Page 50 of The King (Masterpiece Duet 1)
He simply nods. “Better, then.”
I am doing better, strangely better than Avery herself. It seems strange, like maybe I should be more broken by what happened. Then again there’s no timetable for recovery. “I know it doesn’t sound pretty—dirt. The smell of it, thick and strong. It means you’re free.”
Even in my fantasies we don’t live in a castle. If he had stayed we would have lived in the woods, would have fished in the lake, would have walked barefoot and wild.
* * *
The good news is that Avery comes up with an elaborate plan to escape the mansion. That it’s such a secret confirms every fear I’ve had about our positions here. Prisoners.
The bad news is that she thinks she’s leaving without me.
I sneak after her and the security guard on her tail, making it into the trunk of the black SUV before the door closes.
“What are you doing?” Avery whispers, her eyes wide with surprise.
With a sigh I burrow myself into her body. She knows exactly what I’m doing.
After a moment her body relaxes, accepting me.
It’s actually pretty impressive, the feint she set up so they would think she left with a delivery truck from earlier. The security guard drives us off the property himself.
Less impressive when we sneak onto the streets of west side. That’s where her plan ends, with two young women stranded in the worst part of town with no money. Only a rich girl, honestly.
“Tanglewood Sober Ride,” I tell a surly bus driver, dragging Avery back with me before anyone can protest. The program is rarely used by people who actually should use it. More by people who want to joy ride on moldy old buses, which tells you everything you need to know about the state of the seats.
The bus shakes violently as it begins moving, knocking Avery off balance.
I drag her into the seat next to me.
“Thank you,” she says, sounding breathless.
All I have for her is a small smile. We make a pretty good team, though I’m not going to tell her that. I hope we never have to break out of a multi-million-dollar home again.
“We should go to the Den,” she says. “It’s on Fourth Street, once you go past the train tracks and—”
I squeeze her hand. These are my stomping grounds. “I know.”
The buildings get more narrow as we approach the historic district. The alleyways more winding, every building with three secret exits leftover from the prohibition.
On Fourth Street I pull the cord, making the bus stop.
We reach the Den to find the door open, the fortress completely dark. Empty. At least that’s how it looks from a few feet away. When we reach the short steps, we see him. Anders. The doctor. Spread out on the stairs like some kind of gruesome warning sign.
Avery kneels beside him, pressing her hands to his chest, coating her hands in blood. She takes off her sweater and pushes it against the wound.
He coughs. “Don’t.”
I can’t help but think pain is a good sign at a time like this. It means he’s alive and feeling. Then again that sounds like something Jonathan Scott would say.
“You’re losing blood,” Avery says, clearly panicking.
“Don’t,” he coughs again, his words mangled.
Panic descends on me like a heavy fog, keeping my feet in the same place, blurring my vision. It feels too much like being underwater, this fear. Too heavy to possibly fight.
Avery looks back at me, as if I might have the answers.
“He’s not here,” I say, because I know he won’t be upstairs.
“Gabriel?” she asks.
I shake my head. It’s Damon. It’s always been Damon.
Anders drags her close. “Don’t go to him. That’s what he wants.”
That is what Jonathan Scott wants, but then he orchestrated this violence. He’s the conductor, keeping all of us playing. We’re all just instruments to him. Even Gabriel, rare and beautiful.
Avery calls the police while I consider bolting. I want to find Damon, to protect him. At the same time I want to run far away from here, to hide in the trees somewhere, to live off the ruined land.
The truth is that I will go find Damon. It was always leading to this.
I only don’t want to take Avery with me. It’s too dangerous. And she’s too innocent.
Before I can make a decision, she turns to me. “He sent you to me, didn’t he?”
There are pieces of her story available to me—the virginity auction that Damon Scott ran that sold her to Gabriel Miller. Her enmity with him, her eventual trust.
And now her capture in his castle.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, not entirely sure what connection she has to Jonathan Scott.
Her gaze is fierce. “You’re going to take me to him.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. She doesn’t belong in that mental hospital.
In the end I know she’ll come with me, the same way I came with her. We’re two sides to the same coin. We both love dangerous men. We both will lose ourselves trying to save them.
