The Queen

by Skye Warren

  “Jonathan Scott,” she says.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “He hurt a lot of people.” Her voice cracks. “Maybe you most of all. I’m sorry that I let him live. I thought it was the right thing to do, the noble thing, but I was wrong.”

  “Shhh.” I wish I were with her right now to give her a hug. But if Jonathan Scott has had his hands on her, she might not want a hug from me. “Don’t worry about that now.”

  “I am worried about it, because I think Gabriel’s going to leave me.”

  “What?” If Gabriel leaves my friend for having been violated, for being a victim, I’m going to personally shoot him. Or at least tell him he’s the worst kind of bastard.

  “He’s going to go back there. To kill Jonathan Scott in revenge, but he doesn’t understand.”

  “What doesn’t he understand?”

  “Jonathan Scott did more than escape the asylum. He took it over. He had the nurses…” A loud sob escapes, before she steadies her breathing. “He had the nurses locked up in the rooms, naked. The inmates he could control worked for him as guards. The ones he couldn’t, he killed.”

  My throat tightens. “Oh God.”

  “This is why Damon was so intent on killing him. He knew that he couldn’t be locked up.”

  I glance at Damon, who’s watching me with an intent expression, his dark eyes unfathomable. “Are you at the asylum?”

  “We flew to Chicago. I’m actually in the hospital now, but I’m fine. A few bruises, that’s all. Gabriel insisted on having a doctor look at me…before he flies back there. I don’t want him to leave me. Even with a guard—”

  “Of course he should stay with you.”

  “Jonathan Scott had these terrible games he would play with the inmates.” She pauses, her voice thick. “That he would play with me. He thought they were too broken to fight back, and they almost were. I had to convince them that we could break free. That we could do it together.”

  Shock sinks into me. “You mean you escaped by yourself?”

  “No,” she says reasonably. “We all did.”

  Of course she would frame it that way. It’s so like Avery—to lead a revolution and give credit to those she led. “When did Gabriel get there?”

  “We went to the nearest town and walked into the police station like that, thirty women and men with only blankets and dirty feet. Gabriel had already landed at the airport and was driving to the asylum when I called him from the station.”

  “My God, Avery.”

  Her tone is grim. “I know. The FBI showed up and said they would handle Jonathan Scott, and I want to believe them, but look what he did to the mental hospital.”

  “Listen, Avery. Whatever he did to you…” I trail off, because I don’t know how to comfort her. It doesn’t matter. But it does matter. It means everything to be violated. Everything and nothing.

  “Don’t worry,” she murmurs. “He did mess with my head, but not that way. He said I was his daughter. That he wanted to get the family back together.”

  And now Damon is on a plane headed toward him. That’s exactly what Jonathan Scott knew would happen. He’s pulling everyone’s strings. “I’m sorry.”

  She gives a sad laugh. “Family. That’s how he lured me out of the room, did you know that? Had this lookalike of my mother along the hillside in the moonlight. It was one of the inmates, but she looked so much like her.”

  “I had no idea. I woke up alone and so confused, Avery. So scared for you.”

  “I think part of me assumed I was dreaming, seeing her like that, following her through the wet grass. It felt like a dream. At least until I woke up in a padded cell.”

  “That’s terrifying.”

  “Yes,” she says soberly. “Are you still in Tanglewood? We’re going there tomorrow. I want to see you.”

  “Actually we’re on our way to the asylum.”

  “What? No. Turn around.”

  “I’m not sure the pilot can turn around in midair.” I glance at Damon, whose expression has turned hard. “And I’m not sure we’d tell him to if we could. I think Damon needs to finish this.”

  A deep breath comes over the line. “Maybe that’s true. I don’t trust the FBI any more than I trust the people who ran that asylum. That man has some kind of hold over people. He gets into their heads.”

  I’m familiar with that particular sensation. The sense that he can see inside me. The feeling of invisible fingers combing through my worries and fears.

  “That doesn’t mean you need to go,” she adds. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near that place. Jonathan Scott is still there and very much alive. And he has the other inmates with him.”

  Nothing about padded walls and creepy asylums appeals to me. That would always be true, but doubly so because that’s where Jonathan Scott hurt me three years ago, in an old abandoned mental hospital in the city. He feels at home there, which makes them the worst possible place to keep him. Where he’s strongest.

  “No,” I say softly, because I have no intention of leaving Damon’s side. “I’m going.”

  “Penny, no. You can’t.”

  “I need to see this through. We all have our strengths, Avery. Yours got you out of that place. And mine… well, mine sent me there. That’s the difference between us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  We land on a private airstrip amid Cessnas and small luxury jets, the sunset casting an orange glow.

  Whatever recreational use this place normally has, it’s now been commandeered by Damon Scott. Five men in black T-shirts and military cargo pants wait for us with an arsenal that could rival a small nation. Large black guns lined up on white folding tables. They make me feel both better and worse—better, because we’re more prepared for whatever might greet us at the asylum. And worse, because it brings home how dangerous it’s really going to be.

  Damon confers with the men in hushed tones, leaving me out of the discussion. I might take offense to that, but these men are clearly well-trained. I have no knowledge of combat. And I can’t contain my relief that he isn’t really going to COME ALONE, no matter what the note said.

  Hiro finds me looking at an array of strange little capsules. “Smoke bombs,” she says.

  I glance back at her. “Did you read about them in your magazine?”

  “These? No, these are military grade. Classified. Not commercial.”

  “Then how do we have them?”

  She only winks. “There are some good people here. I’m impressed, and I’m hard to impress. We’ll set up camp for twenty-four hours. If Damon doesn’t return by then—”

  “What do you mean, if he doesn’t return? I’m going with him.” I say the words before I’ve had time to think it through, but it’s true. The whole world turned their back on Damon Scott. All his life he’s been suffering alone. This one time I can go with him.

  “Not according to the plan.”

  “Screw the plan.”

  Her nose scrunches. “I’m not paid to run interference in a lover’s spat.”

  Is that what we are—lovers? Friends? Enemies? Everything about Damon Scott is undefinable. He’s a mystery that can’t be solved. A puzzle with limitless layers. A living, breathing Escher painting with stairs folding into stairs for eternity. “This isn’t a spat. This is important. We need to go with him.”

  “His orders are clear. He goes in alone.”

  Shock renders me speechless for a moment. “I hope that by alone you mean, with all these mercenaries, right? Because otherwise what’s even the point of them?”

  “Something else,” she says, not sounding concerned. “If he doesn’t return within twenty-four hours, you and I will board the plane and return to Tanglewood. The mercs have their own orders. I don’t know the specifics, but I’m guessing they’re going to turn the asylum into dust.”

  “With Damon inside?”

  He appears behind me. “If I don’t come out in twenty-four hours, I’m already dead.”

  I
whirl to face him. “That is the worst plan I’ve ever heard.”

  A tsk sound. “And I worked so hard on it.”

  “I’m serious. How could you think that’s a good idea?”

  He puts a hand to his heart. “I’m wounded, sweet Penny. I don’t have your brainpower, unfortunately, but I think it’s a pretty good plan. You’ll be safe with Hiro. The world will be safe from Jonathan Scott.”

  “You, Damon. You’re the one who isn’t safe.”

  “When have I ever been safe?” he asks, sounding infinitely weary.

  The words hit me like a ton of bricks. He’s never been safe. Not as a child. Not now. Does he even imagine it—or does it seem so far beyond his reach that it can’t enter his dreams?

  It only emboldens me to go with him. It will be like waking him from a nightmare, dangerous but entirely necessary to my soul. I can’t watch him suffer alone.

  “What did he do to you?” And this time I’m not asking about iron pokers or knives. I don’t need to understand the details of his pain. I need to understand the goal.

  “He made me into him,” Damon says, more resigned than angry.

  And that only strengthens my resolve to stay with him. I can’t keep him safe against Jonathan Scott, but I can do something else. I can stand beside him. I can stand in front of him, protecting him the way he once protected me.

  We sealed that deal with our bodies back in Tanglewood. The only reason he’s standing here right now is because I begged him to. Because I took off my clothes. The last thing I’ll do is make him face this alone, even if he thinks he has to.

  “I’m coming,” I say softly.

  “No.” His voice is firm, commanding. I’m sure those paid mercenaries will jump to do his bidding, but they don’t love him. I love him. I turn the words over in my head, wondering how it’s possible. Wondering how I didn’t see it for so long.

  It’s like saying I love breathing. Damon is part of the air itself.

  “I’m coming with you, and you can’t stop me.”

  He lifts a dark brow. “Do you really want to challenge me? I’ll enjoy this. And what’s more, I’ll win.”

  Normally he might be right. This isn’t normal. “I’m sure.”

  “Why do you even want to come? It’s like walking into hell and asking for a cup of tea.”

  “Because I won’t let you do that alone.”

  He looks away as if holding back words. “It’s not up to you.”

  I run my hand along the outside of his arm. His body responds with a visible shiver. God, that makes me powerful. No one ever told me how much power’s inherent to sex, how causing desire is addictive. Grasping his wrist, I tug him close.

  “Let me come with you,” I murmur, coaxing now.

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “You’ll be with me. I trust you to protect me.”

  His eyes meet mine, lids lowered. “You shouldn’t.”

  “I’ve always trusted you. From the night you sat in my bedroom, reading the cover of my trigonometry book. I knew that I would be safe with you. And that’s why I have to come.”

  His breath fans over my forehead as I lean close. “Why?”

  “Because as long as you’re with me, I’m safe. And as long as I’m with you, you are safe. It’s only when we split up that he’s been able to hurt us. Don’t you see? He wants to divide us. This is how we stop him. This is how we survive. Together.”

  He curses and turns away, but he knows I’m right. That’s the beautiful thing about logic, about proofs. The thing that’s always drawn me to them, the way a well-reasoned argument becomes its own power.

  “And if he hurts you?” Damon says, touching his forehead to mine.

  “And if he hurts you?” I counter, because I would be just as devastated. More. Damon thinks that by heaping all the pain on himself, that he’s keeping me safe, but the truth is I feel his scars like my own.

  “Then it would be any other day.”

  I press my palm to his chest, where I know the darkened skin and white lines are not quite covered by tattoos of monsters and men. “That was before.”

  A hoarse laugh. “Was it? Feels about the same to me. The same as when I was a fucked-up kid with nowhere to go, knowing my dad was a fucking psycho.”

  “No, Damon Scott. It’s different this time.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because this time you have me. And if I have to walk through hell to prove it, I will.”

  “Christ,” he says.

  The proof has already been solved. But I have another card to play. Something to gamble with. A clay chip with my own risk. “Please,” I whisper.

  You mean something to me, too. You mean everything.

  His large body shudders. “What are you doing to me?”

  Doing what I should have done all those years ago. “Thanking you. You protected me once. Let me return the favor. Let me help.”

  “No one else could come,” Damon warns, his voice harsh.

  I glance back at Hiro, who watches us solemnly. At the trained security men with their guns and muscles. And then at Damon, who looks at me with challenge. “Can you tell me why?”

  “Because my father will kill them if they get close. They wouldn’t even make it inside the door. And the death benefit clause in my contract with these guys is too expensive.”

  He keeps his voice light, but he cares about more than money. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

  “So if you don’t come back, they would—what? Shoot from the outside?”

  “Grenade launchers,” he says as if he’s discussing his poker strategy.

  “Why don’t you use them now?”

  “The government frowns on private citizens destroying buildings,” he says drily.

  “That wouldn’t stop you.”

  “It wouldn’t,” he agrees, speaking more slowly, more carefully. “What Avery did was incredibly brave. It was unbelievably strong. She got those nurses to safety, but…”

  I search his eyes for some clue. “But what?”

  “But the other inmates. They’re still there. With him.”

  Oh God, the people who had been locked up. The ones who had helped Jonathan Scott. Should they be held accountable for their sins? For his? It’s one thing to decide that one man is beyond redemption, entirely another to condemn a whole asylum full of people to death.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Damon doesn’t exactly agree I can come, but he does change his plans.

  Instead of immediately making the two-hour drive from the small airstrip to the asylum, alone, he rides with our entourage to a small bed and breakfast, the kind with quilts thrown over the sofas and a long-haired cat staring at us moodily from the carpeted stairs.

  An older woman greets us at the door, her smile fading when she takes us in.

  Hiro steps forward. “We spoke on the phone a few minutes ago.”

  The woman attempts to recover, but she can’t quite meet anyone’s eyes. “Yes, of course. I’m so glad you called. We have three rooms available. I hope that will be all right.”

  “We’ll make it work,” Hiro says, her voice brusque.

  “Thank you,” I offer, knowing the woman is a little afraid. Her instincts are telling her that we’re dangerous, and she’s right. We’re just not dangerous to her.

  She gives me a faint smile before bustling to an antique desk. “Here are the keys. The family suite has two rooms, one with a king-sized bed and the connecting room with two double beds.”

  Hiro accepts the keys with a nod. “The boys and I will take that one.”

  “And then there’s the honeymoon suite. It’s got a California king bed.” She smiles in a motherly way. “We call it the Queen of Hearts room. You’ll understand why when you see it.”

  Damon gives her his signature smile, which makes her blush. “I’m sure we’ll love it.”

  The woman is still smiling when we head up the stairs. And immediately find out why the Honeymoon Suite is ca
lled the Queen of Hearts. Because there are hearts stitched into the bedspread. Painted on a canvas against the far wall. Hanging along the edge of the ceiling in little heart-shaped lights. I stare at the room from the open door, somewhat in shock.

  From behind me Damon whistles. “Wow.”

  “It’s absolutely insane.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re a cynic,” Damon says, laughter in his voice.

  Something brushes against my legs, and I look down to see the cat winding its way in figure eights through Damon’s legs, leaving white fur on black slacks. “Do you charm every female you meet?”

  “Do you solve every math problem you see?”

  “Yes.”

  I take a step into the room, wondering how I ended up sharing a bed with Damon Scott. There isn’t a little servant’s room available now. Maybe I can bunk with the woman who owns the place, wherever she sleeps. When we pulled into the gravel drive, there’d been nothing around for miles.

  Damon follows me inside, nudging the cat out before closing the door, eliciting a plaintive meow.

  “Where am I supposed to sleep?” I mutter, unable to look at him directly.

  He laughs softly. “Are you afraid of me, sweetheart?”

  “No.” The tremble in my chest calls me a liar.

  His body covers my back. His mouth lowers to my ear. “Are you shy? Did you forget what we did? Did you forget that I tasted your pretty pink cunt, that I licked you until you came all over my face?”

  My cheeks must be on fire. That’s how they feel. “I didn’t forget,” I say, my voice high-pitched.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, his mouth brushing the side of my neck. “I have no plans to touch you tonight. So you can stop shaking. In fact I’m going downstairs.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling faint. Disappointment knots itself in my stomach. It’s more than disappointment. I want him to touch me again. He’s become my addiction, more intensely and more dangerously than numbers ever have been.