Throne of Truth

by Pepper Winters

  “After a string of unsuccessful romantic set-ups over the past few years, Ms. Charlston has somehow wound up dating two men—both who have ended up in jail for reasons not entirely known. What we do know is Greg Hobson, the son of Steve Hobson, who has worked for the Charlston family for four decades, is being held for kidnapping and attempted rape while Penn Everett, a well-known offender who struck it big with a penny stock a year ago, is being held for aggravated assault including attempted murder.

  “We tried to get more facts from Ms. Charlston as she was leaving the correctional facility, but she declined to comment.”

  A prisoner turned to face me, his eyes glowing with violence. “Hey, you’re Everett, aren’t cha?”

  Shit.

  Another guy with tattoos all over his arms and a shaved head stood up, his posture screaming ‘oh, it’s on, buddy.’ He cocked his head. “Seems we have a celebrity in our midst, boys.”

  Christ, I didn’t want to fight.

  I smirked condescendingly, slipping back into the armor I’d perfected from the streets. “Nothing to get excited about. Typical news junkies don’t know what they’re saying.”

  The tatted inmate chuckled. “Oh yeah? Guess, we’ll just have to find out for ourselves, won’t we?” He cracked his knuckles. “Be prepared to spill, Everett. We’ll plan a nice chat, you and me.”

  Goddammit.

  I’d done my best to avoid this.

  But the games had begun, all thanks to the fucking news.

  A prisoner, who wasn’t aware of the showdown about to start, bellowed at one of the guards. “Turn the news off, man. Who fucking cares about that shit.”

  No one cares.

  Apart from me.

  Never taking my eyes off the two men squaring me up, I stood and left the room. They’d let me go—they’d have no choice.

  But tomorrow, they’d ambush.

  I had to be ready.

  I had to attack them before they attacked me.

  I had tonight to prepare.

  After that...it’s war.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Elle

  “YOU CAN’T GET mixed up in this, Elle.”

  I looked up as Dad appeared in my office, his fingers wrapped around the daily newspaper. He still wore his three-piece suits as fashion statements. The one of choice today demanded obedience in sharp midnight blue. His cheeks glowed warm; his eyes bright but disapproving. He’d lost the stress of my disappearance and bounced back healthier than ever.

  I no longer leapt to my feet to hold his elbow in fear of his heart playing tricks. He was robust and old-fashioned, and my hackles rose as he marched to my desk, then perched on the side as he always did, looking down at me in my chair.

  I’d expected this.

  Ever since I’d turned the news on last night and seen myself being shuttled like a convict to the awaiting Range Rover, I’d waited for my father to railroad me.

  To be told I couldn’t be seen in such unflattering situations.

  That all news was bad news, and it was up to me to keep controversy as far away from Belle Elle’s shop shelves as possible.

  “This will slander Belle Elle’s name,” Dad said.

  Didn’t he see it would slander me for the rest of my life if I did nothing? Belle Elle was decades old. It was more than just a company—it was a lifestyle: a part of so many people’s lives. Our quality merchandise was in every adult’s and child’s wardrobe across the States and Canada.

  Belle Elle didn’t need me.

  Penn does.

  Meeting his eyes with confidence I didn’t necessarily feel, I said, “Hello to you, too. Please, I’m not busy or anything.”

  “The passive-aggressive comments won’t fly with me, Elle.” He scowled, his elderly face becoming even more wrinkled than normal. “We need to talk about this.” He waved the rolled up newspaper, no doubt filled with more tabloids and finger pointing.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  Penn is mine and I’ll stand by him.

  I don’t care what you say.

  I cleared my throat with impatience as Fleur came in. She paused on the threshold, her arms full of paperwork that I’d neglected. “Ah, just in time.” I stood, waving her over eagerly. I would use anything I could to postpone the inevitable fight with my father.

  I didn’t want to have to yell at him. I didn’t want to be disrespectful, but I knew what he was about to say, and I wouldn’t let him stop me anymore.

  “You sure it’s a good time?” Fleur rocked back on her heels, making her escape—knowing as well as I did what sort of argument was about to explode.

  “No, don’t be silly.” I patted my desk. “Just put those here.”

  “Okay...” Fleur clipped forward, smiling politely at Dad, not giving me the usual broad grin of friendship. “Hello, Mr. Charlston.” Placing the folders on my desk, she gave me a quick arched eyebrow. That eyebrow said: are you okay? Want me to do anything? Should I get the tranquilizer gun? Her voice said, “Anything else?”

  I had no doubt she would do something crazy if I asked, but this conversation was all on me.

  I shook my head. “Thank you. That’s all. It’s getting late; you should head home.”

  “Only if you’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Thanks for your help.” Dad smiled kindly at her. “You’ve been a very loyal staff member to Belle Elle and my daughter.”

  Fleur wasn’t the blushing sort, but her cheeks pinked. “You’re welcome.” Turning for the door, she glanced back before disappearing into the hallway.

  Her interruption had been too short, but to Dad, it had been too long.

  His eyes glowed with irritation. “Elle, what the hell were you doing at the prison yesterday?”

  And so it begins.

  I held my head high. “I went to see Penn. Or did you forget we’re engaged?”

  It seemed like years ago since Penn had pulled that particular lie over my father and everyone at the office, but for the first time, I found it convenient rather than a nuisance.

  He scrubbed his face. “Are you sure about that? I’ve been having doubts about you two. It happened too fast, Elle. After what just occurred with Greg and now court dates and testimonies—I don’t want you getting stressed out.”

  “Me?” My voice rose with a perfectly curled question mark. “Me get stressed? What about you? Are you taking the meds your doctor prescribed? I don’t think you should even be at the office. I have things under control.”

  All right, that lie was obvious and entirely hollow.

  I wasn’t coping. I didn’t have things under control. Mainly because I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting to Penn and Nameless and Penn and prison.

  Penn, Penn, Penn.

  It was a vicious circle and not one I could stop.

  “Don’t you worry about me.” He took my hand, pulling me forward to pat it dotingly. “You were kidnapped by a man who’s been a part of our family for years. You won’t tell me what happened in the cabin. All you’ll say on the matter is that Penn saved you, but then Greg filed charges.” He scowled. “There’s more to that story, Elle, and I don’t like you keeping things from me. Why did you go see Greg in the hospital if he hurt you?”

  I sighed heavily. “I’m not keeping things from you, but I am going to keep fighting for Penn. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Ah, yes, about that.” His face fell even further, resembling an unhappy hound. “You can’t be seen visiting inmates, Elle. You have a reputation to maintain. Our company as a whole has to do what it can to stay on the right side of the law with no controversy.”

  I laughed a little. “Don’t you think Greg already caused controversy? No matter how we keep that under wraps, details will get elaborated and the story will snowball on its own. The best way to deal with the media is to grant an interview asking for understanding and give them the hard truth, so false rumors don’t destroy everything we’ve created.”
>
  Dad blanched. “You can’t be serious. The right thing to do is stay away from those vultures and just let it die a natural death.” He paused before saying with fatherly authority. “Just like I don’t want you seeing Penn again.”

  I gasped. “How can you say that? You liked him. You gave him your blessing to marry me even when I was telling you it was fake.”

  “So your engagement is fake?” His features lit up. “Well, in that case, I believe you now. That means you don’t have to do anything reckless when it comes to—”

  “Dad...” I shook my head with disappointment. “You don’t get it. It started off fake, but it turns out he’s—”

  The man from Central Park.

  The words dangled on my tongue, clinging with little claws to stay unsaid. I swayed between delivering them and swallowing them back.

  For three years, Dad did everything he could to stop me from looking for Nameless (after he’d been cooperative at the start). When my hunt for him started to interfere with my work, Dad swiftly put a stop to it.

  This time, I wouldn’t give him any more reason to block my helping Penn.

  Dad had an obsessive desire to keep Belle Elle and me away from less than satisfactory circumstances—including people.

  Only, he didn’t understand that no one was perfect. He wasn’t. I wasn’t. The world wasn’t. Penn was no different, and he deserved every chance to prove he was more than just a liar and reveal the truth.

  He’s special.

  To me. To my life. To my future.

  I wouldn’t jeopardize that for anyone.

  Including my father.

  “He’s what?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Finish that sentence.”

  “He’s on his own, Dad. Sure, he has Larry fighting for him, but I want to be there, too. I’m sorry if it upsets you, but I’m not going to stop.”

  He slid off my desk, crossing his arms. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be there for him, Elle. I’m not trying to be cruel by cutting him off from emotional support. But sometimes, other things take paramount. I’m thinking of the company. It’s not good PR.”

  “Well, we’ll hire a team to reinvent our image after it’s over.”

  “Over?”

  I nodded. “Yes, Penn will be given a court date soon, and we can finally get the truth out. Then he’ll be released, and it will be over.”

  “How long do you think that will take?”

  I shrugged. “It depends on the justice system.”

  I sounded so much more knowledgeable than I was.

  The way he gnawed his bottom lip gave me an idea. “You know...you could help speed this process along, if you wanted.”

  “I can? How?” He narrowed his eyes warily.

  “By calling your judge friend. Put in a good word. Get a court date, sooner rather than later, so we can all move on with our lives.”

  “You want me to tamper with courts and trials now, Elle?” He looked at the ceiling. “What’s become of you?”

  “The need to fix everything I did wrong.”

  His look was quizzical, but he didn’t ask for a structured explanation of my cryptic reply.

  Instead, he kissed the top of my head. “Oh, very well. If it means this will all blow over faster, I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Penn

  THE AMBUSH HAPPENED four days later in the recreational yard.

  Three men stopped me mid-jog.

  After doing my best to come up with a counter attack, I gave up. I had no weapons, no friends to back me up.

  I was on my own. And unless I wanted to die in retaliation, I had to let it happen.

  So I did.

  No matter how much it fucked me off.

  Their fists gave me an unwanted ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ rough up. Their feet delivered a well-heard ‘this is our turf, so don’t get any fucking ideas’ kick. Their growls told me exactly how to toe the line and behave.

  They seemed to know where a dead zone existed in the security cameras on the jogging track. They didn’t hesitate to gift a beating that activated old injuries, memories, and wounds from my past.

  The punch-up only lasted a few seconds, but they knew how to deliver pain.

  And I knew how to listen to their message.

  I let them get in a few good strikes then exploded and delivered a few myself. I’d let them put me in my place because it meant I wouldn’t be harassed further. But I wouldn’t be a fucking pussy because that was just the start of a worse war.

  The tightrope to walk was so damn narrow, but I’d walked it before. I could walk it now.

  They were the shit in here. Not me. They thought they’d disciplined me. They hadn’t. Everyone went away slightly happier and settled.

  Even if I limped rather than stalked and their punches activated old injuries from Greg’s morning wake-up call the day he took Elle.

  I gave up running for the rest of the afternoon and sat on the bleachers tending to a busted lip and bloody nose.

  No one commented on my state, and I nodded curtly at the assholes who’d given me the lesson when they walked back to their cells after the bell rang.

  Just like school had bullies, prison had thugs. It was all a chessboard in the end. No one was king for long. And no one stayed a rook forever. We were all jumping over each other trying to win the queen.

  Trudging back to my cell, I spat out a glob of blood. I’d never been soft or naïve in my life—I couldn’t after seeing death and never having a home—but the awful fact was, I had begun to relax a little. I’d relaxed knowing Larry had my back, and Elle was mine after so many mistakes.

  I’d relished in playing games with her because it soothed some of the pain. I’d become the bully, and with my belly bruised and face forming a nice black eye, I was reminded how much it fucking sucked to be the victim.

  Yet here I was, held in remand with no way out on an attempted murder charge, buried up to my balls in shit.

  At least, now I was in jail, Arnold wouldn’t be able to fuck up my life as bad. Unless he was in the habit of bribing the warden or commissioner of corrections, I was out of his control.

  For now.

  I needed to see Larry.

  And Elle.

  Fuck, I needed to see Elle.

  * * * * *

  Another two weeks.

  Fourteen measly days on top of all the rest.

  A fucking lifetime.

  I lived in sameness every day, tormenting myself with thoughts of a happier memory, spending whatever freedom I was given between working, eating, and yard work in the library.

  The books hadn’t changed.

  The reading material was no better.

  But at least the notepad and pen gave me an outlet to scribble my thoughts and see if there was any way around my mess.

  I kept those notes with me safe, posting pages to Larry on mail days so he could have some idea of what I knew and suspected between our meetings.

  Today was Wednesday, which meant the only thing to look forward to were spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and our turn in the media room for the allotted ninety minutes.

  My life is fucking riveting.

  As I made my bed, preparing for a new day in this walled city, a guard appeared. He had to be just out of his teens, filled with the need to be the best and most liked officer on staff. It made me hate him immediately.

  “Everett, visitor.”

  I dropped my pillow onto the bed. “You sure?”

  The guard rolled his eyes as if I was a simpleton. “Of course, I’m sure.”

  I had no response to that cocky attitude. I didn’t feel like getting into a fight with a newbie. I’d been told that other personal visits would be strictly monitored and most likely denied because of the upcoming trial. Turned out, Larry got around it.

  Then again, what trial?

  I had no correspondence on when my case would be heard. If it was anything like last time, I’d end up serving more ti
me waiting for the trial than I did after being convicted. The fact that the time served was subtracted from my sentence wasn’t a relief. It was hollow—especially if you’d served six months and the offense only deserved a three-month term.

  This entire process was screwed the fuck up.

  Innocent until proven guilty my ass.

  “Fine.” I dragged my fingers through my hair. “Let’s go then.”

  Following the officer through the usual riff-raff of prisoners, I kept my eyes forward, not lingering on anyone in particular. My prison-issued sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as the guard swiped his I.D and ushered me through to the small processing room then through another security point to the visitation areas.

  I swayed to the left, following the hallway I knew led to the meeting hall where I’d last seen Elle and Larry.

  “Not that way.” The guard rubbed his nose, his dark hair dull and needing a haircut. “This one.” He pointed at the right hallway.

  I probably shouldn’t but I asked, “Private?”

  He nodded.

  My heart did a strange skip cough. Private meant Larry had come to talk—away from prying ears. Private meant Elle wouldn’t be with him because only client-attorney relationships were deemed sacred enough to have privacy.

  Conjugal visits in this place were like fucking gold nuggets—rare and hard to earn. There was no way to hug your lover or even touch to reassure both of you that this fucked-up place couldn’t tear you apart forever.

  Goddammit, I hate it here.

  Swallowing back my frustrated anger, I followed silently.

  Passing a few meeting rooms with matching metal doors, bars on viewing windows, and large locks, we stopped outside private room number six. The officer rapped on the door with his knuckles, giving me a quick glance.

  I linked my fingers together in front of me. Remaining the perfect prisoner when all I wanted to do was handcuff the fresh-out-of-the-academy idiot and teach him what it was like to have your freedom stolen.

  Larry opened the door, beaming. “Ah, great. Thanks for bringing my client.”