My King (Two Prince's Book 1) Read Free Page A

I know I’m grumpy and I sound like a total bitch but it’s the middle of the night and this weirdo came a knocking on my door. Bad manners on my part, but being nice is the farthest thing from my mind at the moment.
    Sunglasses stares at me. I tell myself that I am not intimidated by this freak show and stare right back at him. Which gives me a chance to take in the rest of him. He’s got messy black hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in about five years and it lays limp across his forehead. He’s taller than me by almost a foot, I have to crane my neck up uncomfortably to look him in the eyes. And he’s dressed, head to toe, in all black. Black boots. Black jeans with a rip in the left knee. Pull over back hoodie. Black sunglasses.
    Awesome.
    Just fucking great.
    The gothic version of emo decided to come calling in the middle of the night.
    I wouldn’t be surprised if he was sportin’ eye liner under those shades.
    “Look buddy, it’s late, could you just tell me what you want and then be on your merry way?”
    He stands there staring at me.
    That was it.
    Nothing else.
    No response.
    Not a single thing.
    I bet he’s not even blinking behind those damn shades.
    I heave a giant, very audible, sigh. I’m fed up and done with this bullshit. Frankly, I was done with the whole damn day. I wanted nothing more than to slam the door shut in his face, go back to my room, crawl into my bed, close my eyes and sleep for the next day or two. So I shut the door in his silent face, or, at least I try to. Before I can get it shut all the way, he shoves his foot inside, stopping me from closing it.
    Oh fuck.
    This night just took a serious turn for the worst.
     
     
     

Chapter 2
    Shayne
     
    “Where’s Ian?” He asks me, his voice coming out sounding harsh, scratchy, and rough, like he was unused to using it.
    The hairs on the back of my neck and arms rise solely from hearing those two little words come out of his mouth. It wasn’t the words, obviously, but the way he spoke them. There was an edge to his voice that put me on edge. A harshness that reached out, caressing my skin with each word spoken, causing my hair to stand on end. My guess would be his eyes were nard as stones behind those shades.
    He gave me a serious case of the creeps and a longing I’ve never had before for a hand gun.
    “Ian…?” I ask. I shake my head and clear my throat before continuing, “There’s no Ian here. You have the wrong place,” I tell him. My voice coming out as a squeak, even after I’ve cleared it. Admittedly, I think I might have pissed myself a little when he shoved his foot in the door.
    Bending at the waist he leans in close to me and all I can smell is this sour, rotting stench that’s drifting out of his mouth. Maybe even his pores. It smells almost like he’s rotting from the inside out. I have to concentrate really hard on not breathing in through my nose and not gagging.
    I wish he would back up a little because if I have to smell too much of this then there’s a good chance I might just toss my cookies all over him.
    To be honest, I’m not quite sure what would smell worse; my vomit or his rot.
    Holy fuck, but Sunglasses is nasty.
    I don’t much care for him being in my space at all.
    “Don’t lie to me, bitch,” he rasps out at me.
    Whoa.
    I had gotten a creepy, dirty, somewhat scary vibe off of him but I was not expecting this. Stupid on my part. Especially after he shoved his foot in my door stopping me from shutting it in his face.
    I may have started out annoyed (and a little scared), but now I’ve moved straight to freaked right the fuck out.
    A moment of silence passes between us as my thoughts swirl in my mind at a rapid pace.
    Something in my brain clicked together and I moved straight to pissed right the hell off.
    Seriously, he called me a bitch! Who does this dude think he is? It’s the middle of the night and he knocked on my goddamn door, being an asshole, scaring the crap out of me