Page 30 of The King (Masterpiece Duet 1)
Then I’m opening the door, inviting the devil inside. “Come in.”
He stalks into the apartment as if he owns it, which he does. His cool grey gaze takes in my father and his broken knee with a single, disdainful glance.
Daddy struggles to stand. And fails. “Mr. Scott,” he says. “What can we do for you?”
What a sad attempt at valiance. That makes my heart squeeze in a way his apology never could. Who am I to blame my father for his addictions? He couldn’t control them anymore than I could make my brain into something else.
Jonathan Scott gestures to the lumpy armchair as if it’s a gold-plated antique in his palace. “Please sit down, George. Don’t strain yourself on my account.”
Daddy shudders a little, his good leg already failing him. I move quickly to help him. There’s no point in overexerting himself. Nothing he does would stop this.
Jonathan Scott takes the maroon corduroy sofa. Somehow his presence makes it seem like a throne. “I understand my son has been to visit you.”
My heart stops. Damon Scott was here, in our apartment? Daddy didn’t tell me that. Was that before or after I went to the Den? He might see it as a kindness to harass my father instead of me.
“I told him we’d get it,” Daddy says, breathing hard. “I swear.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Jonathan Scott says, his voice underlaid with steel. “There’s no way for you to get ten thousand dollars. Little Penny could serve a hundred pies a day, and you’d never be able to pay.”
I’ve had enough.
“Stop it,” I say, because I’m the reason he’s really here. “Leave him alone.”
A flash of excitement crosses Jonathan Scott’s face, sending a shiver down my spine. He likes it when I talk back, when I fight. That’s what Jessica told me, but I told her the truth. I don’t think I can let him. Like I’m underwater. The body will fight to breathe.
His voice is mild. “I could. Leave him alone, I mean. If you want me to.”
It was always leading to this. I try to keep my voice steady. “What do you mean?”
“Ten thousand dollars.” He pulls out a thick envelope. I can guess what’s inside. Money. It’s his gamble. In this rundown tenement, his odds are good. “Would you like this, Penny?”
“No, leave her out of this,” Daddy says. “She didn’t have nothing to do with it.”
“You’ll have to give the money to Damon yourself,” Jonathan Scott says to Daddy, his dark liquid gaze still trained on me. “Do you think you could manage that? Or would you gamble again, hoping to turn it into twenty or thirty thousand?”
We may not need to give that money to Damon Scott, but Daddy doesn’t know that. It still hurts to think he might trade my life for one last gamble. Then again isn’t that what he always does?
“I’ll make sure he gets it,” I say, imagining myself waiting in the apartment for him. How safe I would be. It’s enough to make me laugh, if I was capable of smiling. What an illusion, safety. The impressive thing isn’t what I can do with numbers, with lines and curves in my head. The impressive thing is that I ever believed, even for one moment, that home would be safe.
“You won’t,” Jonathan Scott says, casual in his dismissal.
“Why not?” I say, almost a whisper.
“You’ll be with me.”
With him, where Damon can find me. Where Damon can save me.
At least I hope so.
“No!” Daddy fights to stand. And fails. “You can’t do this.”
Jonathan Scott gives me a smile that’s almost handsome. If I didn’t know how evil he was I could have been fooled. It’s enough to prove he doesn’t have to force girls. With his smooth silver fox looks and his money he could have anyone he wanted. He prefers to force.
“It’s up to you,” he says.
“You’re a monster,” I tell him, this one statement sincere.
“That’s right,” he murmurs. “Fight me.”
Don’t fight them. I’m shaking with something—maybe fear, maybe anger. I prefer to be angry. Some part of me thinks it might seem more realistic, but the truth is I am angry. It’s not pretend. “How dare you do this?”
“Offer you money? Well, sure, call the cops. Tell them how horrible I am for paying your daddy’s debts.”
“Aren’t the police in your pockets?” I ask bitterly.
“Or you can take your chances with Damon Scott. He has quite a reputation.” He glances at Daddy’s broken leg. “I suppose you’re already familiar with it. What did he promise to take next?”
Daddy looks at me, his eyes helpless. It doesn’t matter who broke his knee. Doesn’t matter that the debt to Damon Scott has been won, because that was the deal I made. To be bait for this man. This dark king.
“Tick tock,” the king says. “Would you like the money?”
