The Prince (The Original Sinners 3)

“God knows I don’t want anyone getting into your office,” Griffin said, shaking his head.

“I burned your tapes long ago,” Kingsley lied. Griffin exhaled with obvious relief. He’d been a good boy for the past few years, but he was no saint when Kingsley brought him into the Underground. His drug addictions had nearly lost him his trust fund. In one particular high-definition photograph in Kingsley’s possession, one could even make out the wings on the butterfly tattoo on the back of the stripper underneath the pile of cocaine…and, of course, the face of Griffin Fiske with a hundred-dollar bill rolled up to his nostril.

“Thank you. So what? I’ll do anything for Nora. Hell, I left my honeymoon for you,” Griffin said with a roguish wink.

“The honeymoon can continue. Take your pet to La Maîtresse’s. Stay there. Watch the house. She keeps too much there that could harm her. I don’t want the house unattended.”

“Where did Nora go?”

“La Maîtresse is in Kentucky.”

Griffin’s eyes widened before he quickly composed himself. “That’s…news. How is Søren taking that?”

Kingsley paused before answering. He did trust Griffin. The boy had earned his regard and his confidence long ago. And without Juliette here to confide in…

Carefully, so as not to betray how much pain he suffered with each movement, Kingsley unbuttoned his shirt and held it open.

“Oh, f**k. Jesus, Kingsley…” Griffin flinched as he took in the mass of bruises and welts that comprised Kingsley’s chest. He looked and then glanced away before looking back again in horror.

“I believe you have your answer. That is how Søren is taking it.”

Kingsley buttoned his shirt up to his collarbone. He’d need a tie if he went out. His neck bore the unmistakable imprint of fingers.

“Did you…was that…”

“It was consensual, I assure you. Consensual if not entirely comfortable.”

Griffin shook his head. “I didn’t know you were…I didn’t know. Kingsley…you’re a switch?”

Sighing, Kingsley ran his hands through his hair. So hard to explain.

“I suppose. If we need a name for it, a label, that would do. I trust this is also nothing you will share with any others, not even your pet.”

“No. Of course not. Although he’d probably feel better knowing the most intimidating man in the city played sub sometimes. He’s still trying to get comfortable with what he is.”

“And he will still be trying when he is my age.”

“Does Nora know?”

“Oui. Bien sûr. What the priest knows she knows. And she…she’s almost as good at it as he is.”

The implication of Kingsley’s words took a moment to sink in. Then Griffin’s handsome face lit up with a combination of mirth and shock.

“Oh, shit. Nora’s kicked your ass? God, I would have paid through the nose to see that.”

“Not for all the money in the world, young man.”

“Damn. Well, I did ask her once who her first client was when she became a Dominatrix, and she wouldn’t tell me.”

“And now you know.”

“Now I know. Damn,” he repeated, laughing softly. Kingsley couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps this was the real reason he’d summoned Griffin—to force him to smile for the first time in what felt like ages. “Okay, I’ll take Mick to Nora’s house, as ordered. Fucking Mick in Nora’s bed will be a dream come true. Or would be if she was there, too. But we’ll make do.”

“See Sophia. She’ll have a set of keys for you. The house is alarmed. She’ll give you the codes, as well.”

“We’ll stay there until you give us the all clear.”

“Bon. Merci.”

“Of course. Anything. You know you just have to ask.”

Griffin headed for the door. But he paused before leaving and turned around.

“He is good. Søren, I mean,” Griffin said. “Couple of weeks ago, I had to let him top…I did it for Mick.”

“I know. Anything that happens at The 8th Circle, I know about it.”

“He didn’t even lay a hand on me. He didn’t have to. Broke me in half with words.”

“He knows how to break you and yet leave you feeling more whole than you ever had before.”

“Don’t tell him I kind of liked it,” Griffin said with a wink.

“Your secrets, as always, are safe with me.” Kingsley gave a slight bow and Griffin laughed on his way out the door.

Kingsley straightened up, wincing as he did so. Alone now, he didn’t have to hide his pain. He considered sitting down and then thought better of it. He could still barely move, much less sit or lie down. The adrenaline from his night with Søren had faded, leaving him in agony. Everything ached, everything throbbed. Søren had nearly killed him last night. Kingsley could only hope that he still healed as quickly as he used to.

The only thing that would truly heal him would be another night with Søren.

Summoning Sophia, he ordered a muscle relaxant and something sturdier to drink than sherry. She brought them quickly and Kingsley discarded the pills and the drink before imbibing either. All the Underground knew of his penchant to overindulge. Kingsley cultivated with care the reputation of being a lush. Few people realized how little he actually drank, how rarely he ingested any illicit substances at all. He wanted everyone to think he had more weaknesses than he did. And now more than ever he needed the shield of the debonair drunk to protect him.