Up in Smoke (King #8)

“No! Don’t go!” My words are a whispered yell followed by a choked-out sob.

I’m hurting. My feet. My muscles, my heart. I can barely see him through the blur of my own tears like I’m looking up at him from under water. I’m drowning in the depths of my own misery, every breath I suck in is killing me. My heart is hammering out a frantic SOS to the rest of my body and it’s crushing me from the inside out.

“Meet me here in the morning,” Smoke says, reaching into the inside pocket of his cut and producing a black sharpie. “If I’m not there. If I don’t make it—”

“No!” I shake my head and close my eyes, not able to bear the thought.

Smoke’s grip on me tightens. He tilts my chin up so our eyes meet. His voice isn’t louder, but it’s sharper, more precise, like he wants to tattoo his words into my memory.

“Listen, Hellion, and listen real good. First light, I want you to head to this address. It’s the Lawless MC compound. You’ll be protected there.”

I hold out my hand thinking he’s going to write on my palm, but he surprises me by pushing the fabric of my shorts up my leg, writing directly on the skin of my upper thigh.

“Less obvious,” he mutters. “Take this,” he says, unclasping a pair of the cuffs from his wrist and clasping them around mine. “Show it to them. They’ll know I sent you. Just get there and wait for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes. But you better be there, Smoke. I mean it.” I’m trembling. My lip quivers. “Is this good-bye or just good-bye for now?”

Smoke brushes his thumb over my cheek. “Always with the questions,” he says, a sad smile on his beautifully scarred face. “I’ll do everything I can to meet you there.”

“I’ll come with you,” I try to argue once more.

The sound of gunfire and shouting in the distance is all the argument Smoke needs.

“It’s the only way to keep you safe,” he says, softly. He tenderly brushes his rough thumb over my cheek, and I can’t help but to lean into his touch. I close my eyes briefly then look up at him through my wet lashes.

More gunshots. This time they’re closer. Smoke looks over his shoulder and then back to me. “First light,” he repeats with a much too brief searing kiss to my lips. “You wanted me to choose you, Hellion. Well, this is me...choosing you.”

My. Fucking. Heart. Breaks.

I can’t find the words to protest as he places branches over the cutout in the trunk to conceal my hiding space. I hear him jog off, and I silently cry into the dark space. I pull my knees to my chest and crawl as far back into the hollowed-out stump that I can.

Every gunshot I hear feels like it’s a direct hit to my heart because with each one, there’s a possibility that come morning light, Smoke won’t be there.

This is me…choosing you.





Chapter Forty-Eight





I move through the woods like a wild animal because I am a fucking wild animal. It’s dark, but I use instinct to creep up behind Griff’s men. I slit one’s throat; the blood sprays in my face. It’s warm and wet, and I don’t bother wiping it off as I drop his body quietly to the ground.

I move without making a sound. My boots don’t even crunch against the fallen leaves. I lay another man out, knife to the base of his spine. And then another, stab and twist to the neck.

I feel like a kid again. These woods are my home. I breathe in and use the smell of pine to fuel me.

My hands are covered in blood. Not an inch of my skin can be seen through the thick red.

I just killed for her. I’ve killed a thousand times before. But this was different. This meant more.

I down another and another man until all that’s left is me and the sins I’ve committed.

I sheathe my knife. It’s daylight. I know I told Frankie I’d meet her at the club, but I go back for her anyway.

She’s not there, but the cuffs are.

And the cuffs are covered in blood.

“No!” I roar, racing through the woods. I race back to the townhouse where, thankfully, the van is intact.

I speed the entire way to the Lawless MC clubhouse with my foot slammed to the floor. I run it right up to the gates and scare the shit out of Nine, who’s talking to the prospect standing guard.

“Is she here?” I ask, pushing him to the side and running through the gates.

“What the fuck happened to you?” The prospect asks. I pull my gun and aim it at his skull. “Is. She. Here?”

“I…I…uh,” he stutters.

“I’m here,” a voice says, and I spin around to see Frankie. Leaves in her hair. Clothes torn. In one motherfucking piece, Frankie.

“Oh, thank fuck.”





Chapter Forty-Nine





“Guest room is two doors down on the right!” Nine calls out as I race to Frankie and scoop her in my arms. I carry her into the room and slam the door shut, pushing her back up against it.

I’ve heard love described as clean or pure. I’ve heard it a million times in a million different ways, but it’s always been like this big mythical unreachable shining white ball of fuckin’ glitter. It wasn’t real.

Until now.

Which makes me think that even though what I’m feeling for Frankie is strong, there’s no way it can be love because there isn’t a damn thing clean or pure about the thoughts I have involving her. Nothing angelic about the things I dream day and night about doing to her. In fact, my feelings toward her are sending me more into the darkness than the light. More toward Hell than Heaven.

She’s not an angel here to guide me toward a better path; she’s a demon like me, here on Earth to do God only knows what. What she has done is make me feel like I’ve lost my fucking mind because around her I don’t feel…wrong.

The things I’ve done to her. The things I’ve done WITH her. If each person is only given a certain amount of feelings, of love, then there’s no way she could feel the same because there’s no way I’d let her waste it on me.

All thoughts about how we don’t fit together are put on pause because Frankie’s eyes are wide as she looks me over.

“The blood,” I realize. I turn to head toward the bathroom to grab a towel, but she reaches out a hand, stopping me.

The energy in the room shifts like someone’s left a torn wire in an open puddle. Frankie gives me a look, silently asking if I can feel it, too. I give her a small nod because it’s all I can manage.

My words have left me along with the air in my lungs. Frankie’s hair is tangled. Her long lashes touching her cheeks.

She shakes her head. “Don’t go clean up. Not yet.”

I’m rock fucking hard for her. Throbbing. Aching. Not just my cock. My mouth waters at the thought of tasting her again. My fingers twitch at the anticipation of touching the nakedness beneath her t-shirt.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“I want you. Just as you are. Bloody, beautiful, Smoke.”

“My little hellion,” I growl.