King (King, #1)

by T.M. Frazier

I fucked. I fought. I partied. I got wasted. I stole. I fucked. I tattooed. I sold dope. I sold guns. I stole. I fucked. I made fucking money.

I almost didn’t notice the door opening. Almost. Staring up from my doorway was a vacant pair of doll-like blue eyes framed by long icy-blonde hair, a small dimple in the middle of her chin, a frown on her full pink lips. A girl, no older than seventeen or eighteen, a bit skinny.

A magnetic pair of eyes locked onto mine. Under the artificial lights, they glowed bright green. The man stared right through me and much to my surprise he didn’t blink or look away. Faster and faster, his hips slammed against hers. His eyes bore into mine as he thrust over and over again. When he closed his eyes and threw back his head with a long throaty groan, our connection was severed.

A voice, deep and rough, broke through the silence, his words vibrating through to my very core. “Shut the fucking door.”

This guy didn’t look like he hung with the wrong crowd. This guy was the wrong crowd.

He looked tired. And not the kind of tired you feel after a long day, but the kind of tired that lingers no matter how much sleep you get or how much coffee you ingest. The kind of tired that is less about rest and more about unrest.

“They call me King.”

“Are you worried I copped a feel while you slept? Maybe I did. Because what you are going to learn is that I can do whatever I want with you, whenever I want. Because right now, I fucking own you.”

Because when it comes to me and mine, I am the judge. I am the jury. And if need be, I am the motherfucking executioner.”

Because now you’re my property, and I can do what the fuck I want with what’s mine.” He emphasized this by squeezing harder on my throat.

It wasn’t until we arrived back at the house, car parked in the garage that I began to dread the reality that awaited me. All six foot three of him.

“Love is what you would do for the other person, not what you do in general.

I loved sleeping with his big body next to me. I loved the way he made me feel so small. I loved the way his nostrils flared when he was about to kiss me, and then when he did, I loved that he kissed me like he was mad at me. Like it was my fault I was so desirable that he just had to put his lips to mine, his hands on me.

King seemed like any other young man who was taking a girl out on a date. Well, any other six-foot-something tattooed wall of muscle who looked like he could be an underwear model.

‘I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it all over again.’

My name needed to be on her. It wasn’t enough just to call her mine. I needed to mark her as well. So hidden in the vine work under the quote I found that I thought was perfect for her, was my name.

I’d found myself again in the haunted eyes of a girl who was just as lost as I was. Or maybe, we didn’t find each other at all. Maybe, we just decided to be lost together.

King was a bad guy, but he was my bad guy. He was more than that. He was my world. My heart.