Page 2 of The King's Pawn
Ninety percent of the words that came out of Noah were filler. I’d gotten used to filtering out the important parts. I was tempted to ask him why he’d done it, why he’dtalked, why he had to be so damn stupid, when he must have known his bullshit wouldn’t be tolerated forever. But if I asked him that, he’d know I knew, and then I’d have a hostage situation on my hands. Like this, with him thinking we were heading up north to the summer house, despite it being winter, kept him compliant.
Snowflakes left trails in the headlights. The car’s automatic wipers came on, sweeping fat flakes aside. Hopefully, I’d get this done and be back in Boston before any real snow began to fall.
“Is this about the drugs?” Noah asked, his voice softening. The high from whatever he’d snorted in the club had probably begun to wear off. Somewhere in that stupid head of his, he might even be sensing danger. But he wouldn’t listen. If he’d had any survival instincts, he wouldn’t have gotten into this mess.
“My usual guy stopped selling to me. That’s my father again, you know? What am I supposed to do? He cut me off. It was only a few deals. My options are limited, right? I can’t buy from the usuals, so I have to go out of town. And it’s not a lot, it’s just…” He shrugged. “I don’t know, man, it’s not a problem. I don’thave a problem. It’s just sometimes…” He laughed dryly. “Like you’d even understand. You don’t even have a life. Well, I try to. You know how fucking hard it is to make friends when everyone knows your father’s a fuckin’ psychopath? I’m talking about real connections here, not just people who want to fuck me over for money or power. You know, try and get me to talk shit… I can’t fucking trust anyone. Everyone wants a piece of me. So yeah, I get high, it’s that or… or…” He trailed off, staring out of the window. “Whatever.”
I flicked the radio back on. Even I had my limits to how much bullshit I could listen to.
“You can’t tell me you like doing this? Cleaning up after him?” He flicked his pretty eyes over me. “Do you look in the mirror and like who looks back at you? My father’s attack dog. He clicks his fingers and you bark.”
“Watch it.”
“It’s true. If you were something, someone important, you wouldn’t be babysitting me.”
That might have been true, but I knew my place. And I was buried so damn deep in its hole, I’d made my bed there long ago.
I took the next turn off the interstate, onto winding back roads. A light dusting of snow had settled on the asphalt and clung to the pine trees. No tire tracks. This part of New Hampshire got rural real quick. We were close to our destination.
“Wherearewe?” He sat upright and studied the scenery, only now beginning to realize something was very wrong with this road trip.
I tightened my grip on the wheel.
“Killian.” He faced me, eyes widening. “What is this?”
Just a few more miles.
“Where are you taking me?”
His usual easygoing tone had vanished from his voice, leaving it thin. We weren’t friends, him and me. Never had been. Despite the times he’d begged me not to tell his father the multiple messes he’d gotten mixed up in, the countless fuckups even his father didn’t know about. It was always going to end this way. He’d had chance after chance to clean up, to toe the King family line, and he’d flung it back at his father time after time. Noah was never going to win that fight.
I pulled the car onto a snow-dusted dirt road, rolled into a sparse clearing in the woods, and cut the engine.
Noah gulped. “Wait?—”
As I opened the door and climbed out, I discreetly collected the gun from the pocket of the door. Freezing air sucked all the warmth from my body, but that was fine, I needed the cold for this. It would be over soon. But the next few minutes might get loud.
“Killian?” He peered up at me as I opened his door and he knew—either saw it on my face or finally understood this was the end of the road. He paled even more. “Ki-Killian, w-wait.”
“Out.”
Noah pushed himself into the seat and breathed hard through his nose. He looked at his hands, perhaps thinking he could take a swing. He might land a lucky punch, but we both knew I’d put him on his ass right after.
I could shoot him in the seat, but that would make a forensic mess I didn’t much feel like cleaning up.
His gaze skipped sideways, to the gun in my hand. He swallowed and slowly climbed out.
“Phone.”
“What?”
“Phone.”
He dug into his pocket and handed over his phone. I dropped it and smashed it under my heel.
Noah had fallen quiet.
Each man died differently. No two were the same. Some begged, some got furious, some fell apart, some tried to sell their souls—or the souls of their kids—for one more chance. Noah was quiet now, but his mind was probably working overtime trying to figure out a way to get free. But we both knew his father had sent me because I never missed.