The King’s Favorite Sin

Under My Skin

My lips parted. I felt the tremble before I realized it was visible, my shock blooming into something deeper. Awe. Embarrassment. A strange ache I didn’t understand.

His gaze devoured me. He looked at my mouth, at the fear in my eyes, and I knew he enjoyed every bit of it.

“I'll leave this place,” he said, his voice like a quiet threat. “With or without your assessment.”

My legs went weak as he stared at me.

“I...” The word barely escaped my mouth.

He released my hand at last. Then a wink followed.

“But I’m a gentleman,” he said. “And I’ll let you do your job. You will go far, Miss Wilson.”

Warmth flooded through me, entirely unwanted. I hated that I felt proud. Excited. Terrified. All of it, all at once.

The door slammed open with a crash and the guard stormed in.

“Hands off!” He said.

But Scott had already let go of my wrist. He raised both hands in the air, unbothered, like he had been expecting the interruption.

“Sorry,” he said smoothly. “Won’t happen again.”

I blinked at him, then slowly sat back in my chair. My pulse was wild, but I squared my shoulders and kept my eyes on him. I refused to flinch. The guard turned to me, his hand still near his baton.

“Are you all right, miss?”

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound composed. “Everything is okay. We will proceed.”

I looked back at Scott and gave him the coldest glare I could muster, lifting my chin. He needed to see that I was not some fragile thing he could toy with. At least I hoped I wasn’t. I picked up my pen again, surprised and grateful that my hands had stopped trembling.

The guard left us and I continued the session.

“Please,” I said, my voice steady. “Can you tell me about the crime for which you were imprisoned?”

His smile returned at once, feral and knowing.

“Your little skirt,” he said, as if I had asked him about the weather. His eyes gleamed with wicked amusement. You’re very precious. You have beautiful legs. It is the perfect length to…”

“Mr. Fischer!”

I cut him off sharply, banging on the table. My voice echoed louder than I intended, but I did not regret it. My career, my dignity, all of it hung on this moment. I would not let him intimidate me, not even if he was the Mafia king.

“Mr. Fischer,” I repeated, more calmly now. “I will not tolerate you talking about my body. I am doing my job, and I demand your respect in this process.”

He bit his bottom lip, eyes dark and locked on mine. A shiver ran through me, unwelcome and undeniable. I should have felt insulted. I should have felt violated. But instead, I felt something far more dangerous. Something I did not want to name.

“I just wanted to break the ice,” he said, a teasing lilt in his tone.

“You cannot deny that I am right,” he added.

I leaned forward slightly, refusing to break eye contact.

“Mr. Fischer, you may be a king outside this jail, but in here you are a prisoner. The state requires me to assess you and determine whether you should be released. I am not a little girl. You should not be looking at my body, and if you disrespect me again, I will have the guard return you to your cell.”

I took a breath, sharp and controlled.

“And I will tell the judge that you pose a risk to the public.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you, Ms. Wilson,” he said.

His words sounded civil, but I could tell they cost him nothing. Still, something had changed. There was a flicker in his eyes that had not been there before. A glint of admiration. I doubted he had imagined a young woman like me would have the spine to confront him. That made two of us.

“To offend me,” I said coolly, “you need not just the will to do so, but the ability also. I just thought a man like you would be more chivalrous.”

His eyes lit up, and the grin that followed was slow and deliberate.

“Oh, I am a gentleman, Ms. Wilson,” he said. “However, your presence makes me anything but a gentleman.”

He licked his lips. My stomach tightened. My fingers curled around the edges of my papers as I gathered them, doing my best to hide the tremble in my hands.

“Sir, this is an important process!”

He said nothing for a moment. He just watched me.

“I understand, Doc. I’m here, am I not?” he said finally. “Go ahead. Assess me.”

He spread his arms slightly as he spoke, as if offering himself up to be judged. The hard angles of his shoulders, the sheer force in his stillness, the arrogance carved into every inch of him. And then those eyes. That dark, gleaming stare that pinned me in place and made it difficult to breathe. It was too much.

God, this man doesn't deserve an ounce of this hotness he possesses.

My heart thudded loud in my ears as I dropped my gaze to the floor. Anywhere but him. Anywhere.

“You looked away first,” he said. His voice was smug, triumphant. “On the battlefield, that means you would have died by my hand. Weak.”

He leaned back slightly, not taking his eyes off me.

“Weak,” he repeated, softer. “And yet I’m still here. Even though I know this is a waste of time.”

Something inside me snapped. I raised my eyes to him again, not blinking this time, not flinching. He was not going to win.

He grinned. “Good. I like my girls with a little fight in them.”

Heat rushed up my neck. My face felt cold and hot all at once, the humiliation prickling beneath my skin. I had walked right into his trap. I clenched my jaw and started writing in a sharp and almost violent way. My handwriting was rushed, scrawling across the paper in angry strokes.

“Constantly defiant. Ruthlessly sociopathic. No remorse. Recommend continued imprisonment without parole.”

“This is finished,” I said, my voice shaking with fury as I shoved the papers together and stuffed them, crinkled and bent, into my bag.

He was laughing under his breath. It wasn’t loud, but it sliced through me like a blade. I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and turned to the door. I made myself look back at him, hoping my glare said everything I could not put into words.

I had barely taken a step before he moved, swiftly and smoothly. Like he had been waiting for the exact second I passed him.

His hand touched my face. Just his fingertips, gentle, deliberate, caressing the side of my cheek like we were lovers in another life. I froze.

“Thanks for your time,” he said. “I quite like you, Kendra.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought I might collapse from the sound of it.

“I believe we’ll cross paths again,” he said, his voice low, almost amused. “I just decided to terminate my prison journey for you.”

He knocked twice on the metal. Then the guard appeared and led him away.

I stood there, still frozen. Shaking. Afraid. And somewhere beneath the fear, something else stirred. Something dangerous.

Excitement.

The city blurred past my windows as I drove, but I barely saw any of it.

All I could think about was Scott Fischer.

His voice, his hands, the way he had looked at me like he could see straight through my skin. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to shake the memory of his fingers brushing my cheek. It had lasted only seconds, but it lingered like heat, like a scar.

I still couldn’t believe he was Caleb’s father. It didn’t make sense. There had been no trace of that man in him.

The way Scott had said we would see each other again…

He had sounded so certain. Too certain. Like he had already decided it. Like my opinion had nothing to do with it.

I didn’t doubt for a second that he could get out of prison if he wanted. The confidence in his eyes, the way he carried himself, that unspoken power that filled the room like smoke, it hadn’t belonged to someone caged.

The thought of seeing his face again, sent a shiver down my spine.

He was dangerous.

A man like that didn’t just play games. He started wars. And I didn’t want to be a part of whatever world he came from. I couldn’t be.

I needed to stay away from him.

He was my ex-boyfriend’s father, for God’s sake.

I parked in front of the house and sat there for a few minutes, staring at the steering wheel, trying to process everything that had happened today. When I finally felt ready, I got out of the car and made my way inside.

As soon as I stepped through the door, my sister’s voice rang out.

“Kendra!”

She practically lunged at me, pulling me into a hug that was both comforting and a little too tight. She let go quickly, though, her eyes already scanning me like she was looking for something I wasn’t ready to give.

“How was your first day at work?” Dad asked, his voice warm, and his arms open for one of his classic bear hugs.

I leaned in, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, my mind still half on the day. “It was... okay,” I muttered, the words coming out flat. I didn’t have the energy to explain everything that had happened.

I headed straight for the fridge, grabbing a bottle of cold water, hoping it would cool down the heat in my chest.

Alissa wasn’t finished with me, though. Of course.

“And where is that boyfriend of yours?” she asked, a note of judgment in her voice.

I froze, the bottle of water still in my hand. I hadn’t expected this so soon. “Don’t start, Alissa,” I warned, not even bothering to turn around. The last thing I needed was a talk about my ex.

She wasn’t backing down. “I’m just saying,” she pressed, a little more pointed now, “it’s a red flag when a guy doesn’t want to meet your friends or family. Who even is this Caleb guy?”

Dad cleared his throat, the warning in his tone enough to make Alissa pause. “I think you should trust Kendra more. She’s clever, you know?”

He turned to me, his gaze softening, a little playful. “Aren’t you, kid?”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, even though a small part of me felt a pang of affection. “Dad, I’m not a kid anymore. Maybe it’s time to retire the nickname.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Never. You’ll always be my kid.”

Alissa plopped a plate of eggs in front of me and smacked me lightly on the head with her palm. We might not share blood, but she managed to play the role of bossy older sister a little too well sometimes.

I sat down at the counter, trying not to groan.

I came to live with David and Alissa after he married my mom. She was the happiest I’d ever seen her during those two short years before the accident. David didn’t have to stay, didn’t have to take me in and love me like I was his own, but he did.

As for my biological father, I had no memory of him. No name. No image. Just an empty space where answers should be.