Page 25 of King

King nodded, his hand firm on her waist as he guided her toward the door. The receptionist was waiting for them.

“Ms. Tarvin, I have some paperwork for you to sign.” She led them to the desk. Picking up a folder, she opened it and then handed Amara a paper. “This is a release form for the funeral home. Have you made arrangements yet?”

“No,” Amara shook her head, feeling panic set in. “I, ah, I haven't?—”

“It’s fine, most people don’t.” The woman assured her. “Just sign here, and we will ensure that your loved one is taken care of until those arrangements are made.”

Amara nodded, took the pen, and then signed her name, which looked like scribble. Her hand shook terribly. “Thank you,” shetold the woman, then turned to King. “Get me out of here.” She whispered, taking his arm.

As they walked out of the morgue, Amara clung to King like he was her lifeline. The cold night air hit her face as they stepped outside, a reminder that she was still alive, even if it didn’t feel that way right now.

CHAPTER 13

As they walked away from the morgue, King felt the shift in the air before he saw them. His instincts kicked in, his hand tightening around Amara’s arm as he slowed his pace.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with steel.

Amara frowned, her golden eye darting around the darkened parking lot. “What’s wrong?”

“Company.” King’s tone was clipped, his gaze fixed ahead as six men stepped out from the shadows, their faces hidden beneath hoodies and their hands balled into fists. They spread out, forming a loose semicircle that blocked their path to the bike.

Amara’s breath hitched, and she instinctively moved closer to King. “Who are they?” she whispered.

King didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped slightly in front of her, shielding her with his body as his eyes scanned the group. They weren’t random thugs—their movements had a purpose and a cold, calculated intent in their eyes.

One of the men stepped forward, his grin sinister. “King, isn’t it?” he drawled, his voice unfamiliar to King. Obviously, the fuckers had done their research.

King’s jaw tightened, his posture coiled like a spring. “If you know me, then you know this isn’t going to end well for you.”

The man chuckled, his companions joining in. “You’ve got a reputation, sure. But six against one? Even you can’t pull off those odds.”

King smirked, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “Betting is bad for your health.”

The man laughed. “I’ll make you a deal. Give us the girl, and we’ll let you go.”

“Yeah,” King’s smile turned deadly. “Not going to happen.”

“Listen, this isn’t personal, so there’s no need to make it that way.” The man said, crossing his arms. “We were hired to find the girl, which we did. Now, we need to take her in and get paid. Amara, sweetheart, you'll come with us if you don’t want us to hurt this man.”

“I take it real fucking personal,” King answered, looking at each one of them. “I will tell you this. After I beat every single one of your asses, the VC Warriors are going to take you in, and you will tell us who hired you. So, understand this...you will not be getting paid tonight. And if you call her sweetheart again, I will knock your teeth down your fucking throat.” King pointed at the man just to make sure they all knew exactly who he was talking to.

The man laughed, shaking his head as if King’s words amused him. “You talk a big game, but you’re outnumbered six to one. You sure about this, tough guy?”

“You already bragged about your numbers, remember? And I can count, dumbass.” King’s smirk widened, his fangs glinting dangerously under the dim streetlights. “If you think the numbers are in your favor, you’re about to have a really bad night.”

Amara’s breath hitched behind him, and King’s posture shifted slightly to shield her. The man who had spoken stepped forward, cracking his knuckles with a smirk. “Suit yourself.” The man gave a nod to the other at his left.

The first guy charged, a crowbar swinging through the air with vicious intent. King dodged effortlessly, twisting to the side and grabbing the man’s arm mid-swing. With a sharp twist, the man screamed as the crowbar clattered to the ground. King drove his elbow into the guy’s face, shattering his nose and sending him sprawling to the pavement.

“First mistake,” King growled, his voice like gravel. “Rushing your opponent.”

Two more came at him, one with a knife and the other with bare fists. The knife-wielder lunged, aiming for King’s ribs, but King caught his wrist mid-thrust. With a flick of his hand, the knife flew from the man’s grasp and skidded across the parking lot. King followed up with a knee to the stomach, doubling the man over, before landing a clean uppercut that knocked him out cold.

The other swung wildly, landing a hit on King’s shoulder. It was like punching a brick wall as King didn’t move but insteadturned toward him with a dark grin. “Second mistake. Thinking that would hurt me.”

He grabbed the man by his hoodie, yanked him forward, and headbutted him before tossing him to the side.

“Three down,” King muttered, his eyes shifting to the remaining three. “Figured I’d help with the count since you seem so concerned with the numbers.”

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