Page 32 of The King (Masterpiece Duet 1)
As if he can read my thoughts he smiles. “Sometimes at night, I’d hear you breathe faster. See your hand moving under the covers. It’s so beautiful, the way you love yourself.”
My eyes widen. “I’m not leaving here, am I?”
“Not alive.” He sounds almost regretful about that.
The last thing I see will be those silver eyes. I run for the door, knowing I’m trapped.
Of course he catches me.
That night I learn why Damon Scott could hold his breath underwater for so long. Because his father forced him there, longer and longer until he had to adapt to survive. It’s a brutal existence, the water closing in on you, almost praying for death because it would be a relief. Green tiles. Black water. The certainty that this will be the last thing I see.
The decision to survive, if only to spite the monster.
My body is broken and split apart. Violated. Twisted into something unfeeling.
That night my mind cracks into a million splinters.
But the king was wrong about one thing. I don’t die, no matter how many times I wish I would. I learn to hold my breath, the same way Damon Scott did. We have something in common now. We’re both monsters. Not the kind you can see on the outside. He wears a secret smile on his handsome face. Bruises faded back to pale skin on my naked body.
It’s only inside that something can never be repaired.
Only inside that I never really leave the water.
Inside that I learn to need the dark.
Chapter Fourteen
All those years ago I didn’t like the water. I was too busy clinging to the slippery rubber, too frantic kicking to stay close to Mama. Way too afraid of drifting away.
And then Damon Scott came into my life. A force of nature. A tidal wave. And I learn that there are compensations for drowning. That I can float, my body shivering and catatonic.
My mind can float, too.
That’s how Damon finds me.
He pulls my body from the water, his hands iron-hard on my bruised skin. Strong arms cradle my limp body. Held so close I could hear his heart beating, too fast. I want to tell him—don’t worry. I’m okay here, floating down the river in my head.
Except I can’t say a word. That’s one thing about floating.
I hear him talking to me, his low voice so different than ever before. He’s been amused and casually cruel. Never terrified and tense, never broken.
The words come through a thick swirl of dark water, my thoughts inky black.
“Wake up, sweetheart. Talk to me. Oh God, what did he do to you? Tell me where you’re hurt. Let me help you.” He speaks faster the longer he goes, his voice turning hoarse. “Beautiful girl. Smart girl. Come back to me.”
He carries me for what feels like miles, my uniform drenched, his grip impossibly tight.
Part of me wonders how we must look, a man in a suit carrying a half-conscious girl. Does no one stop him? Does no one wonder? The irony is that he’s the only man who would protect me.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against my forehead. “God, I’m so sorry. I tried to stay away from you. I wanted to keep you safe. If he knew… if he touched you…”
Jonathan Scott did more than touch me. He tortured me. He violated me in every way that a man can hurt a woman. I’m sure there’s tearing, enough to show what’s happened. I wish there weren’t any marks, not because it would hurt me less, but because it would hurt him less.
The unlikely prince come to take me away.
No white horse, though. Only his bespoke Italian loafers against the asphalt. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s raining, the water on my skin fresh and clean. Unlike that horrible pool of water where I had been trapped, unlike the salty tears I couldn’t hold in.
Damon swears, but I wish I could tell him the rain will help. I don’t want to be dirty.
We reach a building in the historic district, with white stone and black metal balconies on each window. He pushes inside as if he owns the place, and maybe he does. Maybe he owns the entire street.
I hear a feminine gasp. “Is she—”
Is she dead? That’s what the unknown woman asks.
The strange part is not knowing the answer. Am I dead?
“She’ll wish she was,” Damon says, his voice hard.
It sounds like a threat, but I feel the tension in his body. He’s worried about me. About what happened before he showed up. Before Jonathan Scott shoved me into a black pool of water and closed a grate on top of me, trapping me inside. Before he held me down and—
My mind shies away from the truth.
Maybe I would wish I were dead, by the time this is over.
