Page 9 of Making the King

Shaking her head, she glares at me. “I’m not sharing a bed with you. I would rather die.”

Rolling my eyes at her dramatics, I shrug. “Suit yourself. Enjoy the couch.”

Tossing my keys on the bar top bench that divides the living room and kitchen, I reach back and pull my shirt off, draping it over the barstool.

“What are you doing?” Cara asks, and I try not to react to the slight edge of fear in her tone.

“It’s hot, and I’m in my house.” I shrug, turning my back on her and going to the fridge to grab a beer. “Want a drink?”

“No.” She huffs, and I shrug, opening the bottle and drinking it down as I walk back into the living room.

Her dark gaze is on me, traveling over my bare torso, and when she notices that I’ve caught her checking me out, she quickly turns her back to me.

It’s weird having her in my space. It’s not like I haven’t had women here before, but Cara is different. As small as she is, she seems to dwarf my living space by her presence alone.

“So what’s it going to be?” I ask coming up behind her and she stiffens, moving quickly across the room so she can keep her eye on me. “You gonna sleep in our marital bed?”

“Sure. Once I’ve gutted you and buried the body.”

Throwing my head back laughing, she just glares at me and waits for my response.

“Okay, Killer. If you say so.” I tease before pointing to the bedroom.

“Inside the closet are some clothes for you. I had Alice and Sasha from the club go shopping for you. They got you some toiletries as well, but if there’s anything you need, we can pick it up later after we’ve been to the club.”

“We’re going to the club?” she asks, looking a little worried.

“Yes, but only to grab a few things so I can show you the basics of your job, because tomorrow, you start working there.”

Cara

The snores coming from Rochus are almost perfectly timed with the soft laps of the ocean. The few days I’ve been here, I’ve refused to join him on the bed, or take the couch. I’m sitting on the floor, hiding in the darkest corner of his house. Shack… whatever the hell it’s called.

One thing I learned in prison was to never let your guard down. You’re never more vulnerable than when you’re sleeping, off in whatever nightmare your subconscious concocts for you. That’s partly why I stay awake during the night, napping at odd times during the day when I can.

The other reason is my nightmares… the ones I’ve had since Julietta took her last breath. I can still hear the sounds she made as she choked on her own breath after she was stabbed to death. My beautiful, brave, and kind sister bled out on the dirty shower tiles.

She didn’t deserve that. Julietta was the best person I’ve ever known, and nothing could ever be good enough for her. Let alone living her days out in prison after killing her husband not long after my wedding from hell.

If I allow myself, I can recall the feeling of her matted hair, and too thin body as she gasped for air she no longer needed. I knew she was dying, but I still held her and sang to her.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are.

Up above the world so high,

Like a diamond in the sky.

Esta noche allí estarás,

Cual diamante brillarás.

There isn’t a perfect Spanish translation of the song, so toward the end, I was stringing words together from my memory. It’s the song Julietta sang to me at night when I felt scared of the future. Even though she had to endure her own hell, she always found the strength to be there for me.

At least until she got married and had to leave our home in San Francisco to move in with her husband. The years after that were the hardest to endure. I missed her so much my soul fucking hurt.

I don’t think about San Fran as my home, and I haven’t since the day she moved out. Now, I guess I have no fucking home. A place to live, yes. But that doesn’t make it a home.

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