Page 93 of Kings Fear No One
My mind’s eye projects the memories before me like a movie reel. I can practically see the smile lighting up her pretty face. Her smooth, golden brown skin peeking out from the little nightgowns she often wore. When I peel back the covers and get in bed, I can still feel her soft weight curling up against me.
A funny pang hits my stomach. I might as well have missed a step on the way down the stairs.
Her Bible catches my eye, sitting on the nightstand. She must’ve forgotten to take it with her. I reach for it, propping it open out of curiosity, right to the last page she’d bookmarked.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
The funny pang intensifies. Morphs into some kind of deep ache. The kind of feeling you get when you’re missing something… or someone.
I put the Bible back and twist off the bedroom light under the assumption it’ll go away once I fall asleep.
Hours later, as dawn chases off the dark and brightens the world outside, I’m wide awake. I’m sitting up in bed after tossing and turning for most of the night. It comes to me what’s bothering me and why I couldn’t sleep.
I reach for my phone and send off a text.
checking in on u. how’s boulder? U make it ok?
The message shows sent, though it’ll probably be a couple more hours before Teysha reads it. She was probably tired by the time she finally reached her mother’s house. If how they behaved when I met them is any indication, I’d be surprised if they even gave her enough breathing room to check her text messages so soon after returning home.
Filing the situation away, I get out of bed.
Mornings have never been my thing, but what else can you do when you’re up early?
I start off my day focusing on what’s most important—the revenge I’m seeking against Abraham and the Chosen Saints.
Sydney frowns at the sight of me when I walk through the Steel Saloon’s doors. She’s obviously heard from Mason about Teysha and I going our separate ways. As her closest friend, it’s no wonder she disagrees.
“Have you talked to Teysha yet?” she asks without a good morning.
“It’s barely eight a.m.”
“I called her last night, and she didn’t answer.”
“Why would she? She’s just made it home. Give it time.”
I might not know my brother’s fiancée well, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about her, it’s that Sydney’s not one to mince words or hide her feelings. Her eyes shrink into a narrow-eyed glare as she watches me cross the barroom floor.
“You really don’t give a damn, do you?”
I stop mid stride, cocking a brow at her. “You better have a good reason to make that accusation.”
Sydney rises from the barstool she’s seated on to place her hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t if I didn’t.”
“Then are you gonna elaborate or am I supposed to be a fucking mind reader?”
“Your wife,” she grinds out, standing tall on tiptoe. “Or have you already forgotten her?”
It’s no wonder Sydney’s Mace’s old lady.
She’s exactly the kinda woman he’s attracted to—someone with guts. Someone who can challenge him when he needs it. But while Mace might find her attitude sexy, I find it annoying as hell. Especially when she’s insinuating what she is.
“How could I forget her?” I ask. “I’m the one who’s been looking after her. I’m the one who went back to the compound just to rescue her. And I’m the one who’s gonna slit Abraham’s throat for what he did to her. So, no, I ain’t fucking forgotten about her. Everything I’ve been doing has been for her. You got any other questions or are you done speaking on shit you don’t understand?”
