Up in Smoke (King #8)

Chapter Twenty





It’s well after midnight when the door squeaks open and Smoke comes in. The smell of whiskey and cigar smoke reach me well before he does, bumping his shin into the bed.

“Fucking bed,” he whispers.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I hate to see what he’s capable of in this state, but I know I don’t want to find out, so I pretend to be asleep.

Smoke sits down on the end of the mattress and wrestles with his boots, dropping them to the ground one after the other.

I don’t hear him move again, so I wait, counting silently to twenty in my head. Still nothing.

I risk opening my eyes, and when I do, I blink through the darkness until my eyes adjust. He’s still there, sitting at the edge of the bed. He’s hunched forward, his wide back bathed in moon light. His elbows are propped up on his knees, face in his hands, fingers tangled in, and pulling at his hair.

For the first time since I’ve been held against my will, the monster looks a lot less…like a monster. Gone is the cocky smirk and even cockier words. He looks like a man right now, a very troubled one.

Smoke sighs, then rounds the bed, pulling off his shirt. I close my eyes as he slides under the blanket.

He leans over me, and I freeze in fear. I feel his breath on my cheek. He unlocks the cuff tethering me to the bed. I exhale without making it noticeable which is a feat. He doesn’t take the cuff off completely though, this time he wraps his arms around my waist and attaches the side he’s removed from the bed to his own wrist, adding to the handcuffs already adorning his wrists that I’ve yet to see him without.

He pulls me against his chest the same way he did the night before, and within moments, he’s asleep, lightly snoring in my ear, his warm chest rising and falling evenly against my back.

“Are you awake?” I ask into the dark.

Smoke doesn’t so much as stir.

I pretend to be trying to roll over and elbow him in the ribs.

Nothing.

I exhale.

“I need to talk to someone and since you’re the only person around, I figure it might as well be you, and since you’re passed out and probably drunk, I don’t think you’ll mind too much.”

I sigh, then laugh to myself. This is all so ridiculous. Talking to the man who kidnapped me because I feel like a chat.

“I remember seeing you, before you came to the school,” I say. “You were across the street at the gas station. I felt you before I saw you. I was aware of your existence before I even knew you existed. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s true. I felt you there, and when I saw you, I thought…this sounds even more stupid, especially considering all that’s happened, but I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I’ve never thought that of anyone else before. One face blends into another for me, one no prettier or more handsome than the next for the most part, but you. You stood out.”

I look over my shoulder to make sure he’s still asleep. His long lashes lay against his tanned cheeks. His brows are furrowed, even in sleep.

“I guess that shows what a great judge of character I am. Someone so beautiful can do such ugly things. Write that down. You can use it as the title of your autobiography one day.”

My eyelids grow heavy. I close them and adjust my head on the pillow. Smoke’s warm breath floats across the back of my head.

“Now you’re going to either kill me, or turn me over to someone else who’s going to kill me,” I say, followed by a yawn.

Smoke suddenly shifts, his arms tighten around me like I’m about to escape. I jump in his grasp and turn my head only to find him still sound asleep.

I rest my head back on the pillow. I lower my voice to a whisper as sleep takes me under.

“You wanna know what the really fucked-up part is?” I sigh. “You’re still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”





Chapter Twenty-One





You’re still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

I’ll give it to her. Frankie’s not as much of a shit actress as I may have thought. She’s good enough to have me believing for half a second that she might even mean it. But it’s a trick. I know it is. I ain’t falling for it. I will not be manipulated.

Not by her. Not by anyone.

Fucking, hellion.

Fucking sweet tits, fat lips, curvy hips, high-rounded ass, and fakest fucking smile I’ve ever seen.

I’ve got to make a run into town for supplies, and I have to run an errand and check up on something too important to risk using the phone.

I sure as shit am not taking Frankie with me, but I also don’t trust that she won’t gnaw her hand off to free herself from the cuffs while I’m gone.

I go as far as to reach for my phone. This time it’s Morgan’s number I begin to dial.

Shit.

Without a shit-ton of other options, and not being too far from Logan’s Beach, I clear the screen and dial a different number.

The greeting is exactly what I expect considering who it is I’m calling.

“Yo yo yo! County morgue. You grill ‘em, we chill ‘em. You’ve reached Preppy. How may I service you today?”

Even though I roll my eyes it’s good to hear a familiar voice. “Prep, it’s Smoke.”

“Smokey! What the fuck, dude? I’ve been searching for you ever since you saved my ass in that hospital. Where the fuck you been? I thought you mighta got sucked into that mega sinkhole that swallowed up half of Highway 28.”

“Still above ground. For now, anyways.”

“You know, I’ve missed these really detailed conversations of ours,” Preppy says with an exaggerated sigh.

“We can sing by the campfire and braid each other’s hair another time. Right now, I need a favor. I’m in the middle of a job. Need a babysitter for some cargo I’m toting.”

“How big is this cargo?” he asks, jumping into business mode.

I look back to the house. “In weight or attitude?”

“Ah, it’s like that.”

“Weight wise she can’t be more than a buck twenty, tops. And let’s just say she wouldn’t make it through a truck stop weigh in with the size of her fucking attitude.”

“Noted. When do you need someone?”

“ASAP, brother.”

“Alright man. You got it. I’d come out myself except Taylor and Miley have been up nights and I’m on duty so Dre can get some sleep.” I hear a baby cooing in the background followed by another baby crying. There’s a crash. “Bo, what did I tell you about the kitchen knives!” Preppy shouts away from the phone.

“Who can you spare?” I ask. There’s a shuffling on the phone. Another crash in the background. “Bo, if you’re making another fucking pipe bomb your mom is going to be really, really fucking mad. Like no TV for a week mad.”

“Sowwy,” I hear a little sad voice sing.

“It’s okay. Go play in the backyard, and I’ll bring your sisters out in a minute.” Preppy comes back to the phone. “Kids, you can’t live without them and you can’t leave them alone with household items they can create explosives from.”