Page 22 of The King (Masterpiece Duet 1)
“You have to take what you can get, for as long as you can get it,” she says, her voice soft and earnest. “Right now you’re young. You’re pretty. That’s enough to keep Damon Scott for a few weeks.”
A knot forms in my throat. “That’s the coldest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“He treats his girls good.”
Treats, like we were dogs. Like I’m a pet. I refused to do tricks for the father. I’m not going to start for his son. “I don’t care. He still wants to own me.”
She meets my gaze in the mirror. “Better than my pimp treated us, that’s for sure.”
My stomach drops. “Oh, Jessica. I’m so sorry.”
She gets up from the stool and takes Ky, her smile sad. “Don’t be sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong. But I’m worried. Worried that you’ll fight Damon even if he’s the lesser of two evils.”
The lesser of two evils. That describes him well. “Maybe you’re right,” I whisper.
“It’s not all bad. There are always bright sides.”
There’s love in her blue eyes as she kisses her son’s chubby cheek. His skin is darker than hers, his hair darker. He has her eyes, though, made a navy color by whatever genes his father contributed. A man I’ve never met. She doesn’t mention him often.
“Is that what his father was?” I ask, my voice low. Low even though Ky can’t understand us talking about his father. “The lesser of two evils?”
There’s no judgment here. Only a dark and twisted sisterhood.
“He worked for the man my father owed money to. I was a gift. I could have said no, I guess. Could have said I wouldn’t sleep in his bed, but that only would have made things harder for me.”
“God, Jessica.”
Her expression is deadly serious. “Don’t fight them. It only makes it worse.”
“I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t know if I can just… accept this.”
“Sometimes the best way to get past something is to go through it.”
This was the worst advice I could imagine, made more terrible by the fact that it was right. “What if I move in with Brennan?” I ask, grasping at straws.
“And he can protect you from these men?” she asks, the answer plain in her voice. No, he can’t. And being with him would only sign his death sentence.
“There has to be another way. Anything. The cops.”
She laughs, then. “You know who dragged me back to Nico when I tried to run away? That’s right. A cop.”
Anger burns, old coals stoked hotter. “So much for serve and protect.”
She picks up a figure with silver armor and a sword. A knight. “They serve and protect the king.”
The man who owns everyone. Jonathan Scott. “Then who is Damon in this analogy?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t want him for an enemy.”
He’s the prince, of course.
Not quite as powerful as his father, but close. Close enough to be a danger to me. They’re really two sides of the same coin. Either way I’m a peasant girl in a kingdom of gilt and glamour.
Whatever Daddy did, whoever he tried to betray, the Scott family would destroy us.
“What if I don’t survive?” I whisper.
“Oh honey, that’s not the problem. The question you need to worry about is, what if you do?”
* * *
“Move in with me,” Brennan offers.
I blink at him from his kitchen table, the same table where I first met his parents. “Your dad lives here.”
The older Mr. Peterson is a quiet man, brooding, made even more so by the death of his wife. He works at the garage each day and late into the evening before going home to watch the nightly news. We pass nods of formality in the hallway. That’s the extent of our conversation.
“He won’t mind.”
“He won’t mind an underage girl moving in with his underage son?”
Brennan shrugs. “He knows what your dad’s like. He’ll understand.”
Maybe he would, but I wasn’t sure I could do that anymore than I could give myself to Damon Scott. Either way I would be forfeiting my life, surrendering to a man, and God, if I were used for anything at least I’d rather it was my mind.
“I don’t think so. Besides, I can’t leave Daddy to deal with this alone. They’ll kill him.”
Brennan looks unimpressed. “He’s brought it on himself.”
I can’t help but gasp. “He’s family.”
“Fine.” It’s rare that he’s ever snapped at me. He’s usually easy-going, which is why we get along so well. Why we’ve lasted so long.
“Please,” I say, putting my hand on his arm. “I don’t want you to be angry with me. I just need to figure out how to handle this. There must be something we can do. Like maybe a payment plan.”
“And while time goes by, your dad’s not going to gamble?”
Okay, maybe he has good reason to be mad. I’m deflated like an old balloon, its plastic stretched and small. I put my head in my hands, covering my face. “You’re right. There isn’t an answer.”
