Page 1 of The King's Boy

Chapter One

~ King ~

"Am I being arrested?" There was a shock of sparkly metallic pink nail polish on the slim pale fingers that twisted together on the tabletop. "I've been arrested before, and it never ends well for me."

I slowly panned to the dark-haired man standing beside me. "He thinks we're cops?"

Malloy, my right-hand man, squinted at the scene on the other side of the one-way mirror we were looking through. "I don't know how he could. Our people took him right off the streets."

I didn't understand how this guy could think we were cops either. We didn't even dress like the police. No uniforms, badges, or...well, we did have guns, but everyone had guns nowadays.

I glanced back toward the small interrogation room. The guy we were interrogating was a bit on the smaller side where thugs were concerned, and until this very moment, I had thought he was a thug.

I was starting to rethink that.

I pressed a button on the comm. unit, which connected me to the earpiece one of my guards was wearing, the one currently sitting across the table from the frightened looking man.

"Ask him where he got the bag."

That was the whole reason we had taken this guy. The bag full of drugs. But not just any drug. Pure, uncut Fentanyl powder, enough to make thousands of pills.

There wasn't much I could do about the small-time drug dealers that ran in Queens, but I'd be damned if I let one this big move into my territory.

I'd been sent to New York City to take control of the territory after Kirby O'Donnell and his son had fucked things up. I'd been here six weeks already and I knew I'd be here for a long time to come.

This territory was a complete disaster.

"Where did you get the bag?" my guard asked.

"Oh, I know this one." The guy freaking beamed a smile as if he had just won the lottery. "His name was Devon." A frown instantly marred his perfect features. "Or was it Darren?" The frown deepened. "Darius?"

Apparently, whatever the guy's name was, it started with a D.

"Where did you meet him?"

"At a bar."

This was getting better and better.

I pushed the intercom again. "Ask him what bar."

"What bar?"

"The Whiskey Barrel over on Third Avenue," the guy replied. "It's a pretty cool bar." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Very Irish."

It would be. It was in the heart of my territory.

"Your ID says that your name is Spencer Murray," the guard said. "Is this a real or fake ID? You look pretty young to be getting into a bar."

"I'm old enough to be in a bar." Spencer snorted. "Barely."

That was something at least.

"You know if you are legally an adult, you can be charged as an adult, right?"

I was surprised my guard asked that. Was he trying to reinforce the idea that we were cops? And if so, why?

"What was in the bag?" Spencer asked. "Was it filled with drugs? A bomb? Guns?" He leaned forward in an over-eager manner, resting his arms on the table. "And how much time are we talking here? I could really use a vacation. Three hots and a cot sound kind of nice right about now."