PRAISE FOR MIMI JEAN'S USA TODAY BESTSELLING KING SERIES
"Be ready for your mind to be blown and for your faith in love and destiny to be restored."--Sara, Harlequin Junkie, on Ten Club
"This story was entirely Mimi. It was snarky and entertaining and whipped me back and forth through the centuries keeping me up way past my bedtime." --Leigh, Guilty Pleasures, on Ten Club
"I am not doing this book justice here. Flawless read... Intriguing story line. Hot main male character...and strong female character." --Smart Mouth Smut
"This is the ending to the series and there are so many twists and turns that you never know what is going to happen next." --Mrs. B's Books, on Ten Club
"Mysterious and Captivating." --Book Addict Haven
"Tense, well-written. Fantastic characters. Fantastic plot that slowly reveals itself. You never know quite which way it's going to go, you just know you want to arrive with these people." --Existential Rabbit
"Heart-racing, mind-jumbling, infuriatingly-beautiful, steaming-hot and where-the-hell-is-the-next-one!" --The Book Bell
"I so love a Mimi adventure, full of drama, mystery and suspense. This book kept my attention from the very start to finish and captured my imagination fully and I loved every single minute." --Minxes Love Books
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.
"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.
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.