Page 51 of The King (Masterpiece Duet 1)
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I stop by the diner to pick up a knife—a small weapon compared to the ones the men will have, but better than nothing. I also take the opportunity to talk to Jessica, who looks shocked to see me alive.
“What the hell did Damon do to you?” she demands.
I glance down to find blood on my hands, leftover from helping Anders get to a bed so he wouldn’t bleed out. “It’s not mine.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Then what did you do to him?”
All I can do is laugh, which I know makes me look crazy. “I need to ask you something. How do you know if you love someone?”
She laughs too, a little disbelieving, mostly relieved. “Jesus, you gave me a heart attack. The only person I’ve ever loved is Ky. And that’s… you know it’s not a feeling. Not for me. It’s just a state of being. Of turning to him, every second. Of wanting the best for him. Of wanting to give up everything for him.”
Impulsively I give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”
“Wait,” she says, already sensing my exit. “What are you doing with a knife?”
We don’t need to get into details, so I give her a small wave and return to the street. Avery waits for me, looking crazy nervous—which is a legit feeling, honestly. I know she’s older than me, but I have this strange protective feeling. It’s not the love that Jessica described, but it’s something like that.
“When we get there,” I tell her, “I’ll go in first. I know the layout, at least a little bit. And there’s always a chance it’s rigged to explode or something crazy like that.”
Her mouth drops open. “So you’re going to sacrifice yourself?”
“It only makes sense.”
“Are you kidding me? It makes zero sense. If anyone’s going first, it’s me.”
“I’m nobody,” I say softly, embarrassed I need to explain this. “The way that royalty would have someone taste their food, to make sure it wasn’t poisoned.”
Avery James wasn’t born in the west side. She doesn’t belong here. Her father was some famous businessman and politician, and even if he eventually lost everything, that doesn’t change her pedigree.
“I’m not royalty,” she says, sounding horrified. “And no one’s going to die for me.”
Maybe it’s only girls like me who can see the class system, ones who know they’ll never rise above it. “Maybe not royalty in the official sense. But in every way that counts. Girls like me, no one saves us in time.”
“Damon did,” she says, certain in this.
“He kept me from dying, but that’s not what I needed saving from. What Jonathan did to me…” It wasn’t about my body. It was my mind that he wanted. My mind he broke. Some twisted impulse to repeat what happens in that mental hospital. To make everyone else like him.
“God, Penny.”
“So you see what I’m saying. I’m already damaged.”
“Sometimes it’s harder to survive,” she says.
She does understand. For the first time I don’t feel alone. “Yes.”
“I won’t let you martyr yourself for me. We go together, okay?”
After a long pause I take her hand. Together. That’s how we’ll do this. Some small part of my soul eases at the knowledge. And I realize that even with Daddy, with Mama, I have always been alone. Only now with these people, this group of criminals and fallen heiresses, do I feel like I could have a true family. The possibility hangs in the air as thick as the mist hovering over the streets.
Chapter Twenty
The smell of pain fills the air. Jonathan Scott is strung up by his wrists, shirtless and clearly beaten. His skin singed and turned black. How long have they been torturing him? By the dead look in Damon’s eyes, it’s been an eternity.
“What are you doing here?” Gabriel says when he sees us.
“Looking for you,” Avery whispers, clearly in shock. “How long have you been here?”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
She takes a step forward “Is this…a hospital?”
Jonathan Scott begins to laugh, a horrifying sound. Blood-tinged spittle flies onto the floor. “Does someone look sick to you, little girl?”
“You’re not looking very well at the moment,” she says.
“I’ve never been well, not really. Neither have you.”
Gabriel takes a step forward. “Don’t speak to her. You don’t fucking speak to her.”
“Gabriel,” she whispers. “What happened to him? Look at all the open wounds, the burns, the blood. Did you do all of this?”
Heavy scars mangle Jonathan Scott’s body.
“Some of it,” Gabriel says. “And don’t look so horrified. He doesn’t deserve your pity.”
“It doesn’t matter what he’s done, no one deserves that.”
“If you had a full accounting,” Damon Scott says, emerging from the shadows, “I think you would disagree. However, the stories aren’t fit for polite company.”
I take a step back, afraid to find out exactly how far gone he is. It’s one thing to know the man hanging from rope is evil. Another to see the man I love, his beautiful smile, his hollow eyes.
