Page 36 of The King (Masterpiece Duet 1)
“You don’t want to know,” he says, his voice hard.
“I should know if I’m going to help her.”
“I’m not sure there’s any help for someone who’s been through that.”
That almost makes me laugh. Maybe if the ice were a little thinner, I would have. But every second that Damon is away from me, the ice hardens. Every time he pushes me away it gets thicker.
It should be a relief that he doesn’t seem to be claiming the debt. That he’s giving me time to heal. But he’s the only person who really understands what I’ve been through. Because he went through his own hell, with the very same devil.
“Are you speaking from experience?” Avery says, her innocence heartbreaking.
“I saw a lot of fucked-up shit at the whorehouse growing up. Women raped, hurt. Beaten until they weren’t recognizable. And still I never saw anything like this.”
She makes a sound of sympathy. For me. For him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, little virgin. I could have freed you. Never forget that. I could have paid a million dollars and then walked away, never fucking that pretty little cunt.” A pause, as if to let the words set in. “He fucked her. And then he drowned her.”
A sharp breath. “How did she—”
“Survive? She left a trail of breadcrumbs for him to find. He didn’t know if he’d make it in time. He had no idea if he’d find a dead body at the bottom of the pool.”
Didn’t he? Like that day on the river I don’t quite remember being pulled from the pool. I don’t remember much of last night except the hard currents, the sharp rocks. The metallic taste of blood in the water. That must have been horrible for Damon, but it’s hard to feel sympathy.
Hard to feel anything at all.
“Thank God he didn’t.” Avery sounds painfully earnest.
“What Jonathan Scott did to her… Most people would rather have died.”
I know I should feel something about that. Shame, probably.
But all I keep thinking is, what if I did die last night? What if the only parts of me worth saving sank to the bottom of that cold pool? I can be dressed up and fed like a doll, but I’m not a person. I can walk around, my body controlled by the people around me.
What makes me human? What makes me want to be human?
It seems like a horrible thing to be, so weak and unwilling.
Chapter Fifteen
Avery tucks me in at night, murmuring things about Gabriel’s huge house.
“It’s very comfortable,” she assures me. “And very safe.”
That last part seems to be the sticking point. Not only because of the threat of Jonathan Scott looming over us all. There must be something less than shiny, something not quite gilded in her past. Because she keeps glancing at the walls, as if something terrifying might jump out of the plaster.
She leaves the bathroom light on for me, the door cracked open an inch.
Then she closes the door, probably going to sleep with Gabriel. She doesn’t say, but I saw the way he looked at her. The way she looked at him. The lion to the gazelle. Only this gazelle wants to be eaten.
I hear the footsteps first. My heart is a muscle overworked in the last twenty-four hours, already sore and weak from beating so fast. Now it strains against my ribs, making weak protest.
The doorknob turns, a polished silver handle reflecting the light.
Most likely it’s Avery checking on me.
Possibly it’s someone out of my nightmares.
Damon Scott slips into the room, as casual as if he were visiting for tea. He’s still wearing his shirt and vest. Only his shoes are missing, the sole nod to being in his own home. I suppose that counts for casual with him, those black socks on the plush carpet.
He enters the way I imagine he’d visit a lover. A woman in lace lingerie should be waiting for him, not a broken girl in an oversize T-shirt.
He sits on the edge of the bed, his expression unreadable. “Hello, Penny.”
Such a mundane greeting.
I want to do something drastic in response. To scream or tear out my hair. Something to show the utter chaos inside me. He must see it. He must feel it, having that monster for a father.
Screaming would require feeling something. I would rather not feel, so I say nothing.
That earns me a small smile. “You’ve been holding up well.”
An iceberg holds up well, floating like a massive rock. Congratulations, I tell myself with bitter appreciation. I’m a natural phenomenon. And where I’m made from ice, he’s a flame.
Even from two feet away I can feel him burn.
“Would you like to stay at Gabriel’s house?”
As if it’s a vacation, meant to be enjoyed.
As if I have a choice.
“Why?” I whisper. Why are you here?
He raises one eyebrow, pretending not to understand. “Avery’s a nice girl.”
