by L. J. Woods
“Really? You’re staying with her and ditching your best friend?” Lea scoffs. “Today?”
My eyes narrow. She’s right. I want to be there for him. I want to show him that he can’t push me away anymore. I’ve been through this and I’m not leaving Lea to handle this on her own. She had her chance.
Christian glances at me then back at Damien. He parts his lips to answer before I chime in for him. “No worries,” I say. “We’re heading there anyway.”
“We are?” Christian asks, Damien’s head falling on his shoulder.
“Good, you can help me give Charlie Sheen a shower.” Lea hoists Damien’s arm over her head, Christian doing the same.
“Nancy expects us anyway,” Willow sighs and I’m grateful she butts in.
“So, no pizza?” Allie asks.
Nate adjusts his shades before coiling his hair with his finger. “I’m sure King has better food anyway.”
“I guess we’re going to King’s.” Allie’s shoulders drop as Christian tosses her a set of keys. “This should be fan-fucking-tastic.”
Three
“Champagne?”
A man with white gloves and a black vest holds out a golden tray.
“Yes,” Nate takes the entire thing and when the man stares, Nate shoos him away with a wave of his hand. He hands a glass to me and Allie takes her own, all three of us staring around the room.
It seems like everyone left their tears at the cathedral because the King mansion looks like an all-out soiree. People stand around with drinks and food on tiny black napkins, servers in black bowties moving around them. They even have fucking balloons floating to the ceiling.
We’re standing in the front foyer and I’m trying to act normal, like I’m not fucked up, twisted and confused on the inside. The sound of chatter and laughter blends with jazz, the black and white decor only adding to the event’s lavishness.
My body is already on fire standing in this home. The King’s lair. And after eavesdropping on those detectives, something tells me this house has more answers.
“Yes, I am sure King Financial has room for you and your endeavours, Monsieur Banks.” My head turns in the direction of Marion. She flutters out of the kitchen, a huge grin on her face as she leads a man in a grey suit into the living room. She doesn’t even notice us, babbling on about how honoured she is to be taking over the business.
That leaves me with one question. Where’s Damien?
Christian and Lea left with him in his limo but we were too slow to catch up with them on the drive from the church. So I use that as my excuse, tipping the contents of the champagne flute down my throat before I say, “I’m gonna find Christian.” The champagne is smooth and sweet, another contrast to this day. Taking another glass from Nate’s tray, I look at my sister. “Can you keep an eye on Nancy? She’s bitter today and I can’t deal.” Willow nods before I look at Allie and Nate. “And can you guys keep an eye on Willow?”
My sister nudges me as Allie answers, “Yeah, of course.”
I down another glass before I give her a weak smile and take off up the stairs. It’s quieter when I reach the top, but when I listen for the sound of Damien, Lea or Christian, I get nothing. Despite the jovial party happening downstairs, the vibe here feels different. It’s still clean and glamorous, but it feels … empty.
“Christian?” I call, moving past obscure paintings. My eyes land on the gold plaque beside two black double doors. “Sebastien King.”
I never did get to check out what’s in there. Last time, Damien proved to be a big distraction. And a big pain in my ass. This might be the last chance I have to see if his dad knew anything about my parents.
As I think about moving inside, Damien’s words are still loud in my head.
It wasn’t an accident.
With the amount of time Sebastien spent around Cindy, my gut tells me there’s something he knows. Taking one last look around, I divert from my original mission, pushing on the handle.
It opens.
Layer after layer of dark crown moulding greets me, another fancy chandelier dangling from the middle of the room. A velvet chair sits beside a white stone fireplace, a large screen on top of it. A built-in bookshelf sits behind the curved desk with a massive array of titles. It smells like leather and cigarettes, with the faintest hint of weed in the air.
Tapping on my cheek, I sit in the big leather chair behind the desk. Where would a rich dead guy keep his secrets? Turning around, I open a few books on the shelf behind me. My eyes narrow and I start tilting books back as if a secret door will open like in the movies.
Nada.
Swivelling in the chair, I pull at the little rectangular drawer under the desk while I look around, but it’s locked. Pulling again as if it’ll magically open, it doesn’t, a small keyhole at the top.
Of course.
“What are you doing here?”
That deep growling voice makes me gasp. Like, a literal gasp leaves my throat, the hairs on my skin rising to attention.
When I look up, we’re finally face-to-face. The King and I.
Damien hangs onto the doorknob, his brows low, face wet. A lock of wet hair hangs over one eye, his blazer on, still no shirt underneath. His slacks hang off his lean frame without a belt to hold it up and that chiselled v-cut beckons me.
Rising from the chair, I approach him, staring into his eyes as my stomach squeezes into itself. “I was—”
“Ruining my life some more?” Damien cuts me off before I can explain.
“Wait, what?” This morning, a part of me would give anything to be alone in a room with Damien King, but this isn’t what I expected.
“I told you to leave.” He makes his way towards the green velvet chair, taking a book out of a shelf along the way.
“We’re back to this?” After everything that happened? “Damien, I haven’t seen you since—”
“Why are you still here, Medusa?” He cuts me off again before he reaches into the pocket of his blazer, pulling out a small baggie of white powder. There’s a coldness in the room, and even with my leather jacket on I’m shivering. He taps out some powder on the hardcover of the book before pulling out a cut-off straw from his pocket.
Walking over to him I snatch the book out of his hand, powder flying off. “You can’t mix uppers and downers or you’ll end up like your dad, stupid.” Shit, that’s harsh. I guess I’m more frustrated with him than I thought. “What happened to you? I went to your house but Isobel sent me away.”
“What happened?” Damien chuckles, low and menacing and it makes the contents in my stomach toss around some more. “You degraded my life to that of a Grove whore. Sad and parentless.” He leans back in his seat, eyes blown. “Seems we have more in common now. Is that what you wanted?”
I’m trying to ignore what he’s saying. He’s hurting. He doesn’t mean this. His words cut through me, but I’ve been here before. Waking up and realizing your parents won’t ever come back is a hell of a thing to go through. Damien might think he’s alone, but I want him to know he has me.
“You were sad before I met you,” I lean against the desk, dropping the baggie in my pocket, crossing my arms. He seems too tired to argue. Too out of it to care that I’m not leaving. “Don’t blame me for that.”
“You’re right.” A lazy smirk grows on his face and … okay. How does he still look like he’s posing for an album cover when he’s pissing me off? Sexy and cool even though he looks completely toasted. “And that sweet little pussy helped cheer me right up.” He sits up but his head still slumps into his shoulders. “Is that why you’re still here? To cheer me up with a quick fuck?”
“Don’t you have Mia Khalifa over there for that?” Shit. I sound jealous as hell.
He arches an eyebrow, his voice a slow drawl. “The fact you know who that is is pretty hot.”
“I’m surprised you know who I am while on … whatever the fuck it is you’re on.”
“What?” He chuckles through his word
, leaning back in his seat, chin to the ceiling. “A little whiskey, weed and valium cocktail never hurt anybody. Cocaine would’ve topped it all off.”
“With death.”
“You’d know all about that.”
“Damien, I get it.” My arms flop to my sides as I walk towards him. Pulling my jacket down my arms, I let it fall to the floor. I don’t miss when his eyes wander my body. That’s good. I’m reaching for the boy I know is inside. “I get that you’re hurting. I get that this must be the hardest thing in the world for you to go through. But I’m not the enemy here—”
His rolling laugh cuts me off again before he sits up, reaching for my hand. His touch lights a rocket in my core. “Aren’t you?” I let him lead me onto his lap, his hand falling to my thigh. It sends my body ablaze. Damien’s touch feels so good. So relieving. “It’s always hotter sleeping with the enemy, isn’t it?” His warbly voice hits my ear. “No matter how badly they fuck you over.”
“What?” My brows knit together as his hand tightens on my thigh, the other tilting my chin to the ceiling. His tongue is on my neck and it sends ripples of tingles flowing through my body but I can’t ignore his words.
“Every time I tell you to leave, you stay. Why?” On his last word, his fingers push between my legs, the cold touch of his hand mixing with the heat of my thigh. I’m a mix of emotions. His words make me angry. Scared. While his touch makes me feel like I’m headed for the stars.
“You really want me to go?” I choose my words, voice shaking as Damien hardens underneath me. I don’t know what game we’re playing here but I miss him so much I don’t want it to stop. “It hasn’t even been a week since we were fucking on your dad’s bed.”
“And I told you to leave when the old man croaked.” His voice is louder in my ear, a deep roll, his cold fingers gliding up to my shorts. There’s a lump in my throat, his words bringing me back to that morning.
Looking back, I look in his eyes to see if he’s fucking with me. Is this some fucked up foreplay? Is that why I can feel myself throbbing just as hard as he is? His eyes don’t make it any easier to catch my breath but it doesn’t look like he’s joking. Not one bit.
My jaw clenches, standing up. “I thought you meant the lakehouse. Not your entire life.” My eyes drop to the outline in his slacks and I’m surprised he can be this hard with whatever’s in his system. Looks like that shower did help. As mad as I am, as fucked up as I feel, seeing him like this only brings back memories that make me clench my legs. When I look back into his droopy eyes, he has a smirk on his face. Fuck. He caught me looking. I stand up straight, owning up to it as I say, “Looks like your cock doesn’t want me gone.”
“Looks like you remember what I’m good at.” Damien rises from his seat, swaying as he does before he presses me against the shelf, my back to him. “Or do you need a reminder?” His hand goes through my curls, pulling my head back until his mouth hits my ear. “Do you remember how it feels to have me buried deep inside you? Do you remember what you sound like when you’re begging for mercy from my big, hard—”
“What are we, Damien?” The words fall out of my mouth like a cork on a champagne bottle. I want him so bad but this hot and cold thing has me confused. Are we still … us?
He chuckles, his fingers tugging on the ribbon around my neck. “We’re fucked.”
Trying to turn to him, he doesn’t let me, his warm, hard beast pressing into my ass, his firm pecs against my back. He tugs on my strands and it feels good when he does, his body pressed against mine. A position we’ve been in time and time again. There’s something about being at his mercy that makes the butterflies in my stomach multiply. My voice comes out a murmur, a finger sliding down my spine, “I mean it. What are we?”
“We’re nothing.” He tugs the front of my halter down, my tits pressed against the cold wood.
His words contradict what he’s doing but it doesn’t stop my eyes from blurring in confusion. Doesn’t stop my voice from shaking when I ask, “Then what the fuck are we doing?”
“You’ve already taken so much from me, you might as well give me this, Medusa.”
“It’s Jo, or did you forget that too?”
“Oh, I know your name, Joelle.” Warmth hits my neck when he says it, the l’s hanging off his tongue like honey. It stirs my insides, his words so comfortingly cold and I can’t settle on how I feel. “I also remember how good you sound when you scream mine.”
My dress is at my waist, his bulge throbbing on my ass and I’d give anything to have Damien inside me again. He turns me around, his eyes on my round breasts like a hungry animal. His words still ring in my head and while my body wants this, I have to ask, “You really think I killed your father?”
A whoosh of air brushes on my folds when he tugs my shorts down to my knees. His eyes meet mine, his lips inches away when he replies, “Didn’t you?”
Heat floods my body and I push against his chest. He stumbles, steadying himself.
No.
Is that why he hasn’t called? Hasn’t said one word to me since that morning? Why he’s protecting me from the cops?
He really thinks I did … that?
Damien laughs again and it only angers me more as I straighten my outfit, my eyes blurring. He spreads his arms wide as I tie the ribbon around my neck, reaching for my jacket. “C’mon Medusa, nothing you haven’t done before.” Grabbing my hand, he pulls me closer, his lips just inches from mine as we tumble back against the desk. Wrapping his arms around me I’m in his clutches. He grabs me by my arms, his hold tight, nails digging into my skin through the leather on my arms. “Admit it. Isn’t that why you’re with the King? To topple my kingdom? I knew it when you came to Eden. I fucking knew it. But that pussy was too good—”
Pushing out of his sloppy hold, my hand comes to his face before I register where it’s going. It shuts him up, his head whipping to his right. I back away as Damien’s laughter begins again. It’s devilish. One fit for a maniac as he keeps laughing right into his father’s chair. His throne.
He really thinks I did it. He thinks I’m the reason his dad is gone. It’s like all the trust we built never existed. It’s like the last month never happened.
“Yeah, that’s right. Run,” he says, leaning back into the chair.
And I do. I get the fuck out of there while I can still move, trying to block his words out as I close the office door with a slam.
My back hits the door, sweaty palms press against the dark paint. I’m trying to keep my world from spinning, my legs from giving out. Damien’s left me even more breathless than the first time and my confidence is shot.
Did I do it?
Did I kill Sebastien King?
My mind is in a daze, his words floating around my head, images of that morning flickering in my mind.
“Get the fuck out of here!”
Did he mean his life? Did I do the unthinkable?
And am I so fucked up I forgot the whole thing?
I’m standing near Damien’s bedroom door before I even realize where I’m heading. The first time I came here blends with the events of that morning. His body was as soft as the light entering the room, his voice as comforting as his touch—before it all came crashing down.
“You speak French,” Marion’s voice comes from the room and as I tip-toe closer, I don’t expect the one that comes next.
“I’ve learned a little something,” Isaac’s voice follows before Marion giggles. The sound of clinking glasses comes next. “But you can teach me more, baby.”
“Ssh, ssh, ssh.” That sounds like Marion before I take a few steps back. I hear the click of the door locking before their voices get muffled.
What the fuck was that?
My mind goes from a daze to a whirlwind as I turn around, moving away from the door. Rounding a corner, I’m faced with a narrow hallway and another set of black double doors. One’s cracked open, the sound of a running faucet inside. Peeking through the cracked door, a large king bed sits
in the middle of the room, dead animals for an excuse of rugs on either side. The dark decor and glamorous furnishings scream Sebastien King, so does the plaid jacket hanging off a shiny coat rack.
There’s a damp trail of footsteps leading towards another set of doors. A thud comes from behind it, then a familiar grumble, words in Spanish. My eyebrows lower, “Christian?” He jumps when I crack the door, but I’m startled too. Christian stands inside the bathroom shirtless, his tanned pecs as chiselled as his abs. “Shit, sorry!” I explain, “I heard a noise and I—”
“Come in.” He peeks around me before pulling the door closed. He has his shirt in one hand, his blazer hanging off the side of the gold plated sink. The bathroom is large and spotless. Spacious with a glamourous industrial theme. Carved stone for a bath, an exposed showerhead in front of large windows.
He continues dabbing at his shirt with a fluffy white towel. “When Lea said we should give him a shower, I didn’t expect one of my own.” He flashes a Colgate smile, one that helps to thaw the ice growing around my heart.
“Damien?” I ask, my voice still a shake, doing a horrible job at playing off the fact that I saw him minutes ago.
Christian nods, holding up his shirt, his efforts showing no results. It’s hard not to eye those lean, hockey player muscles, his biceps catching the light. “Should’ve gone with black.”
“Here.” Reaching for his shirt, I need this distraction. Anything. “Got a hairdryer?”
His shoulders drop as I perch on the counter, Docs swinging below me. Christian reaches for the shelf under the sink before he pulls up a giant blow dryer. “Thanks, Jo. Hope it’s not too much.”
“I should be thanking you.” Taking the hairdryer from Christian, I plug it into the outlet beside the sink. “I thought you were mad at me.”