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  King

  An Impossible Novel

  By Julia Sykes

  © November 2014

  For Eva

  Impossible Series Reading Order

  While the books in the Impossible Series can be read as standalone romances, the following is the suggested reading order for the stories:

  Impossible: The Original Trilogy (Monster, Traitor, and Avenger)

  Impossible: The Companion Trilogy (Sean’s POV)

  Savior (An Impossible Novel)

  Rogue (An Impossible Novel)

  Knight (An Impossible Novel)

  Mentor (An Impossible Novella)

  Master (An Impossible Novel)

  King (An Impossible Novel)

  Please note that the events in King take place concurrently with those in Savior, Rogue, and Knight.

  Chapter 1

  Charlotte

  My dad was a real asshole. I knew full well that Jonas Carter was a drug dealer, a murderer, and an abusive bastard. And yet I was walking toward him, yearning for the slim promise of affection he offered me.

  “Charlotte!” He grinned his cruelly perfect grin and opened his arms to welcome me. Such a bad man shouldn’t be allowed to look so innocuous. His shoulder-length brown hair had mostly turned to steel grey since the last time I had seen him, but the signs of age suited him. The crow’s feet around his dark eyes made him seem kinder; the way they crinkled made his smile deceptively warm.

  I tentatively stepped into his arms. The feel of them closing around me was perversely comforting. It was the fulfillment of a little girl’s desires that I couldn’t quite manage to shake, even after twenty-one years of emotional and physical pain.

  “What are you doing here?” My brother’s voice was completely devoid of the usual kindness he showed me. I pulled out of my father’s arms, turning a guilty glance at Derek. One look at his square, clenched jaw and flashing gold eyes had me staring at the floor as though I had been caught doing something shameful. Derek hated Jonas, and rightly so.

  Jonas’ smile sharpened when he turned it on my brother. The animosity between the two was too deep-seated to be fully masked by my father’s suave demeanor.

  “I thought we could have a little family reunion,” he said smoothly.

  “You thought wrong,” Derek growled. “You wouldn’t be here unless you wanted something. Tell me what it is so I can kick your pathetic ass out of my club.”

  The smile didn’t slip from Jonas’ face in the wake of Derek’s overt aggression. “You’re right. I do want something. First, let me introduce you to my friends.”

  “I’m not interested in meeting your friends. Get the fuck out.” Derek took a menacing step toward Jonas.

  My father went from smoothly cordial to coldly threatening in the space of a second. His hand closed around my upper arm, and I gasped as he jerked my body up against his. Something hard pressed against my ribs. Derek froze.

  Confusion solidified to fear when I looked down. My father was holding a gun to my side.

  “Dad?” My voice trembled with incredulity.

  “Be a good girl and shut up, sweetie.” His tone was casual, but the unyielding metal pressed into me in reprimand. I winced, but I didn’t dare make a sound. Jonas kept his attention on Derek, whose muscles were bulging with silent rage. “My friends are waiting outside,” he informed my brother. “Let them in.”

  Derek hesitated, and Jonas’ hand tightened to a vice around my arm. I sucked in a pained breath.

  “Do what I say, or I’ll hurt her. You know I’ll do it.”

  My stomach dropped. How could I have thought Dad had changed for even a moment? Even though the FBI had recently destroyed his life by taking out his precious Irish Mob, he was still a Westie. He was still the abusive, ruthless man he had always been.

  Cold coiled in my gut as I realized the worst was yet to come. He had planned this trap for Derek and me. I cursed myself for leaving my apartment. If only I had stayed in my cushy, safe little world at Hudson University, my father wouldn’t be using me to get to Derek.

  “I’m sorry.” I mouthed the words. I knew better than to speak when my father told me to shut up.

  Derek’s nostrils flared, and he tore his eyes from mine. He steps were stilted, but he crossed the bar to open the door. He loved his club, and it must be killing him to have Jonas using it as his battleground. But he loved me more.

  The latch clicked back, but Derek’s hulking body blocked the open doorway. “We’re closed. Go away.”

  “Let them in, Derek.” Jonas’ command lashed across the empty club. The gun drove further into my ribs, and I couldn’t stop the small whimper that slipped through my clenched teeth. Derek’s shoulders stiffened at the sound, and he took a step back to admit the strangers.

  The first man nearly body-checked Derek, physically shoving him aside. His lips were twisted in a cruel sneer. The flash of his white teeth was made all the more striking by the dark tattoos that swirled up his neck, extending over his jaw.

  Four equally hard-looking men followed him in, walking past Derek as though he wasn’t even there. Five pairs of dark eyes riveted on me, and I couldn’t help shrinking back against my father. Even though he held a gun on me, the familiar danger was less frightening than the unknown threat posed by the strangers.

  Taking a deep breath, I gave voice to what I hoped was the truth. “Let me go, Dad.” I managed to speak steadily to my father while keeping a wary eye on the heavy-set men who had come to a stop just a few feet away from us. “We both know you won’t kill me.”

  “No,” my father agreed. “I won’t kill you, sweetie. That would be a waste.” He released my arm to grab my wrist. The gun shifted so that the barrel rested against my palm. “But I will blow a hole through your pretty little hands if you don’t shut up. Or I could take out your kneecaps. I don’t need you whole for this deal.”

  “Let her go, Jonas,” Derek barked. “Whatever it is you want, deal with me. Leave Charlotte out of this.”

  For one sick, selfish moment, I wished my big brother would just take care of this. I wanted to run away from the club and leave him to deal with all the danger. My hand trembled against the gun, but I didn’t dare move away.

  “I will deal with you, but she’s not leaving,” Jonas declared.

  “I don’t give a shit about your family issues,” the tattooed man spoke for the first time. The words came out in a heavily accented rumble. “What do you want, Carter? You said you have something to offer us. If you lied, your daughter won’t be the only one who gets kneecapped.”

  Jonas’ fist left my wrist to tangle in my hair, pulling until my back arched and I was forced up onto my toes.

  “I have my daughter to offer you, Ortiz. I’ll give her to you as a show of good faith. In return, all I ask is that you allow me to work with you.”

  Ortiz’s eyes raked over me. I became sickeningly aware of how the position Jonas had put me in thrust my breasts out. I wanted to struggle, to scream out my fear and rage and hurt at his betrayal. But I knew fighting would just earn me pain. Obedience to my father’s will was deeply ingrained.

  “And why would a Westie want to join with the Latin Kings?” Ortiz asked skeptically, his eyes never leaving me.

  “The Westies are gone, and you know it,” Jonas’ words were bitter. “I need a new home.”

  “And why should we trust you? You are an enemy.”

  “I never acted against your tribe,” Jonas said. “And I no longer owe allegiance to the Westies. Besides, I have more to offer you.” He jerked his chin toward Derek, who stood just behind the Kings. “My son’s club. You can use it to move your product.”

  “Like fuck they will!” Derek’s muscles rippled with his fury.

  Jonas tutted, and the click of the gun being c
ocked echoed throughout the bar. “I won’t remind you to behave again,” he informed my brother. “Keep quiet while I do my business. You remember how this goes.”

  Derek ground his teeth, but he managed to rein in his rage and bite his tongue. He wouldn’t risk me, even if it meant losing everything he had built for himself.

  Ortiz spat. “Why would we want it? A fucked up place like this probably gets checked by the cops every week.” He gestured toward the kinky apparatuses that filled the space beyond the bar. I had been careful not to look at them; the knowledge that my brother used them weirded me out, even if I was proud of him. Decadence was a BDSM club. I could understand why Ortiz saw risks in my father’s offer.

  “This place has never been raided,” Jonas assured him. “I have it on good authority that my son has connections to members of law enforcement. They would never allow the NYPD to look into the club.”

  Ortiz shot a glance at Derek. “And you agree to this?”

  “If he doesn’t want his sister to suffer, he’ll do whatever you want,” Jonas spoke before Derek could respond. “That’s why she’s part of the deal. You get her and a new territory. I’ll give you my family in exchange for being welcomed into yours.”

  The smile Ortiz turned on me made my stomach twist. It pushed me over the edge of sensibility and straight into panic.

  “Dad! You can’t do this! You can’t just trade me like some whore!”

  Jonas fired into the ceiling, and a deafening report rent the air. My shriek was drowned by the ringing in my ears. The threat was clear: defy him, and the next bullet would cause me real pain.

  One of the Kings who had been silent up to that point stepped forward, his face drawn down in anger. “If you damage her, I’m not interested. We won’t have a deal.” His dark eyes glared daggers at Jonas, and his strong jaw firmed. My belly quivered as reality began to sink in. This terrifying man wanted me. My father was going to hand me over to him as though I was nothing more than flesh to be traded.

  Ortiz raised a brow at the man, somehow making the gesture seem menacing rather than inquisitive. He said something in Spanish that I couldn’t understand, but his tone was one of derision. I did manage to catch the man’s name, because Ortiz spat it out like a curse: Santiago.

  Santiago’s fists curled at his sides, and he replied in English. “You take the club, I’ll take her.”

  Ortiz got right up in his face, but Santiago didn’t back down. Within seconds, the violence began. The men moved so fast, I couldn’t be sure who threw the first punch. Their blows were brutal, and the sickening smack of flesh hitting flesh mingled with grunts of pain. Santiago tackled Ortiz to the ground, and the two men grappled for dominance. Blood splattered across the floor. I found myself praying that they would kill each other. Then maybe the other Kings would leave, and I could go back to school and pretend none of this had ever happened.

  But I wasn’t that lucky. Santiago got the upper hand, and his fist slammed into Ortiz’s face repeatedly. For the space of a few seconds, I thought he really might kill Ortiz. The other Kings simply watched with mild interest; none of them made a move to save their apparent leader.

  When Ortiz went completely still, Santiago’s blows stopped. He pushed to his feet, his chest heaving. My knees went weak when he turned to me. Blood trickled from a cut above his eye, accentuating the savagery of his expression. There was something more than bloodlust in his eyes, something far more terrifying: possessiveness. He had fought for me. He had bled for me. And he had won.

  Stark fear drove all sense of self-preservation from my mind. All I knew was I couldn’t leave with this violent man.

  Forgetting the danger of Jonas’ gun, I wrenched out of his grip. Some of my fine dark hair ripped away in his fist, but I ignored it. I wanted to hurt him like he was hurting me. He barely had time to register surprise before my arm snapped forward and my fist landed squarely on his jaw.

  He didn’t even flinch. I had a moment to take in his small frown before pain burst across my skull. Sheet lightning lit up my vision, and I didn’t feel my body collide with the floor. I blinked up at my father, feeling strangely detached as I took in the blood on his gun. Something warm and wet trickled across my scalp. My brother’s furious roar mingled with angry, rapid-fire Spanish.

  Santiago appeared above me, advancing on Jonas. A sliver of fear entered my father’s eyes when he glanced at the King’s fists. They were still bloody from beating Ortiz. Jonas’ hands went up in a placating gesture, and he started backing away.

  Then Santiago’s dark eyes were staring down at me. They were almost completely hooded by his drawn brows. Shadows pooled beneath them. They gathered beneath his high cheekbones as well, and the image of a skull flashed across my addled mind. He was the Reaper, coming to steal my life away.

  He dropped to one knee, and his arms snaked beneath my body. I wanted to run, to scream. But my body refused to cooperate, and only a small sound of protest eased up the back of my throat. His expression twisted into something I couldn’t understand.

  He lifted me up, and my head lolled back. Pain burst across my mind. Fear was the last thing I knew before the world spun out of existence.

  Chapter 2

  With consciousness came pain, and with pain came a flood of horrific memories. For a few seconds, I tried to convince myself it had all been a nightmare. My father hadn’t really sold me to the Latin Kings. He hadn’t really threatened to shoot me if I didn’t cooperate.

  But the throbbing in my head told me otherwise. Jonas had hit me before, but never like this. I remembered the blood smeared on his gun, the warmth trickling through my hair. And I remembered the terrifying strength of the arms that had closed around me, lifting me as though I weighed nothing.

  I opened my eyes, but closed them before the world could swim into focus. Even the fluttering of my eyelids was a more jarring movement than my head could handle. I inhaled deeply, trying to still the spinning. My senses were flooded with a scent that was somehow deep and rough. It was decidedly masculine, and far too pervasive. As was the heat at my side.

  A shot of defensive adrenaline helped me overcome the pain that accompanied opening my eyes. My body perceived a threat. I couldn’t just lie there, blind and vulnerable. Fear clogged my throat when my suspicions were confirmed; a strange man loomed over me.

  No, not entirely strange. His features were as definitive as his scent; his face was all precise angles and smooth planes. I had seen him once before. When he had beaten the shit out of Ortiz. When he had claimed me.

  As recognition hit, I flinched away. Even the slight movement made me wince, but I kept my eyes fixed on the man. Santiago.

  His lips turned downward, and my fear pulsed, keeping time with my rapid heartbeat.

  “Get away from me.” I wished my voice hadn’t wavered. I also wished he would move away. Or better yet, disappear altogether.

  Santiago remained unmoving, his fierce eyes fixed on me. They were a rich brown, but there was a darkness behind them that shook me to my core.

  “Get away from me,” I told him more firmly. I tried to prop myself up on my elbows, to gain some kind of leverage to edge away from him. His large hand was on my shoulder in an instant, holding me down.

  “Don’t move.”

  I went utterly still. I knew better than to disobey a man’s order when he had his hands on me. Fighting would just lead to pain. I had to rely on my brain and my tongue to get me out of this. My eyes darted around, taking inventory of my surroundings.

  I was in a small, shabby bedroom. The bed I was lying on took up most of the space, and a small bedside table and a dresser were crammed into the little that remained. There were two doors. One was slightly ajar, and I could see clothes inside; just a closet. The other must be my way out. It was closed.

  I shook off the despair that tickled at the edges of my mind. I had to get past the man sitting beside me if I had any hope of getting that door open.

  “Where am I?” I asked a
s calmly as I could manage.

  “My apartment.”

  A man of few words. Fucking great.

  Freaking great, I automatically corrected my internal dialogue. I wasn’t the foul-mouthed daughter of a mobster. That’s not who I am anymore, I tried to reassure myself, despite the fact that a vicious gangster was staring down at me.

  I put on my best wide-eyed, innocent expression.

  “Listen. I really should get back to my apartment. My roommate will be worried.”

  I tried to push myself up again, but his hand was a lead weight on my shoulder. His grip wasn’t harsh, simply unyielding. I read a threat in his immovable strength. His lips pressed to a thin slash.

  “I should probably go get my head checked out,” I continued in as casual a tone as I could manage. “Thanks for taking care of me.” I tried to get up again. His fingers curled around my shoulder in warning, and the heat of his hand seemed to burn into me.

  “I told you not to move. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “You know what? I’m actually feeling a lot better. I know my roommate has all sorts of painkillers. She’s a total hypochondriac. I’m sure she’ll loan me some. I’ll be cool to go to class in the morning.” I couldn’t hold back the nervous stream of words when confronted with his dark stare. Rather than filling the silence, my babbling seemed to accentuate it.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was deep, the words an absolute.

  “Dude,” I said flatly, my annoyance getting the best of me. “Let go of me.” I tried to jerk away, but all I earned myself was a scowl.

  “How many times have I told you to stay still? Do I have to tie you down?”

  I stopped moving, the heat of my anger freezing to a block of fear in the pit of my stomach. The idea of being tied to this fierce man’s bed was terrifying. My mind shied away from the sickening implications.

  To my surprise, he blew out a sigh, and his eyes cut away from mine for a moment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”