Savior (The Kingwood Duet Book 2)

by S. L. Scott

  I still want answers. “You must have been very beautiful to catch the eye of a married tycoon.”

  Invisible lightning strikes; her fury awakens. “Beauty only lasts so long.” Her eyes fixate into a distant memory. “I had it all. I was beautiful.” She closes her eyes. “Everyone told me so.”

  “Even Alexander Kingwood the second?”

  Her laughter echoes through the large terrace. Whispering conspiratorially, she says, “Darling, Alexander Kingwood the second was a sucker for a blonde who gave good blowjobs. The target was always the third, but he was blind to what was right in front of him.”

  “Madeline was right in front him.”

  Like a wave, anger rolls over her features, lingering on her lips a second longer. “He struggled to see how good I could be with her always around. In the end, I won. I didn’t get just one night with him. I got her life. I sit on her throne, ruling her empire, and did what she failed to do—produce an heir.”

  Her cruelty shows no bounds, and she has no room in her black heart for the light of love. How can she be so delusional to think she achieved something? I wonder if she killed Madeline by how she speaks of her. My nerves clog in my throat, and I’m in over my head when it comes to her. How do I reason with the depraved? I don’t. I just keep going until I get what I need from her. “He believed Alexander was his son?”

  “Don’t be silly, Sara Jane.” The scoff comes on the end of a snarl. “His father forced his hand. He would have lost everything—his inheritance, his trust, his status—at the hands of his father if he didn’t take Alexander in.” She sips her wine, as if this conversation is between friends. “Is this where you get me to spill the details of how I pulled off the greatest caper in Kingwood history?”

  “If this is true, you may have,” I say, deciding to feed her ego.

  Sitting back, she looks toward the gardens, that familiar distance reemerging. I wonder if it’s the conversation or the aftereffects of drugs that control her mind.

  The memory isn’t sweet as her face contorts in pain that comes like whiplash. “My baby was so beautiful. He had my eyes and a little nose that everyone knew would be noble like his father’s. It didn’t matter that I was from a prestigious family of blue bloods. His reputation was more important than I ever would be. I was nothing to him. My baby was gold though. I had produced a Kingwood heir. Holding my baby in my arms, I remember thinking I didn’t care about money or Kingwoods. I had my Alexander who needed me. Someone who would always love me. And then he was taken from me. They thought they could destroy me. They tried, but I lived, and I survived. And no matter how much you want to bury the truth, it will always come out. That kind of lie doesn’t stay hidden for generations.”

  “What happened, April? How did they take him?”

  “Alex the third, came to me one night and told me he would take care of me. He would help raise the baby. Instead of being raised as his brother, Alexander Kingwood the fourth would be raised as his son.”

  “But why?”

  The pain in her expression seems genuine when she replies, “It would save the empire they had built. His father’s affair would never come out, and the third would still inherit the kingdom.” Leaning forward, she adds, “They both benefitted from the arrangement. The third would have the heir he was unable to produce, and the lion’s share of the kingdom until his death. However, I didn’t realize his version of taking care of me meant he’d attempt to kill me.”

  Taking another large sip of her wine, she looks me up and down. I’ve somehow earned a level of respect in the last few minutes. “I’m impressed. The little schoolgirl from the north side of town has quite the clever mind. You’ve also managed to do what I couldn’t.”

  The little schoolgirl? “Which is?”

  “Get a Kingwood to fall in love with you.”

  “I didn’t get him to fall in love with me.”

  “You’re right. That’s why it’s so painful to go through this process.”

  “Process?”

  Patting my hand condescendingly, she remarks, “You’re too trusting.”

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  “Trust will be your downfall.”

  “And here I thought you were.”

  She stands, finishes her wine, and sets the goblet on the table. Taking the wine bottle by the neck, she starts walking for the door. “I am.”

  Fuming, I remain to temper my anger. Arguing with her will get me nowhere. When I can’t take it any longer, I go inside, but stop abruptly in the doorway. April is leaning her head on Garvey’s shoulder and whispering, “Thank you. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”

  When did he get here, and why hadn’t Neely told me he’d arrived? I remain quiet as a mouse, listening. He replies, “I hope not. I hate getting my hands dirty, and this job is the dirtiest.”

  With flair, she holds the bottle up and says, “Not much longer.”

  Garvey’s gaze hits me and my heart stops in my chest. “Join us. We’re celebrating.”

  My feet move without my permission, but like quicksand, every step is a struggle. “What are you celebrating?”

  April’s happiness slips away. “Life.”

  “Life is always worth celebrating. It’s something I cherish every day. Unfortunately, I’m tired. I’m going to have an early night and leave you to celebrate.”

  He says, “Maybe next time.”

  “Maybe.” I walk around them as they settle on the couch and head upstairs.

  Once I’m inside the room, I lock the door, not feeling safe with the two of them around. I call Alexander and Cruise like I always do. I hate that I no longer get a ringtone or the chance to hear his voice. His voicemail is full, so I get the automated message and hang up.

  Climbing into bed, I lie here, thinking. What’s next? Where do I go now? If he truly left me, I can’t stay. I find no truth in those words, in her words. My heart isn’t ready to submit. My soul’s not wanting to believe darkness finally won. So I lie here, holding the sheet to my nose, willing him to come back to me.

  My mind drifts back to the conversation with April, and I analyze the details of everything she said. There’s something movies and books taught me. It’s a lesson we learn and never think will apply to our lives. But maybe it does apply, and I need to heed the warning.

  When the bad guy confesses there are only two reasons:

  They intend to kill you, the secret dying along with you.

  They are dying and in those last moments of life want to be forgiven for their sins.

  I’m certain it’s not number two, leaving me with only one outcome. And that’s an outcome I intend to change.

  32

  Alexander

  The sun rose.

  Food was dumped in front of me.

  I was taken on my morning excursion to the toilet.

  The routine hasn’t changed except one thing: Cruise never returned.

  Bile rises, and as much as I want to stop it from happening, I vomit. The cramps in my stomach pinch, and my chest heaves until my eyes water and my head throbs. I’m not given water to wash it away. The rancid taste remains all day.

  It’s been hours since the room went dark and the cycle continues. Vomit. Cramps. Heaves. I curl onto my side, my elbows pressed into my sides. They’re winning. I still haven’t figured out who they are, but they definitely want me dead, and they want me to suffer while dying. Who the fuck are they?

  I no longer hide the fact that my body repels the tuna Spam mixture they’ve fed me since I arrived. I get lettuce every three days like clockwork. I wonder if the chef adds it for a garnish or if he thinks the two green leaves will counteract the damage being done.

  The shackles around my wrists have been tightened. Three times. I’ve lost weight, but I refuse to give up. Without my brother, my eyes close, and I try to block out the stench of my insides spewed around me and dream of a better time and place . . .

  Wide eyes stare back into mine. “You love me
?”

  “I do.” I said it without even thinking, listening to my heart instead. Caressing her cheek, I don’t feel the need to hide my real feelings. I love this girl. I love her so fucking much it hurts when I’m not with her. “I love you, Firefly.”

  I’ve not seen her cry before, but her eyes turn this amazing shade of electric blue when she does. It’s a sight to behold, and I’m glad I’m seeing it from joy instead of pain. I hope she never feels the pain I’ve endured. Most wouldn’t survive it. I barely am, but because of her, I do.

  I am.

  I’m starting to live again.

  “I love you, Alexander. So much.” Leaning her head forward, I kiss her forehead before her hair falls, covering it. I deserve her, and I stop feeling unworthy of the gifts I was given years ago. She’s a gift in the truest form. Her sweet soul trying to save mine makes her more irresistible. I’m not sure who will win the battle, but if I could give in to her need for me to be free from my past, I would.

  I’d give her anything, if I could.

  I’ve been controlled by a desire to find the truth whether it’s good for me or not. Knowing it’s bad for us, as a couple, hasn’t stopped me, but these moments with her are sacred. Her love won’t save me, but it feels damn good since I’m heading to hell anyway.

  I’m more myself when I’m with her than any other time. She doesn’t realize this short reprieve each day is how I have the strength to travel down a path I know I shouldn’t.

  Our fingers entwine between us. Lifting her chin up, I admire how gently she smiles. I lean in to taste those lips I can never get enough of. Like how I touched her seconds earlier, her lips caress mine, our mouths embracing more than physically—an acceptance, an agreement, a deal sealed. Our tongues touch, and her welcoming warmth takes and gives, our breath exchanged along with our hearts.

  I struggle to talk about my feelings. That part of me died with my mother, but somehow with Sara Jane, I allow the real me to surface. She’s a blanket of safety. She prefers me when we’re alone, the attitude tempered, my walls down, my heart open. Keeping my voice low, I whisper, “How can I ever be the man you deserve?”

  “You’re already him. Right here. Right now. You’re everything I love. Just hold that inside you. When it’s tough to find the light through the dark, remember this moment. Remember me. I’ll always fight for you, for us. I’ll always be here, waiting for you. You’ll come back to me because I need you.” Grasping my face in her hands, she says, “I need you, Alexander. Never forget that.”

  . . . “I haven’t forgotten.” The voice in my head echoes her words, a vision of her beauty temporarily replacing the dankness that surrounds me. “I won’t forget.”

  “What won’t you forget?”

  Startled awake, I jump, my back hitting the cinder blocks. “Who’s there?”

  A dim light hanging from the ceiling is switched on, and my mother sits on a chair in the corner. I’m not usually one for dramatics, but my mouth falls open, and I blink several times.

  My mother?

  What the hell?

  “Mom?”

  My mother smiles and the room seems to brighten automatically. My heart starts beating for the first time since arriving in this nightmare. “Alexander, my sweet son. I’m here.”

  “Are you real?” She nods, but I need to hear her. It’s been so long since I’ve heard her voice that I’ve forgotten how similar it was to a songbird on a spring day. “Are you really here?”

  “I’m here.” Standing, she comes closer. “I’m here to help you.”

  This time I nod since I’m at a loss for words. Am I dreaming? She can’t be real. She’s dead.

  Isn’t she?

  Replying to what I thought was a silent question, she says, “I’m alive. I know this must have been hard on you, but don’t worry, I’ll make her pay for what she’s done.” She reaches out and I lean into her touch, my cheek resting in her open palm. “What have they done to you?”

  “Who?”

  “April Dorset. That’s why you’re here.”

  “What?” I ask, sitting up. “You know about her?”

  “All too much.” She kneels before me and covers my hands with hers. “You’re safe now. I’ll take you home.”

  “Cruise—”

  “He’s alive. He was in bad shape when we found him, but he’ll live.”

  “Where am I? How are you here?”

  “It’s a long story, and we need to get going. I have business to tend to, but as soon as we discovered where you were, we came for you.”

  “We? Who’s we? How are you even alive? You—”

  “Let’s get out of here. Hold out your hands.” She slips a key into the shackles and unlocks them.

  With the weight off, my arms are light, feeling like they could float away if I let them. “Mom? You’re real, right?”

  “You’re alive, Alex. I’m alive.”

  She takes me by the elbow and starts to lift me, but I shake my head. “I can do it.”

  “You don’t have to be strong right now. I . . . I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Moving to the door, she looks out and then back to me.

  “How did you find me? How is this happening?” I’m not fast to my feet, but my pride will keep me going. “Is Sara Jane okay?”

  “She’s alive.”

  She’s alive. My Sara Jane’s okay. For that alone, my heart will keep beating.

  While my mind tries to wrap around this surreal situation, I follow her. Sara Jane. My mom. Cruise. I don’t need the same blood running through my veins to have family. I have the only family I need.

  Just before we leave this hellhole, she turns back. When our eyes meet, she comes back to me and hugs me. Her body shudders with soft cries, and I wrap my arms around her. “Shh. It’s okay,” I say.

  A gentle laugh escapes her. She reaches up and holds my face in her hands. “You’ve been tortured for over two weeks, but you’re comforting me? Alex, my dear sweet son, oh how I’ve missed you. I knew you were incredible, but you amaze me.”

  She doesn’t care that I smell or that I’m dirty. She hugs me again like a long-lost son when she’s been the one lost all along. “I love you, Mom, but please, get me out of here.”

  “I love you, too.” Stepping back again, she squeezes my arm gently and wipes away her tears. “Come on.”

  I follow her down the same corridor I was led twice a day for what feels like forever, but this time we keep going. I pass the room I was shoved in for days on end, the one I thought I would die inside, and give it the evil eye. Just beyond, I see equipment, a shop vac and a toolbox haphazardly placed against a wall.

  Jason comes around the corner with duct tape. We stop and stare at each other. My mom looks back when she passes him. “Alexander?”

  “Why are you here?” I ask him.

  He glances at my mom. “You two need to leave. The car’s just outside the parking garage.”

  “No, I need to know why you’re here.”

  He turns and continues to where he was initially headed. A black piece of plastic shoved under one of the large silver pipes, curls up at the exposed corners. To the left of Jason is a shoe, cheaply made, that I not only recognize from my captor wearing, but from Garvey Penner wearing that day in the manor. Tilting my head down for closer inspection, I see a motionless socked foot with blood covering the soles. Holy shit.

  A flash of movement on the other side of the pipe catches my attention—somebody in a plain black baseball hat is hiding back there.

  Jason’s shoulders don’t hold the usual hardness, his ego not anywhere to be found. A first. It’s as if he’d rather be anywhere else but here. He motions for my mom to get me out without his usual animosity. “Go, King. Get out of here.”

  I’m about to speak, but my mom grabs my hand. “Alex, come on.”

  As I’m dragged away, I try my hardest to hold on to the good, to hope, and remember Sara Jane’s words whispered in my ears just a few weeks ago . . .

/>   I run my finger down the middle of her bare chest, her skin slick with sweat. Bending down, I lick, needing to be reminded what heaven tastes like. Two fingers slide between her thighs. I know she’s sore, but I’m the devil incarnate, and my cravings for her overpower my sympathy. I devour her moans and still her writhing body. I touch deep, so deep inside her, wanting to know what purity feels like. Soft pliable walls warm the most evil side of me. “Angel,” I say before kissing her pubic bone and sliding to her hip and opening my mouth. I dig my teeth into her—not enough to taste her lifeline, but enough to leave a mark. Her back arches and her hands pull, causing the pain I yearn for.

  My hunger not satisfied, I move up her body to her protests and sink my dick so deep inside her that she grabs the sheets and fists them tight. Lapping at her neck, eating up her words and breath, I swallow her goodness and replace it with my depravity, filling her body with my sins, and begging her, “Save me.”

  Lying in the dark, solace is found in her gentle touch as she strokes my back while the full weight of my burdens bear down on her. She kisses the side of my head, and then with her lips against the shell of my ear, she whispers, “You saved me, Alexander.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember how her skin felt under my hands and how her lips tasted. But a vision of her lying almost lifeless in the bloody gravel stabs my heart instead. She thinks I saved her that day. What she doesn’t realize is she saved me years ago. The thought of her carried me through the darkest days of that fucking room with no light.

  Sara Jane, I’m coming back to you.

  I’m coming back for you.

  33

  Alexander

  We round a corner and there’s the door. Wide open. A soft light filters in from some other distant opening. When we get closer, I see the garage.