels—the powerful and the powerless.
Make that three levels. Because there’s me. At the top.
I stroll
toward the set of heavy iron doors and make my exit into the dark alley. It’s
raining and windy. Typical for a January in San Francisco. Personally, I like
the somber feel of this weather—fits my mood. Dark as fuck.
I am ten
steps from my sleek black Mercedes when I hear footsteps splashing through
puddles behind me. From the sound of the short strides, I know it’s a woman.
Fucking idiot. Doesn’t she know I despise
desperation? And I definitely don’t pay to fuck strippers who are owned by 10
Club. God only knows where that pussy’s
been.
I shake my
head, pulling my keys from my pocket, and hit the unlock button on the remote.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Not interested.”
“You’re King,
right?”
The soft
voice is unfamiliar, so I turn my head. She’s petite, blonde, and mildly
interesting to look at; however, it’s hard to tell just how interesting since
she’s wearing a garish yellow raincoat.
“Who’s
asking?” I say.
“Yes or no,”
she replies with a hint of a growl in her sweet voice.
My, my. Aren’t we a demanding little
thing? I decide to
play along. Of course, she has no clue I can snap her neck with the twitch of
my fingers.
“Let us
pretend for a moment that I have replied with a yes. What’s in it for me?” I
ask.
She steps
closer, which definitely draws my attention. Most people fear me. They don’t
know why, they often don’t even realize it, but they definitely fear me. This
one doesn’t seem afraid.
Either that or she’s too desperate to
notice she’s in the presence of something black hearted.
“They say you
are the man who can find anything or anyone for a price,” she says.
I like the
way this conversation is moving. It means she wants something, and now that the
streetlamp above has given me a better look at her luscious little lips, I’m
fairly sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.
I cock a
brow, silently urging her to continue.
“I-I need
help finding someone.”
Someone very important, I hope.
Because I think I might like to add you to my collection. I collect many things, including
people, although usually not for sex. I can get that without having to take on
the responsibility of ownership. But for
her, I might make an exception. Her wavy, shoulder-length blonde hair and
wide blue eyes are at the top of my list when it comes to turn-ons, but what
really gets me off are naivety and fearlessness. She has plenty of both.
“Go on,” I
say.
“I want you
to help me find my husband.”
Tonight just got a whole hell of a lot more interesting. Because I love taking things that don’t
belong to me, and I sure as hell love breaking a person’s soul.
I dip my head
to give her a good look. She should see the face of the man who will be fucking
her for the next few years until I grow tired of her and trade her away to
another club member, likely one of those sick fuckers who enjoys making
lampshades from women’s legs and breasts. Like I said, anything goes in 10
Club, just as long as you’ve got ten billion in the bank and money to pay your
dues—one billion a year—which buys you complete immunity from any government
anywhere in the world. Of course, we own all the governments. How do you think
so many sadistic pricks make it into office? Power and money are everything.
I lean down
and let her drink in my dark features. Yes,
look into my eyes, sweetheart. See the promise of suffering in their cold gray
depths. But as I stare back at her, there’s nothing. No fear in her eyes.
No sadness or desperation. She’s void of all emotion.
Tonight just got a whole hell of a lot less interesting. It’s
no fun for me if they’re already broken.
“Sorry. I’m
busy.” I turn away and pop open the driver-side door.
“Wait. Aren’t
you going to help me?”
“I could,” I
say blandly, sliding into the cool leather of the driver’s seat, “however, as
you’ve pointed out, I am the man who can find anyone or anything for a price. You don’t have anything I
want.”
She wedges
herself between me and the car door I’m about to close. “Name it. Name your
price, King.” She grabs my shoulder and my groin floods with heated lust. Is it
because she’s not the least bit afraid and should be? Probably. Like I said,
fearlessness and naivety make my dick hard.
I look up at
her, deciding to make an offer though I would probably be better off going home
to enjoy a bottle of expensive scotch and prepare for my dinner party. No. I
won’t be cooking or cleaning. I have slaves for such mundane bullcrap. This
preparation is something else entirely.
“My price is
you,” I say, thinking she might make an interesting toy.
She doesn’t
bat an eyelash, which is surprising. They usually look a little offended or
shocked when I tell them I’d like to own them.
“No deal,”
she says.
I shrug and
start the engine. “Then I’m afraid we must part ways. Good luck finding him.”
“I have
money. A lot of money.”
“Not
interested.” I’m already obscenely wealthy and will soon have the kinds of funds
that make or break GDPs of first world countries. Whatever cash she’s got is a
pittance.
I give her a
push and send her stumbling back so I can close the door.
“Wait!” She
gets her footing straightened out and comes at me again. I almost admire her persistence.
Almost.
“I have a
ring,” she announces. “I’m told it can keep a person from dying.”
I push back
on the heavy door to prevent it from slamming into her. She’s got my attention.
A man like me is always interested in items that bring back the dead or prevent
people from dying once I do. Especially
now.
I turn off
the engine, slowly step from the car, and look down at her as she shrinks back
a few feet. That’s when I notice something’s different about her. The light
doesn’t quite touch her, but instead reflects off a nearly undetectable sheen
of energy surrounding her.
And we’re back to a very interesting
evening, indeed. People
like her are rare. In fact, they are nearly extinct. I might have had something
to do with that, but what can I say? In my younger years, I wasn’t a fan of her
people.
“How did you
come about such an object?” I ask.
She lifts her
delicate chin defiantly. I fucking love it. She’s dancing with the devil and
showing such bravery.
“None of your
business.”
Such bravado. I chuckle. “All right then, how do
you know it works?”
“I just know.
Do we have a deal? Yes or no, King.”
That sounds
like something I might say, so I appreciate it. “I confess I am intrigued;
therefore I will say yes. However, I should warn you that welshers are shown no
mercy. If you do not deliver, for any reason, you will belong to me, and I
won’t be kind.”
The woman
freezes.
Ah, there it is. Fear. My black heart tingles with delight. Now we are getting somewhere.
“I won’t back
out,” she says. “And the ring will work.”
“Very good.”
I slide a card from the inside pocket of my coat and hand it over. “Be here
tomorrow night at eight. I’m throwing a dinner party.”
“I-I don’t
understand.”
“I’m a busy
man. You want me to find your missing husband, then we work when and where I
say. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” Of course, that’s a complete lie. I
have no intention of helping her, but she will most certainly be useful to me.
In fact, she’s exactly what I’ve been needing. Saves me the trouble of having to kill my brother’s woman. For now.
She nods in
compliance.
“Very good.
And don’t be late. Ever.” I return to my car, close the door, and restart the
engine, realizing that she’s simply standing there staring at me and that I’ve
forgotten something.
I lower the
window. “What’s your name?”
She suddenly
looks like someone has punched her in the stomach—a pained stillness in her
face, and shoulders hunched forward like she wants to be sick. I’m guessing
it’s all sinking in. Yes, sweetheart,
you’ve just made a deal with the devil. Actually, I’m worse. A thousand
times over. There is no divine creation in my past. No possibility of regaining
my wings. I am the sort of man who makes this world a horrible place to live
in.
Not even death dares to fuck with me.
I look at the
little woman, wondering what the hell she’s waiting for. “Well?”
“Mia. My name
is Mia Turner.”
Mimi Jean
Pamfiloff is
a USA Today and New York Times bestselling
romance author. Although she obtained her MBA and worked for more than fifteen
years in the corporate world, she believes that it’s never too late to come out
of the romance closet and follow your dream. Mimi lives with her Latin Lover
hubby, two pirates-in-training (their boys), and the rat terrier duo, Snowflake
and Mini Me, in Arizona. She hopes to make you laugh when you need it most and
continues to pray daily that leather pants will make a big comeback for men.
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