Deep Down the Rabbit Hole: Kings of the Tower book two Read online

  Deep Down the Rabbit Hole

  Kings of the Tower book two

  May Sage

  Contents

  1. In the Beginning

  2. The Shark

  3. Home

  4. The Pretty One

  5. Cornered

  6. Trust

  7. Unmasked

  8. Inconvenience

  9. The Pawn

  10. Wishful Thinking

  11. The End of the Road

  12. Kneel

  13. His

  14. Oblivious

  15. Two Kings

  16. Unexpected

  17. In Pieces

  18. Date

  19. Layers

  20. We’re All Mad Here

  Epilogue

  Power Games, Chapter One: In Bed With a Viper

  In the Beginning

  The fifth hotel they tried had some rooms available. Finally.

  Given the tempest going on outside, Lexi wouldn’t have felt comfortable driving much further away, but each inn, bed and breakfast, or hotel they’d stopped at had been booked up to the roof.

  The dreadful weather was keeping everyone landed until it was good enough to kindly fuck off.

  “Yes, ma’am, we have two rooms left,” the hotel clerk confirmed cheerfully, and her face fell.

  He’d said two.

  Lexi turned back to her companions; her two bosses wouldn’t see an issue sharing, given the fact that they were newlyweds, and ridiculously in love at that. But the other guy…

  She gulped.

  Maverick King. Croft Advertising’s newest client. He was, as always, the very picture of disapproval. If one ignored one little slip the previous evening, she didn’t think she’d seen him crack a smile at any point during the whole week-long trip.

  “How big are these rooms, do they have two beds?” he demanded to know.

  The poor hotel worker took a second to understand the situation, and finally shook his head.

  “Scusami,” the man replied with his thick, delightful accent, “I’m afraid not, I do apologize. These are fitted with king-sized beds.”

  Oh, for Christ’s sake.

  “I can always keep driving, I’m sure I’ll find a hotel. You guys stay there.”

  Or, she’d be swept up by a tornado and taken to Oz.

  “That’s quite out of the question.” To her surprise, that protest came from Mr. Disapproval himself. “We either all carry on driving aimlessly, or we’re all staying.” Then, glaring at her, he added, “Needless to say, the mature decision here is agreeing to stay. I’m sure we could share a bed without any unpleasantness arising. We’re both adults.”

  He was such a fucking ass. But as he happened to have a point, she bobbed her head in agreement. “Yeah. Sure. No problem. I mean, it’s a king-sized bed. It’ll be just fine.”

  Was she babbling? She was totally babbling.

  “Oh, good. I can’t wait to put my feet up. Today just needs to end.”

  Tori started to move towards the elevator, but Lexi practically yelled, “Wait! You have to lend me PJs.”

  She stared at her friend like the world might end if she didn’t. Tori’s eyes bulged in her pretty head as she understood Lexi’s distress.

  Lexi didn’t do underwear and PJs like the rest of the world. She had an expensive, unhealthy, and sometimes unrequited love for spicy lingerie.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Maverick growled, “I’ll lend you a t-shirt.”

  Great idea, in theory, but in practice, Lexi had nothing to wear underneath said t-shirt; her lingerie was dirty after their trip. Well, all of it was dirty, except that thing. But she might as well just go commando, because that thing was a red, open-crotched satin brief.

  This moment was making her rethink her life choices.

  She breathed in and out. It’d be okay. This was Maverick King, a guy so hot she didn’t belong in the same universe. He’d never looked at her twice. He wasn’t going to pay attention to what she may or may not be wearing under his t-shirt.

  Right?

  Eighteen months ago

  * * *

  Lexi stared at the intertwined figures on her couch in disbelief, and with no small amount of revulsion. The revulsion couldn’t be attributed to the sight of Jonathan Miller’s small, exposed pricker about to plunge into Laura Wilson’s pussy, as much as the fact that her fiancé and her best friend were screwing on her brand-new couch. She’d saved up for the damn thing. It had cost her four fucking figures - a fortune on her legal assistant’s salary.

  The fact that she was genuinely more upset about the couch instead of the inconsiderate, deceitful idiots’ betrayal was telling. Instead of hatred, horror, and misery, relief flooded through her. She was free. Free from the expectations of everyone, her family, her boss - Jon’s father – and, most importantly, free from Jon himself. She could walk away without having to deal with their disapproval.

  Lexi knew she should have done it a long time ago, said screw the world, and just bailed. Her sister had constantly told her so. But Sylvia didn’t get it – maybe it was a middle daughter thing. She just had to please. She always did her very best to make people around her happy and proud.

  She’d started dating Jon in high school and, after they’d graduated, he’d proposed. Like any eighteen-year-old might have, she’d said yes. Then, they’d gone to college separately. Time and distance had taught her a lot. Made her realize that other boyfriends didn’t constantly nag their partners about their calorie intake or the length of their skirts. She’d learned that she quite liked doing what she pleased, without a keeper.

  Lexi wasn’t a cheat; she never made a move on, or encouraged, any other man - not once in the last ten years. But each holiday back home, she told herself that that was it, she was going to break up with him. Only, she didn’t. Her parents sang his praises and about twice a day said they couldn’t wait for the wedding. He was invited to every meal. Each time she opened her mouth, she imagined how many people would be disappointed if those words crossed her lips, and she ended up closing it.

  Instead, she managed to push the wedding back under various pretenses. As he went to law school, Jon stayed out of town a little longer than. Then, there were their new jobs. Then, she said she needed time to plan, and set the date two years later. They were due to get married this summer, and every day she crossed out on her calendar made Lexi a little more anxious.

  Now this. Jon fucking Laura. On her couch.

  Jon didn’t even live with Lexi - why were they on her beautiful couch?

  Actually, Lexi could imagine. Jon had come to take care of her plants as he said he would, and Laura had been at her place, taking advantage of her cable subscription. They’d ended up Netflix and Chilling. A most natural progression for a man and a woman of twenty-seven, no doubt. Just not when one of the party was engaged, and the other one, married.

  “Wait, Lex, it’s not what you think.”

  She sighed, and decided that, all things considered, sacrificing her couch was worth it, to warrant such results.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just call someone with a van to take the couch to the trash when you’re done,” she said, heading to her kitchen to make herself coffee.

  It had been a long day. Lexi had gone all the way to Baton Rouge with her boss to get a witness’ deposition; god knew Herman Miller didn’t take notes. Or turn on a recording device for that matter. Normally, when they worked more than two hours away, they ended up spending the night at a hotel nearby, but it was Friday, so, as there was nothing work-related to do in town the next day, Lexi had uncharacteristically decided to drive back
. Her guardian angel, generally too passed out drunk to give her a hand, had obviously been looking out for her. If she’d stayed, she would have missed this. Which meant that, firstly, she would have ended up passing out on a cum-lined couch, and secondly, she’d still be engaged to a weasel.

  She tried to remove the ring on her finger, sipping her coffee. Big, round and a little gaudy. The damn thing was a little stuck, it had been there for so long.

  “Look, Lexi, you don’t understand…”

  She lifted her head to find Jon standing right before her on the other side of the breakfast table, Laura by his side. He still had his shirt open and hadn’t fastened the top button of his jeans. She was very flushed, and pretty, as usual.

  Lexi returned her attention to her finger, trying her best to get the ring past her knuckle. Maybe she should put some butter on there.

  “You’ve been so absent lately with the Winworth case, and Laura had some problems with Mark. We just ended up talking and- it means nothing, I swear, sweetheart.”

  Ah. Finally. She managed to get the ring off and handed it to him.

  He ignored her hand, so she just put it on the breakfast table, right before him. He carried on talking. Then, Laura, who wasn’t one to wait politely until everyone was done, cut him off.

  “It’s your fault, you know. If you hadn’t made him wait so long for marriage, he wouldn’t be so frustrated. And Mark doesn’t even look at me anymore, so…”

  Lexi laughed. She just laughed out loud, so hard she snorted some of her coffee.

  “Okay, I’m surprised I never saw it, but you guys would be great together.” She pointed to Jon, “he asked me to wait until marriage to fuck me, that wasn’t my call. And you were telling me about doing your hubby in the back of his police car last week, so whatever way you think about it, you’re both fucking liars. Now, if you don’t mind, get out of my house before I call the police.”

  Although, having Mark turn up to forcibly remove his wife would have been fun.

  They both carried on talking, and talking - mostly accusing her of everything short of putting Jon’s cock in Laura’s pussy. Eventually, she said, “Okay, so I’ll make you a deal. If both of you leave my house right now, and never, ever talk to me again, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Otherwise, I’m calling your hubby, then the biggest gossip in town, and telling them exactly what happened here tonight.”

  Jon and Laura both sucked in a shocked breath.

  “You’re going to tell everyone you called off the wedding,” she told Jon. “And you are going to fucking give me back my red dress. By mail. Within the next week.”

  Because the week after that, she’d be gone.

  Lexi wasn’t sure when she’d decided it, perhaps the very second when she’d seen them. Finally, she was going to do what she’d dreamed of.

  She’d gone to college in NYC, and she’d loved it. Love her little creative bubble, and the friends who’d encouraged her to just be who she was, unapologetically. Returning to her small town had felt like leaving her home.

  Now, she was going to go back. And the very first thing on her to do list was getting rid of her damn V card.

  The Shark

  Maverick liked Barcelona, or so he told himself. Just as he liked his apartment, and his new car, and the phone sent as a present from the tech company he’d invested in.

  But after four years, his aimless wandering had finally gotten to him. He couldn’t use new toys, travels, and women to pretend he enjoyed himself until the end of time, but he’d figured the distraction would have worked for a good decade. Apparently that estimate was off, and by a long shot.

  He sighed, not used to being wrong about estimates.

  Maverick King parked in the only empty space in the parking lot, right in front of the building. Generally, that space was reserved for the CEO. Now that he was in town, it was his.

  The Kings owned various ventures around the world; their father had a vision and built a sizable fetish toy company from the ground up. Using his money and connections, his three sons had turned it into the empire Kings Industry now was. They had a dozen sex therapy clinics in the US, and once they’d gotten into that, it had opened doors to other opportunities in the medical field, so they’d added a pharmaceutical development company under their umbrella. None of them understood any of it, but they hired the best people, and their drugs were selling like hotcakes. Expensive hotcakes. Cal, the boring middle brother, took care of that, along with their media firm that included five major newspapers.

  Their elder brother, Desmond, had taken over the tech and construction firms - two companies he controlled with an iron fist. Desmond generally had an iron fist in all things. He also personally managed the one thing all three Kings were responsible for: the Towers. The day-to-day management of one of those three things would have taken any man all his waking hours, and some of his sleeping ones, but Maverick strongly suspected Des was part cyborg. That would explain so much - and nullify the million times Des’d won at chess against him.

  Maverick was the numbers man. He was in charge of just one of their companies, but that one firm represented forty-two percent of their profits - a fact he, as their little shit of a younger brother - had to point out. Often.

  He invested. He travelled the world looking for special opportunities, and gave those he believed in the money and support to grow. Since he’d started, eleven years ago, he’d backed artists, college kids with cool ideas, people with small, simple pubs; anything and everything. If he saw potential, if his gut told him he could take a project to the next level, he was in.

  That was the gratifying part of what he did. The fun part was what he was doing in Barcelona right now.

  YIT, a US-based competitor of one of the companies he’d invested in, was currently looking for investors. Maverick had left the country, and had been slowly buying shares from various foreign subsidiaries he was in charge of for the last year. Barcelona was his last stop - he’d be a majority shareholder of YIT after this investment was wrapped up.

  Maverick might like seeing his clean investments grow, but he simply loved takeovers. Nothing satisfied him as much as taking a piece of meat from another shark, and he’d done little else for the last few years.

  On his way up to the executive level of Arriola Yachts, he sighed and pulled his innovative phone from his pocket. It was set to send anyone who didn’t have a ten-figure portfolio to his secretary’s voicemail. When someone who was worth his time called, the device vibrated. This morning, it had rung. Only a call from one of two people would have caused that.

  “King.”

  “King,” his brother repeated, a certain humor in his tone.

  Cal. Good. The boring brother could definitely get on his nerves, but at least it wasn’t the killjoy on the other end of the phone.

  “What do you want?”

  Because his brothers never called for pleasantries.

  “I don’t know, perhaps to wish you a happy birthday?”

  He remained silent. His brother damn well knew he didn’t celebrate his birthday; he also knew why, so this was a cheap shot. There was only one appropriate response. “Go fuck yourself, Callum.”

  He hung up, and even considered ignoring the call when Cal immediately rang again.

  “What?”

  “Okay, sorry, my bad. It’s five in the morning, and I had whiskey last night. I’m probably still drunk. Shouldn’t have said that.”

  Maverick didn’t ask why his brother was calling at five in the morning; he’d just woken up, and was about to go for a run before working out in the gym for an hour. His crazy weekday routine. On weekends, he was also awake at five, because he hadn’t gone to bed yet. Desmond followed a similar rhythm, while Maverick was more of a “roll out of bed grumpily, and act like a zombie until post-coffee time” sort of guy.

  “Apology accepted. Now, what do you actually want?”

  “You.”

  That sounded wrong in every possible way. He managed a sho
rt laugh.

  “Dude, if I was into guys, I still wouldn’t want your ugly mug. You know what Dad said. Try anything once - except incest and meth.”

  Cal ignored him. “Seriously, Erick, enough is enough. Four years, man. We need you here.”

  In NYC.

  In the past, he’d travelled, but New York had been his base. He’d probably only spent about a week out of the country per month. The rest of the time he’d been able to assist his brothers when they needed him, and more importantly, take his turn to visit their father. That, he felt guilty about.

  Their dad had Alzheimer’s; it had gotten a lot worse over the last five years. They’d set up the very best care for Edward King, but they also made a point of visiting him every day, for an hour minimum. They’d had a fucking amazing father, who deserved it.

  Busy as they were, it had been manageable between the three of them. They only had to go twice a week, plus once, on Sunday, all together. Now Maverick only turned up about once a month, Cal and Des were dealing with most of it by themselves.

  All of them had had time out, since it had started twelve years ago. Moments when they’d just needed a break away from everything. Des, king of brooding, had bought himself a goddamn island, so he could go ignore the universe for a few weeks, sporadically. But none of them had left for four years.

  Cal was right. It had been too long. Didn’t change the fact that Mav had no intention of permanently returning to NYC any time soon.

  “Do you need help with Dad, or is Des…”

  “It’s not about Des, Dad, or anything other than the fact that you need to deal with that shit and come home. Go see a shrink or something. Stop running, Erick.”