As soon as she spots King in the hospital, she’s hurrying towards him, a mixture of relief that he’s alive and worry he got hurt, while also knowing the pain and devastation he was feeling are indescribable due to Brandi’s passing. He was one of the very first people she thought of when everything was happening in the club, and the fact that she hadn’t been able to find or reach him gave her a strong surge of anxiety and fear. “King... I’m so sorry.” She’s quick to lean up to hug him, not knowing what else to do comfort him, especially when comfort seemed so far-fetched for her in light of the disaster they were all in. “I’m here.” Her fingers go into his blond locks. She’s this close to crying—crying for Knox, crying for him, crying for everyone who has lost someone and is living in fear, but right now she needed to be the stronger of the two. He was always her rock through hard times, she would be the same.
By the time Gracia finds King again in the sea of people, she’s already pretty tipsy. She knows she’s going to regret drinking when she wakes up tomorrow, but she’s in such a carefree mood right now that she’s not thinking of the future. That is future Gracia’s problem. “Shaggy! King. Wait, Shaggy. King?” A pause, as if she’s contemplating something. “What do you prefer I call you?” She giggles to herself, eyes bright up at him. “Also, I have a very important question. Like, really important.”
He hates airports, though, and his irritation is driving away the people who might otherwise come closer. He’s still, and there’s a visible gap between him and everyone else. He’s fixating in on the gate, watching as a woman he knows all too well struts off with her newest arm candy. Nice, firm tits and artfully mussed blonde hair – and on her arm, that absolute imbecile. It’s Tera and Syrus, alright.
It isn’t jealousy making him irate. It’s not heartache. It’s not even lust.
He’s fine with her leaving. In actual fact, if she had stuck around much longer, he’d have probably shot her – she’s too much of a liability, too obviously available for the highest bidder to get her to turn on him. It’s just demeaning that she’s lowered herself for a personality deprived vampire, that she’s gone from yours truly – King himself – to Syrus fucking Constantine.
And he knows she’s more loyal to Syrus than she ever was to him, too. It doesn’t help.
He rolls his shoulders; too warm in the crowded, over-heated airport. He flicks a glance down as he unbuttons the sharp suit jacket, ignoring the dull ache of his bruise knuckles. His blonde hair falls into his green eyes, and he brushes it impatiently aside. If he could manage to hold a less caustic gaze, then maybe he’d pass for a model. Maybe someone would dare to approach him. As it is, he’s revelling in the isolation, in the lack of having to deal with people –
“Excuse me.”
The accent is heavy and unfamiliar; something probably European. He flinches visibly, peeved by the approach, by the way this woman – because it is a woman, he confirms with a glance, a woman dressed more in laces and string than actual fabric beneath her wine-red jacket, hanging open to reveal it all. He doesn’t know where she’s come from, but she’s ignored the obvious line between him and everyone else. When he glares at her, meeting her gaze readily, he finds soft green eyes at odds with the sharp, thin lines of the rest of her face. He swallows the glare half-heartedly and cocks a brow, inviting the question she seems so very intent on asking. Enough to shut up for a moment to take him in.
“Where’s the nearest hotel?” She smiles as she asks, as though she wants to charm him.
“Royce Suite,” he says. He’s not charmed. “It’s near the beach, not far from here.”
She lingers for a moment, but he doesn’t get the impression she has anything more to say after her nod of thanks. It’s like she’s examining something; him, maybe. He’s been checked out before, but this isn’t that, not exactly. It feels heavier than that, more intent in it. More intentional. More suspicious.
A familiar voice cuts into his thoughts, “Boss,” and he flicks a glance towards Ace. His ‘employee’ has his bag slung over his shoulder; it bounces as he settles easily in beside him. “Thanks for picking me up.”
King shrugs, and glances back to the woman – only, she’s gone, vanished into the crowd. He frowns at the space she occupied for a moment, and then dismisses it, clapping Ace on the arm. “We’re outta here.”
