King's Baby - A Bad Boy Romance (15 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Holland

Holy
shit. I thought he knew, like I really, really thought he had figured out my
age. When he came through the bathroom door without my phone, looking so upset,
my heart nearly stopped. I still have no idea what has him so worked up, but
thank God it has nothing to do with me. I’ve got to get to my phone right now.

I’m
going to Savannah’s for a good helping of normal after this long day of being
saturated by all things King. It was beautiful, hot and sweet, but for a girl
who usually spends her afternoons cooped up in a tiny, stuffy room alone,
playing a violin, and her evenings with
school books
spread all over the bed studying, King’s attention was a complete emotional
pleasure overload.

 
Making good use of the shampoo King left
on the edge of the tub, I scrub the honey from my hair and skin before sliding
up onto the very slippery edge to sit and dry off. I need to hurry, but I’m
scared of losing my footing on the steps. With the towel tucked around my body,
I scoot to the top step and grab the rail before descending. As soon as I hit
the marble floor, I take baby steps to the door and fly down the hall to King’s
bedroom.

My
purse . . . it’s not on the floor where I left it earlier. It’s on the bed, but
I breathe a sigh of relief when it doesn’t look like he had time to search for
my phone. With my hair dripping on the face of the phone, I find Savannah on my
contact list and press
call
. When I
straighten to wait for her to pick up, I catch my reflection in the mirror
across the room. I don’t even recognize myself at first. The person I’m used to
seeing staring back at me is sweet faced and innocent; this person is
disheveled and flushed with the air of satisfaction. She’s sexy and happy, with
eyes full of maturity—nothing close to the chaste girl I was just a day
ago. My God, how did this happen?

Savannah
answers the phone in a panic. “Holland. What the fuck, why haven’t you called
your mother? She’s called me like four hundred times. I can’t hold her off any
more. You’d better do something—”

“Savannah,
stop. Shit, you’re freaking me out. Can you come get me? Please tell me your
mama left the car,” I shout, cutting her off. Savannah freezes on the other end
of the line for a moment. I never ever raise my voice.

“Oh
my God, he hurt you. If he touched a hair on your head without your permission,
I’m bringing the shotgun my daddy left me and I’m blowing his slick talking,
rich ass head clean off his shoulders. Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t cover for
you. This was such a stupid idea . . .” I let her rant and ramble while I
gather my clothes from the floor. When she’s worn herself out, I hear the
engine of her mama’s Suburban come to life in the background.

“Savannah
. . . be careful. Do you have your seatbelt on? I don’t want you driving like a
maniac.”

“You’re
worried about me? Holland, that bastard is over there . . . doing . . . I don’t
even know what, and you
wanna
know if I have a
seatbelt on? Are you still at this place?”

“I’m
fine! If you would calm down for two seconds, I’d explain. He hasn’t hurt me.
I’m perfectly fine, but he had to go out of town unexpectedly, and I forgot to
call home, so I need you to hurry up and come get me so I don’t get caught.”

“Oh.
Oh, good. Shit, I’m glad I don’t have to shoot him. He’s so pretty.”
     

I
throw my head back and laugh into the dark. She’s the only person I know who
would worry about messing up a pretty face by shooting it off.

I
hear the radio in the Durango, and the engine accelerates in the background.
She’s already on the road. I need to hurry; she’ll be here soon. I grab my
wadded up romper off the floor and toss it in my bag, and I dress in the
clothes I started my day in.

“I’m
going down to the main entrance of the club. I’ll wait for you outside,” I say,
scanning the room to be sure I have everything I came with.

“No.
It’s Saturday night, and that place is probably nuts outside. Stay inside. I’ll
call you when I’m there, and you can come down then.”

“Okay,
but hurry. My mama’s going to be knocking on your door any minute now.”
     

We
end the call, and I toss my phone into my purse and run my fingers through my
tangled hair. Crap, she’s
gonna
know something’s up if
I show up out there with wet hair and no makeup. I need a hair dryer, but that
means I’ll have to go snooping around. Do guys even own hair dryers? When I
grab my purse, I realize his bed is still a big sticky, wet mess of honey and
whipping cream. I feel bad just leaving it for him to come home to tomorrow, so
I carefully peel off the sheets and gather them into a ball, taking note of the
thin plastic sheet underneath, protecting his mattress. I wonder if that’s new
or if it’s necessary because he plays this way with other women. He said he
never let another woman into his apartment. I wonder if that’s true? It’s hard
to believe such a player would sleep alone every night in this big, beautiful bed.

I
turn and take a few steps toward the door before I unconsciously decide to go
back and strip the plastic off the bed too. I have no idea if I’m the jealous
type, but something inside of me can’t bear the thought of him messing up this
bed with anyone else, so I take it into the kitchen and stuff it into a
stainless steel trash can next to the pantry.

Laundry
room . . . where would the laundry room be? I jump out of my skin when a man
steps into the kitchen out of the shadows of the adjoining living room.

“Shit!”
I scream when I see him, and he calmly raises his hands, palms out in front of
his body.

“I’m
not coming any closer.”

“Who
are you?” I holler, but I’ve already put it together in my head before he
speaks. It’s King’s security guy, Sebastián.

“I’m
sorry, Ms. Bennett. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh
no, I’m sorry, Sebastián. I just wasn’t expecting . . . I mean, I didn’t know
you were here,” I say, clutching my chest with one hand and the wet sheets with
the other.

“Mr.
Romero’s sheets?” he asks nonchalantly, and I look down at the damp ball of
material smashed up against my body.

“Ah
. . . yes, um, I was looking for a washing machine to toss them into.” I don’t
know why I’m so uncomfortable. Sebastián knows I was here last night, and he
was helping King tonight with his magical fairyland dinner party. He knows what
we’ve been doing.

“This
way,” he says, motioning for me to follow him. On the other side of the kitchen
wall is the
fanciest
laundry room I’ve ever seen. Two
sets of washing machines and dryers on one wall, and beautiful cherry cabinetry
that matches what’s in the kitchen along the opposite wall. Marble countertops
run the length of the room, with storage bins underneath. Sebastián opens the
front-loading washing machine and removes the sheets from my hands. When he has
the load started, he turns to face me, and I see something in his eyes that
worries me. He’s about to say something that I’m positive I don’t want to hear.

“Ms.
Bennett.”

“Please
call me Holland.”

“Holland
. . . as you know, I’m head of Mr. Romero’s security team.” His tone is
serious. I nod and wait for him to go on.

“It’s
my job to keep him safe and inform him of the backgrounds of those he
associates with . . .” He pauses, and I hold my breath and start to shake my
head back and forth. He knows.

“Ms.
Bennett . . . Holland, I know that you’re only nineteen years old. You’re a
very smart, mature young lady, and I’m sure you’re aware that misrepresenting
yourself with fake identification is illegal. King’s business could be closed
down if he were caught serving alcohol to minors.

His
words hang in the air between us. I’ve been selfish by keeping my age a secret,
and I hadn’t even thought about what could happen to King if we were caught
with our fake IDs. The only repercussions I had to worry about were being
grounded or disappointing my parents. King would have to deal with the law and
codes and the courts if we were caught.

“I’m
not telling you this because I’m worried about King. I’m concerned for you, Holland.
Mr. Romero has legal representation that is quite literally above the law, so
he would never actually spend time behind bars, but you need to know that he’s
a very dangerous man, and if he finds out you’ve been lying to him he could . .
. well, let’s just say it wouldn’t be good for anyone. I haven’t told him and I
don’t plan to, but I will if you refuse to stay away from him. King isn’t just
a rich club owner. He’s a billionaire, a billionaire who inherited his father’s
empire when he died—a very illegal, dangerous empire. Do you understand
what I’m trying to tell you?”

The
only thing I really understand is that Sebastián knows I’m nineteen and he’s
not telling King, period. I can’t think past that right now. I have an instant
headache. The air in the laundry room is thick and oppressive and I need out.

“Holland?
Are you going to be all right?” Sebastián says, snapping me out of my daze. “I
need to be sure you understand how serious this is. You have to stay away from
King. Being associated with him could get you killed.”

“What?
Killed . . . but why?” I understand the problem with our age difference and
that I’ve lied to him, but why on earth would I be killed for being with him
unless . . . oh God, he said King had an
illegal
empire, didn’t he? The information starts to filter down and settle until I’m
seeing it clearly. His club is named Ecstasy. King is a drug dealer.

Oh
no, no, no, no, this isn’t happening. He can’t be. Why didn’t I see it? I’m a
smart girl. I know right from wrong, but ever since King touched me I’ve been
making terrible decisions, putting myself in dangerous situations, engaging in
extremely risky behavior, and for what?
A drug dealer.

“Drugs?”
I ask, but Sebastián just stares at me, neither confirming nor denying my
guess. That’s as good as confirming it in my mind. I drop my head back to stare
at the ceiling and hide the tears forming in my eyes. My phone pings in my
pocket, and I don’t even look to see who it is. I bolt for the door. The music
from the club blasts my ears like an atomic bomb when I open the door. I don’t
remember it being so loud last night. Everything vibrates around me—the
walls, the floor, the people . . . everything. I turn for the elevator and
someone just happens to be getting off. I race to jump in before the doors
close and pace back and forth in the small, empty space. Panic sets in. He’s a
drug dealer—a
drug dealer
. I
chew my thumbnail while Sebastián’s words bounce around in my head:
won’t tell him if I stay away, very
dangerous, I could be killed
.

My
stomach is churning when I exit the elevator. The fairytale environment from
earlier has been transformed back into the pumping dance club with wall-to-wall
people drinking, laughing and dancing. I wonder how many of them are on drugs.
If King owns clubs all over the world, this could be one of many distributing
drugs . . . more puzzle pieces slide into place. The clubs are a cover . . .

This
is all just too much. I shove through the well-dressed crowd, being groped
several times before I stumble into the lobby. Savannah is waiting in her
mama’s big, black Suburban right outside. Two bouncers sit at the door on bar
stools checking IDs. One of them spots me, and he immediately stands up to hand
the ID back to the girl in front of him while calling out my name.

“Ms.
Bennett,” he says over the noise. What does
he
want? The thought hardly registers before he’s standing right in front of me.

“Ms.
Bennett, Mr. Romero wanted me to be sure you were safe going outside tonight.
Is your ride here?”

“Uh
yeah, right there.” I point toward Savannah.

“I’ll
walk you to the car,” he says, taking a hold of my elbow.

I
step back, reclaiming the personal space that he has just invaded.

“I’m
fine. There’s no need, it’s only a few steps,” I say and start for the door
with Mr. Hot Bouncer on my heels. I ignore him, working against the line of
clubbers out front, but somehow he makes it to the car first and opens the door
to let me in. I stop short with my mouth hanging open when I see him there. I’m
irritated, but hot bouncer guy won’t even look me in the eyes now. He just
stands there holding the door, staring over my shoulder past me, until I huff
and climb in. I reach to pull it shut, but he holds it open and bends to look
past me at Savannah.

“Lock
the doors and drive safely, please. Mr. Romero wanted me to relay that message
to you.”

And
with that, he closes the door and disappears back into the club.

“What
the hell was that all about?” Savannah asks.

I
don’t even know where to begin. How am I going to tell her about this mess?
Instead of trying, I cover my eyes with my hand and cry.

“Holland?
What the fuck is going on around here? Why are you crying?” When I don’t
answer, she continues verbally dissecting what little information she has. “You
forget to call your mama, then you call me up in a panic, asking me to come get
you, but you say King hasn’t hurt you, and then some bouncer tells you to be
safe and lock the doors. What am I missing here?”