The Ten Club
The King Trilogy #5
Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
January 31, 2017
From New York Times Bestseller Mimi Jean Pamfiloff…
Book #5 and the FINALE of the King Series
HE WANTS TO OWN HER. King doesn’t recall dying and he definitely doesn’t recall this feisty woman Mia who claims to be his wife. But he’s happy to make her his if she’ll be obedient and loyal. After all, a king needs a queen, and now that he’s back from the dead, this evil billionaire has big plans.
SHE WANTS HIM DEAD. Mia Turner made painful sacrifices to save the love of her life from his cursed hell. So when he promised to love and protect her always, she believed him. But after he trades his life to save his brother, she’s left all alone with a baby and a broken heart. Until he returns. Evil, more powerful, and with absolutely no memory of her.
Can she find a way to bring back the man he once was, or will she have to send him back to hell?
**ON SALE The King Trilogy. The first three book in the trilogy for only 99 cents.**
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.”
Mimi Jean Pamfiloff is a USA Today and New York Times bestselling romance author. Although she obtained her MBA and worked for more than fifteen years in the corporate world, she believes that it’s never too late to come out of the romance closet and follow your dream. Mimi lives with her Latin Lover hubby, two pirates-in-training (their boys), and the rat terrier duo, Snowflake and Mini Me, in Arizona. She hopes to make you laugh when you need it most and continues to pray daily that leather pants will make a big comeback for men.
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