She smiled, but the smile looked both forced and faked. “I don’t show anybody my scars.”
Sam walked out of his bedroom without another word. Kingsley stood alone by his closet and tried to focus on getting dressed. But the message from Phoebe Dixon couldn’t be ignored. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of a good enough excuse to get out of seeing her again. She only wanted him for one thing, and he was under orders from a doctor and a priest not to give that one thing to anyone for two weeks. Not that he was going to tell Phoebe or anyone else that. Telling her the truth wasn’t an option. Telling her no wasn’t an option. And pissing her off wasn’t an option.
But if he was out of town…
Kingsley strode from his bedroom and found Sam in his office.
“Three things,” he said. “First, call Phoebe. Tell her I’m out of town.”
“Check.”
“Second. There’s a number in my desk for a man named The Barber—”
“Are you getting a hair cut? Please, say no. I love the long hair.”
“He’s not a barber. It’s his nickname. He’s a Mafia numbers guy. He combs through files,” Kingsley said, wiggling his fingers like a comb at work.
“If he combs through the files, why don’t they call him The Comb?”
“Have you met anyone in the mob? They aren’t known for being brain trusts.”
“Fine. I’ll call The Barber. What do I ask him?”
“Tell him to dig through the Fullers’ finances—church and personal.”
“Can do. Anything else?”
“Third. I need you to book a f light for me.”
“Where are you going?”
I’m not the teacher. Magdalena is. She could have you flipping quarters in midair with a single-tail in two weeks.
“Rome.”
18
June
TODAY KINGSLEY FELT WHAT HE WOULD CLASSIFY AS a “new” pain.
And considering how much and how many types of pain he’d experienced in his life, this was saying something.
He lay naked on his side, a warm white blanket pulled up to his hip. Soothing music played in the background. And a masseuse named Anita talked to him as she kneaded the tough scar tissue in his chest. She worked against the grain, she explained, breaking up the tightness, opening up the tissue, forcing blood into the inert cells. Not even in the hospital had he experienced this level of raw pain. Unshed tears scalded his eyes, and his fingers held on to a pillow with a death grip.
“You should be a sadist,” Kingsley said between gritted teeth. “I think getting shot hurt less.”
Anita paused and wiped sweat from his forehead. Her touch was welcome and motherly, which made him feel a little guilty about his massive erection hidden under the blanket.
“You’ll feel like a new man when I’m done with you, I promise. Do you need to stop for the day?”
Kingsley shook his head.
“No,” he said, panting. “You said you’ll make me feel like a new man. Then, make me feel like a new man.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a very high tolerance for pain?” Anita asked.
“Yes. A priest I used to date,” he said. Anita gave him the exact look he expected her to give him.
Anita returned to her work, and Kingsley mentally fired Sam in ten different ways for talking him into this. But he’d come home from Rome yesterday with a stiff back and tightness in his chest so severe he couldn’t take a full breath. Sam had called Anita, the massaging miracle worker, and gotten him an emergency appointment.
Not even getting fucked raw by S?ren had hurt this badly. He could come any second now.