Page 33 of King: Darker Than Romance

I tried to think back to seeing her, but one redhead blended into another. King had a definite thing for them. Maybe his wife was why.

“But he’s fucked a billion wom—” I stopped mid-sentence.

She chuckled under her breath. “Don’t hold back on my account. I know Ashford. There’s been many women, but you’re the first that didn’t know he was married. Not even his father said anything to you?” she asked.

“No.” I shook my head.

“Why was he fighting with your boyfriend at the restaurant? Are you fucking my husband?” she demanded to know, her nostrils flaring.

I opened my mouth to say something but had a sudden epiphany. I was sitting there having a conversation with what could be some crazy woman. It had been five years since my mother and James’ wedding. How could she have been King’s wife, and nobody ever mentioned her?

I pushed myself from the bed and hopped up.

“Lady, you have to go. If you have a problem, you need to take them up with King.”

“He lets her call him King?” She quietly mumbled then she did a complete 180. She started yelling. “My problem is with you. I want to know all that’s been going on between you and my husband.” She slammed her hand down onto my bed. She eyed me hard, her lip curling in disgust. “Look at you, a fat pig, stretch marks everywhere.”

I did what she said and looked down at myself. I was wearing a cami and underwear. Sure, she was right, my too thick thighs and rounded belly had barely visible stretch marks and I would never fit in a size four. But I thought I looked good with my hourglass shape and fluffiness, so did King. He’d worshipped every part of my body once upon a time, and if I decided I wanted him to again I knew he would.

The petty jealous part of me came to the surface and I told her so. “Your husband doesn’t have a problem with it. He used to try to smother himself between my thighs.” I rolled my hips vulgarly. “Now get out.” I pointed towards the door, then I went to walk past her. She reached out, grabbed my wrist, wrapping her slender fingers around it. Her nails dug into the skin drawing beads of blood. I snatched away and shoved her backwards. She easily steadied herself.

“Bitch, are you fucking crazy? You don’t put your fucking hands on me.” I squared up, raising my fist, ready to defend myself if I had to.

She closed her eyes, then shook her head. When she opened them her green eyes were dark and murky. I took a step, then another away from her until I’d backed into the desk in the corner of my room.

“You’re the reason he wants a divorce. You’re the reason he stays away,” she yelled.

My eyes darted towards the door. I regretted backing myself into a corner. Shit was about to get out of hand.

“King,” I yelled for him knowing that my momma was out trying to drown her sorrows in alcohol. I’d heard King stumble his drunk ass in. He needed to get his bitch. If she was his wife, I didn’t want any smoke with him for beating her ass. We were already on bad terms.

Her eyes darted back and forth between me and the door nervously “Shut the fuck up,” she tried to whisper under her breath.

I opened my mouth to yell for him again and that’s when I saw it. The butcher knife in her hand. Ironically, I knew it was from our kitchen downstairs, probably the sane one I had pulled out the day my momma took Spellman away from me.

My chest constricted. Before I could ask her what she was doing she yelled and lunged towards me. I didn’t think, I just reacted. I picked up the desk lamp beside me and swung. Crack! I heard it connect with her head. Warm liquid sprayed my face.

She fell to the floor and didn’t make another sound.

It took a minute for my brain to catch up to what had happened. When it did, I freaked out. I ran to King’s room to wake him up. I couldn’t even fully explain to him all of what happened.

“I killed her,” I kept screaming while he kneeled over her body.

“Calm the fuck down,” he yelled. I jumped but quieted. He pressed two fingers to the pulse on her neck. “No, you didn’t.” I calmed even more then, but nervously rocked on my heels. I just wanted him to drag her out so I could start to forget what had happened. I made up my mind then I was moving. I would take the help Ellis had offered. I couldn’t stay in that house any longer. My momma was walking around in a funk because James had finally left her a week earlier. She was being a real bitch.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way,” he said out of the blue.

So, it was true. I ignored the burning feeling in my chest, I said, “I don’t care, just get her out of my room.”

He sneered up at me. “You honestly expect me to believe that you don’t care?”

I folded my arms across my chest and cocked my hip. “Yes,” I lied. I did care a lot. Sometimes I cared so much it kept me up at night. I didn’t know how to physically stop wanting King. There was no way I’d show it, though.

I could see the hurt that flashed in his eyes when he lifted his head.

His wife whimpered and her hand moved to her head. “What happened?” she moaned as she tried to sit up.

King continued looking at me. His voice got low and ominous.

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