King's Promise

“Just like there’s such a thing as striking while the iron is still hot,” Jeremy volleyed, unfazed.

Xavier smiled at the raw, unadulterated ambition gleaming in his brother’s eyes. Jeremy made no bones about the fact that he was out to make his paper. Ambition was great. It would probably take his brother a long way. At least, Xavier hoped it would—unlike his own.

A wave of disappointment and regret started rolling inside him again, but he ignored it and plastered on another smile. Somehow, over the years, he’d become the brother that everyone brought their problems to without anyone ever really asking whether he had any of his own.

For the record, he had quite a few of them.

He suspected that most people thought that because he could take and land a hard punch, and that he could handle just about anything. For the most part, they were right. He knew how to duck and dodge most of life’s problems. But the death of a dream…is something very few ever get over.

In 2002, he was on top of the world after becoming a national Golden Gloves champion with his eye toward the Olympics, the International Boxing Federation, the World Boxing Association and the World Boxing Council heavyweight titles. He wanted it all, like his heroes Muhammad Ali and Mike Tyson, who once had the world at their feet. He wasn’t inspired so much because of the money and endorsements—though those were nice, too—but it was the recognition that came with being the best, being number one.

Then came the fight that changed everything…

“Hello.” Quentin snapped his fingers in front of Xavier’s face and brought him back from his ruminations. “There he is.” Q smiled as their plates were being set on the table. “Still thinking about that hot bartender?”

Xavier rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Riiiight.” Quentin picked up his fork and knife and started cutting his steak. “The only time a man drifts off like that is because he’s thinking about a woman.”

Xavier laughed as he unrolled his linen napkin and started in on his baked potato. “Believe it or not, not all men spend their every waking moment thinking about women.”

Jeremy and Quentin stopped eating and looked at him. “They don’t?” they said in unison.

“Since when?” Jeremy added.

Xavier’s laughter deepened. “You two aren’t serious, are you?”

They looked at each other and then back at Xavier, their expressions unchanged.

“You both need psychiatric help,” he said, and took the first bite of his steak. He immediately moaned as he savored the cut of meat.

“Well, since you’re not interested in Ms. Got Milk, then you won’t mind if I stick around and see what the deal is with her. Hell, I can give her a run for her money behind the bar.” Quentin smirked.

Xavier’s frown returned. “Weren’t you just betting on who would get our hostess in bed a few minutes ago? Now you want to try to move in on my new bartender?”

“What? A man can’t multitask?”

Xavier shook his head. “I hope that you’re donating your brain to science because something is seriously wrong with you.”

“What? Aren’t you at least happy that I’m not drinking myself to death and getting into bar fights anymore?”

“Newsflash—you’re not going to be able to screw Alyssa out of your system, either,” Xavier schooled.

“Ouch. Harsh,” Jeremy mumbled under his breath.

Q nodded. “I wasn’t ready for that sucker punch.”

“Sorry,” Xavier said, and meant it. “That was uncalled for.”

“No. But it’s probably true, too,” Quentin said.

Xavier’s brows rose in surprise. “It was?”

Quentin shrugged as he pretended to think about it. “I said probably. I’ll get back to you with my findings.”

Xavier and Jeremy had to laugh. At the end of the day, Q was doing whatever he had or needed to do to get over his broken heart. The only thing was, Xavier questioned who really broke it—Alyssa or Q’s older brother Sterling.

Xavier counted himself lucky for never having gone through anything remotely similar—since he’d never been in love.

And God willing, he never would be.

Chapter 4

As her first day at The Dollhouse approached, Cheryl delved deeper and deeper into Xavier King’s background, almost to the point of making it a miniobsession. Her eyes pored over his family’s history like it was the latest Dennis Lehane bestseller. On paper, the King brothers’ parents struggled to raise them on a city bus driver and substitute teacher’s salary in a low-income section of Atlanta. There was no record of any of the brothers getting into any real trouble growing up—just a single missing person’s report for Jeremy King when he was six years old. Apparently, the kid had run away from home after finding a box of puppies in the woods and had become upset when his father told him that they couldn’t afford to keep them and would have to take them to the pound. Two days later, Jeremy’s childhood friend broke down and confessed that Jeremy was living in their backyard in his tree house.

Cheryl smiled every time she read the old newspaper story. Not to mention, Jeremy was an adorable kid. But even looking at those old articles, her eyes would eventually drift to a frowning Xavier standing in the background. The other material Cheryl dug up on Xavier included spelling-bee championships, high school football accolades and scholarships. At nineteen, the football accolades turned to success in the boxing ring. Xavier won the national Golden Gloves heavyweight championship in ’02 and ’03 and even made the Olympic team in ’04. But his career abruptly ended with a near-perfect 21-1 record without any real explanation as to why he left boxing.

He just stopped fighting.

As far as Cheryl could tell, Xavier just disappeared from the spotlight for two years and then reappeared as a gentlemen’s club owner, where accusations and suspicions of drug trafficking continued to swirl.

Cheryl’s gaze settled once again on the department’s black-and-white photographs of the sexy club owners. And try as she might, she just didn’t or couldn’t see them as criminals. Maybe it was something about Xavier’s dark soulful eyes. They struck her as being too honest…and playful. Now since she’d had the pleasure of being in the same room with the man, she would testify on a stack of Bibles that Xavier King did indeed dominate a room. The power of his gaze, the line of his shoulders and the unmistakable strength in his bulging arms… “Whew!” She reached for her cold bottled water and downed most of its twenty ounces, trying to put out the fire of her own making.

Something creaked and Cheryl’s head whipped around to her bedroom door. There standing at the threshold, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, was her six-year-old nephew, Thaddeus. A smile spread across her face again. “Heeey, li’l man. Whatcha doin’ up?”

“There’s a monster in my closet,” he whined. His footed pajamas shuffled across the hardwood floor of her bedroom as he made his way over to her.

“A monster?” she responded with wide-eyed shock. She circled her arm around his tiny shoulders. “Are you sure?”

Thaddeus poked out his bottom lip and nodded.

“Oh, no. That just won’t do.”

“Will you come in my room and shoot it with your police gun?” he asked hopefully.

“How about I just go in there and check it out for myself?” she suggested. “I’m tough. I’m sure that I’ll be able to handle that monster with my bare hands.”

Her bravery made his eyes grow wider. “You sure? What if it hurts you?”

“Are you kidding me?” Cheryl curled her right arm. “Check out these muscles,” she said, and waited for her nephew to give her Michelle Obama–like arms a good squeeze.

“Wow. You are strong,” he said, awestruck.

“I sure am.” She winked at him and stood. “Now let me at that monster hiding in that closet. We don’t have time for none of this foolishness, do we?”

Thaddeus shook his head and then fell in line behind his aunt as she strolled out of her bedroom and headed into his room. “That monster is going to get it,” he declared confidently.

“He sure is,” Cheryl agreed. “Just let me at him.”