“King?”
“I’m in the parking lot, baby,” I tell her. “Stay on the phone.”
I’ve never felt so far away, but so close at the same goddamn time. “You okay?”
“I think so.” Her voice is quiet and distant.
“You think so?” I shout, taking the emergency stairs two at a time. I don’t have time for doormen and elevators. “What’s wrong?” She better be okay.
“I’m fine, King. I’m fine.”
Walking through the lobby of the third floor, some lady behind a desk looks at me funny. “Sir?”
Ignoring her, I look for the door with the Princess’s name on it. Takes me only a second to find it.
Opening it, I find Samantha sitting in a chair, staring at more of those red fucking roses. She jumps when I shut the door behind me. “King! Jesus.”
I don’t hesitate. I’m not playing these goddamn games anymore. Walking up to her desk, I grab the flowers. Pulling them out of the vase, I drop them into the garbage.
“You’re done,” I snap, serious as fuck this time.
She looks sick. She should be.
“Done?”
“No more work.”
I’m gone for a few hours and this shit happens. Not fucking happening again.
“I have to work,” she fires back, getting up from the chair, but there’s not much heat in her argument because she’s not going to win this one and she knows it.
“You don’t have to do shit. Not while that motherfucker’s out there.” He was in her fucking office. In her goddamn space. Again. Right behind her.
“So, what am I going to do? Stay holed up in my house from now until forever with you?” she fumes, arms spread wide.
The bitch is hot and cold. From one minute to the next, I never know what I’m getting when dealing this Samantha. She likes me. She fucking hates me. It’s hard as fuck to keep up. But whether she likes me or not is not the goddamn point. I’m here to keep her safe. Everything else is secondary.
“Until I bury that motherfucker, you are. You’re with me twenty-four seven.”
Samantha doesn’t say anything, she just turns on her five-inch heels and marches her ass to the garbage, grabs the flowers and marches her ass out the door.
I follow her, watching her walk up to the bitch at the desk who’s staring at us, her eyes wide. “Take these to the dumpster please?” Samantha asks, handing over the roses.
“S–Sure,” the woman stutters.
Samantha walks her ass back into her office, letting the door slam behind her, shutting it in my fucking face.
I could strangle the bitch, but that’d defeat the whole keeping her alive thing.
Tossing the door open, I follow her in, not letting this shit go. “You got a problem with how this is gonna go?” I don’t really care what her answer is because we’re doing this shit my way, no matter what comes out of her mouth.
“Nope,” she huffs, her back to me. “I have to get my shit.”
The princess is being difficult, taking her time getting her stuff and shuffling papers and putting shit in drawers as slowly as possible. “You wanna hurry it along there, Princess?”
She snorts. “Got somewhere to be?”
“Not standin’ here watchin’ you clean.” Then again, I could just stand here and watch her bent over her desk with her ass in that tight dress. Jesus Christ.
Turning toward me, a shit ton of stuff in her arms, she says, “Then let’s go.” She walks right on by me and down the hall toward the elevator, not waiting on me.
“’Bout time,” I grumble, following behind her.
Sam just glares at me, punching the lobby button on the elevator, waiting for it.
I know she’s irritated with me. She lets her feelings be known, and if she didn’t, her face would give her away. The bitch is expressive, that’s for goddamn sure.
It takes a second, but the elevator opens and we walk in, Samantha irritated, giving me the cold shoulder.
Leaning back against the elevator wall, I break it down for her, tired of the shit. Tired of the back and forth. “I get that you don’t think this shit is a big deal, and it might not be, but your dad wants you alive, so does your family, and I sure the fuck want you breathin’. So, as long as this motherfucker’s out there, I’m gonna be here, and we’ll be doin’ this shit my way. You can like it or not,” I tell her, the elevator going down. “But that’s how it’s goin’. Stop acting like a shit. You got me?” I ask her, the doors sliding open.
I get the princess doesn’t want me in her space, rearranging her life, but I’ll do what I gotta do, and I don’t really give a fuck how she feels.
“It’s a big deal,” she says, her voice small.
“Good.”
The fight drains out of her face and she nods, agreeing. “Okay.”
“Okay?” That was too easy.
She sighs. “I don’t really have a choice.”
“Right. I know you’ve seen a lot, lived through a lot, but when it comes to this shit, I’m not playin’ around, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I want you safe.”
“Okay,” she says again, firmly.
We walk out of the elevator and to the parking lot next to the building, Sam quiet until she sees my ride. “You have a truck?” Her head cocks slightly, confused.
“Looks like it.” Unlocking her door, I open it for her and wait for her to get in. “What?” I ask when she doesn’t get inside.
Crawling in, she runs her hand over the leather dash, sliding into her seat. “Since when do you have a truck?”
“Always have.” Had it fifteen years now.
“Where do you keep it?”
She’s digging. “Here. In the storage lot.”
“Oh.” Samantha looks truly surprised. “Do you have a house too?” Jesus, she really is diggin, looking for something. What it is, I don’t know, but she’s not gonna find it.
“No,” I tell her shortly, staring out the window at the road ahead of us, not interested in getting into this with her.
She knows more than anyone else, which isn’t saying much. But then again, there isn’t much to me. I am who I am.
“Then where do you sleep when you’re not here or at a club?”
“Here and there,” I answer, using her words and giving them back to her.
Laughing, she shakes her head. “You really don’t have a house? An apartment? A trailer?”
“A trailer?” I chuckle. Jesus, what does she think I am? A hillbilly? I’m not Buck.
Sam shrugs, changing the subject. “So, you’d be sad if I died, huh?” Morbid bitch.
“Well, I wouldn’t be happy about it.”
My answer makes her smile, and I don’t read much into it because there isn’t much to read. We are what we are. Nothing more. Nothing less.
We ride for a while in silence, Sam clicking away on her phone and me trying not think about her sitting a few feet away from me. Trying not to think of all the bad shit that could happen to her out there with that crazy fucker a few steps behind her. Suddenly, Sam looks at me and says, “I wouldn’t be happy if you died either.”
Surprises the hell out of me. “Thought you hated me?” I tease her, lifting a questioning brow.
“Yeah, I do, but I still don’t want to go to your funeral.”
“Who says I’m gettin’ a funeral? Maybe they’ll just toss my ass out back and let me rot in the woods.”
The look she gives me is funny. “Nice picture you painted there. I’ll plan your funeral.”
Jesus Christ. “There a reason we’re talkin’ about this?”
“Would you rather talk about clothes?”
“Fuck no. Keep goin’ with your death talk, Morbid Molly.” That makes her laugh. She laughs hard. I like it too much. Her laugh makes me laugh.
“Morbid Molly?” she chirps, cracking up.
“Wednesday Adams better?” I ask her, pulling into her driveway.
“Much.” She laughs softly, undoing her belt. Twisting in her seat, she looks at me. “King?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for coming today and the other day,” she tells me quietly, seriously. Hits me right in the chest.
Those eyes. That face. Couldn’t imagine a world without them. “Yeah, baby, anytime.” I’ll be here to keep her safe until she doesn’t need me anymore, so until then… “I’m here.”