SACRED (The Kingwood Series Book 3)

by S. L. Scott

  “Nah. I’m going to bed in a minute.”

  “Rough night?”

  “Rough everything.”

  “Want my opinion?”

  My best friend has never been one to beat around the bush. “I think you’ll give it either way, so shoot.”

  “Seems to me that you need a change.”

  “Change in what?” I know what he’s getting at, but maybe I need the reminder.

  I turn back and look at him over my shoulder. He hesitates, and when his eyes return to the coffee pot, he replies, “In scenery and companionship.”

  “For all the hell we’ve raised, your rich-kid background is showing. Are we old enough to use the word companionship? I’m not sure that’s a proper millennial term.”

  He laughs easing the smart of his words. “Just calling it like I see it, rich kid.”

  “If it makes you feel justified in your conclusion, I think you’re right.”

  “I appreciate the acknowledgment.”

  There’s a lot of truth in his analysis. I can give him the credit he deserves. He knows me better than anyone and maybe he sees through the bullshit I try to slip past him some days. Despite his fancy fucking name—Alexander Kingwood IV—he might know a thing or two about relationships. His own wasn’t an easy road to travel, but he and his wife, Sara Jane, got there in the end.

  Jealousy pings from a black box sunken to the bottom of my heart.

  He knows the struggles I’ve tried hard to hide. With him, I can be honest. It’s early, but maybe it’s a good time to lay out my feelings.

  Feelings.

  I sound like such a pussy. Yet, I’m willing to go there because I don’t have anyone else to turn to and something is off. Shifting, I lie back on the couch. “Since we’re at it, any suggestions?”

  “Take a vacation? Somewhere sunny. You’re looking like shit these days.”

  “Geez, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. While you’re there, find a pretty girl and fuck your days away.”

  I smirk. “I do that here.”

  Resting his arms on the table, he tilts his head. “I’m not here to argue. You told me to tell you, so I am. Find someone that makes you smile.”

  He’s changed a lot over the last year. His sharper edges might have dulled, but I know what he’s been through. What we’ve been through. It’s only made him appreciate where he is now, and who he has in his life. Near-death experiences will do that to a guy, but where is my reward for surviving? Where is the light I’m supposed to find? Celeste wasn’t the answer. That’s probably my fault for being so closed off, but something between us didn’t make me want to open up, especially if she was fucking other guys. “That easy?”

  “It’s never that easy.” When I spy the amusement in his eyes, he adds, “But you don’t want easy anymore anyway. Right?”

  I chuckle. “Is that what my issues are, Dr. Kingwood.”

  “If I had a Ph.D. in psychology, I’d say yes.”

  “But since you don’t, what do you say?”

  “Yes.”

  I laugh this time. If there is one thing that’s clear, it’s this. I feel better when I’m not around Celeste. Sad really. It is time to move on. My childhood friend, my chosen brother in life, has my back and his concern is a right he’s earned, even if it makes me uncomfortable to acknowledge. I want what he’s found with his wife. I want someone who makes me smile. It’s just that simple. Alex may not have the credentials of a doctor, but he’s an ace at this psychology stuff. “I think you’re right. Again, though, I hate to admit it.”

  Never lacking confidence, his smug mug is showing. “About?”

  “All of it.”

  With all the shit I have going on in my life, maybe the answer really is to find a woman who I want to spend time out of bed with as much as in.

  Find a woman.

  I dissect that phrase.

  What the fuck does that even mean?

  Go out and find a woman where? How?

  I’m twenty-four. Should it be this hard? Can’t I just meet someone when I’m out like how I met Celeste a few months ago? Oh wait, we were set up by my brother. Asshole. His dislike for me was clear in that match.

  I’m being too harsh when it comes to her. We were easy. No strings. No commitments. No promises. She was a good way to pass some time and burn some energy . . . until I heard the rumors. One of them coming from Alex, who heard she was fucking the same brother who set us up. Fuck him. He can have her for himself now.

  If I cared enough, I would have made her deny what I knew was true.

  But I didn’t.

  Smiles are a good metaphor for women. They may be simple to come by, but genuine smiles are rare. Instead of sitting here wallowing any longer, I stand. “I’m going to bed.”

  “What time are you getting up?”

  “When do you need me?”

  “How about two? I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the build out on the office downtown.”

  “Can it wait?”

  “Yeah. Before you go, I know what I said sounds cheesy, but it’s more about someone who makes you happy. You haven’t been happy in a long time, Cruise.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Truth. It makes me shift, even a little itchy to admit, but I own it and don’t try to bury it by changing the subject.

  He won’t dwell on feelings. That’s not something we do. “Night.”

  “Morning,” he replies, laughing under his breath.

  “Oh yeah. Right.”

  I close my bedroom door and leave a trail of clothes behind me as I head to the bathroom and take a shower to scrub my body and brush my teeth. Not lingering under the spray, I’m in and out and in bed minutes later.

  With my eyes closed, I think about what Alex said. I don’t know if he’s right or wrong. It seems kind of sappy to think a woman or a vacation can solve the discontent that has been growing inside.

  Loneliness sucks. The penthouse is empty most of the time, especially since Jason left and Alex got married. Even when people are around, like he is now, I still don’t feel quite right inside.

  I’m too tired to drone on with my own thoughts. Letting the darkness of the room invade, my mind clears and my muscles relax into the mattress. Pushing this train wreck of thoughts from my mind, I let my exhaustion win and fall asleep.

  3

  Cruise

  Two Months Later . . .

  “Annie, call Mother.” I named my car’s computer assistant the day I got the Mercedes. I had to pick one during setup and Annie was all that came to mind. Seems too informal for the car, but it stuck.

  Celeste was right about one thing; we were stagnant. I’ve been stagnant. I need to make a decision on what to do, but I think that will come when I get the pieces put together again.

  “Hello?” My mother answers as if she has no clue it’s me. I try to give her the benefit of the doubt.

  “Hi, it’s Cru—John.”

  Her tone is generally very controlled, but today it slips and an inflection of excitement can be heard. “John, it’s good to hear from you.”

  “I wanted to stop by.”

  “Why?”

  To fix the panic I’ve caused her, I reply, “Just to say hi.”

  “Yes. I’d like that.”

  “I’m near the house.”

  “I’m at the school. We just had a board meeting about the fundraiser. We’re hosting a carnival here on the grounds.”

  I pass the house where I grew up—a Tudor-style mansion on fourteen acres of pristine land that rivals some of the smaller castles in the UK. “I can swing by and give you a ride home if you like.” She has a driver she can send on his way. He’d probably appreciate the break.

  “I have a short meeting if you don’t mind waiting?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Very well. I’ll meet you in the gardens out front in about thirty minutes.”

  “I’ll be there, Mother. Goodbye.”

  Dread fills my gut. I’ve no
t seen her in a few months, maybe longer if I think about it. My family is not really the touchy-feely or affectionate type, with an exception to my sister, making it easy for all of us to get caught up in our own lives.

  The long, curved drive that leads to the prep school I attended is just how I remember. Back then, Alex and I drove our motorcycles to school just to piss off the principal. Although we graduated with honors, we also left school with a slew of bad impressions. It was worth it.

  My mother has been trying to tidy up the Cristley reputation ever since by working with the school to keep it one of the most prestigious in the country.

  After parking in the principal’s parking spot, a push of the button sets the alarm when I get out, garnering a few head turns. This car is eye-catching, especially for a guy my age, but I earned every dollar and have no regrets splurging on this sleek vehicle.

  It’s weird being back here. I’m such a different person than who I was back then. Wiser, but more jaded. Life’s gotten hold of me in ways I never talk about. During the last year of my life, I’ve spent too much time trying to forget about the abuse I endured to be sitting on this bench today.

  Words . . . threats are muffled. My ears are ringing and my eyes are too bloodied to see clearly. A molar was dangling in my mouth but with the last breath I gasped for, it fell out. Now just the open wound remains, but is the least of my concerns.

  As I take another blow to the head, it’s not the boot I’ve become used to but something more solid.

  A shovel?

  A bat?

  . . . Darkness fills the room when I come to. It’s night. Again. My foggy brain reasons through the thickness of pain. It’s always fucking nighttime around here. And nighttime means one thing—another round with our kidnapper, the captor determined to destroy us.

  “Cruise? You okay?”

  I follow the sound of my name said by the familiar voice. King. Alexander. Alex. “No, but I’m alive to see another night and I intend on meeting the next one too.”

  It only takes two words to send chills down my spine.

  “It’s day.”

  Night. It’s night in my world. The realization that my sight is fucked up hits me. I won’t see him coming for me tonight. I won’t see the blows or know the punishment I’m about to receive. Tonight I’m going in blind. Literally.

  Fuck. I push up on my hands and knees and feel for my bowl. I need to eat. To gain strength. To speed the healing.

  I can recover.

  I know I can.

  This is temporary.

  Mind over pain.

  “They haven’t feed us yet,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

  When I open my mouth to speak, the throbbing in my mouth begins again. Infection will set in if I’m not vigilant. The taste of blood coats my words when I say, “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you sorry?” He can see what I can’t. I need to know if I need to be worried more than I am already about our survival.

  “This place. You. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Neither should you, King.”

  “You shouldn’t call me that anymore.”

  A chuckle strikes my ribs and I cringe, a harsh reminder that at least one is broken if not more. “What should I call you?”

  “Alex, like you used to.”

  “If we survive this, I’ll consider the downgrade.”

  I can hear him laugh under his breath. I hear his pain as well, but it doesn’t come from physical pain. “Why are you so damn loyal to a cause that’s not your own?”

  “Because you’re my brother, and brothers stick together.” I don’t know this from personal experience. Seems like a thing family should do—stick together.

  . . . Under a large tree with knotted branches, I look around not seeing who I used to be in any of the students walking by. Just like with my family, I never really fit in anywhere.

  Sure, I was popular. I’m fun as fuck when I party. But where did that get me? Working for my best friend and squatting in his apartment. More money than I can spend and no one to spend it on.

  Holy shit.

  I see pink.

  Curvy ass under a fitted skirt. Tight as fucking—good God Almighty. Bubblegum pink.

  Like a flame, I’m drawn to her. I stand, not even sure why, but I’m moving before I can stop myself following a bubblegum-pink skirt that just so happens to be attached to a killer little body and a head of brown hair that flows to the middle of her back.

  “Hey?”

  What the fuck? Why’d I yell that?

  Damn. I stumble. She reaches as if she’s going to catch me before I fall. I’m falling all right, but not to the ground. I stop, standing tall and straightening my shoulders. Real smooth. I actually fucking stumble when she looks back and our eyes meet.

  A halo of yellow sunshine surrounds her, an angel sent from the heavens to save me. The beauty asks, “Are you all right?”

  “Me?”

  A smile that rivals the heavens appears. “Yes, you.”

  “I’m good, so great.”

  That pretty smile grows, and a sweet giggle follows. “I’m glad.” The longer we hold eye contact, the more her composure falters, an unease entering her pretty hazels. “Okay, I should go then.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. Stay.”

  “Stay?” she asks in the same confused tone as the last question.

  “Yes.” Stepping closer, I hold out my hand. “I’m Cruise. What’s your name?”

  Her hand slips into mine and I’m tempted to not just shake it, but never let it go. “Nice to meet you, Cruise. If you’ll excuse me—”

  That’s when I notice the books held to her chest with her other hand. “Are you a student?”

  “No.” Her reply comes fast with a look of horror filling wide eyes. “I’m not. Are you?”

  “No.”

  The relief between us is palpable as our sighs fill the space. Her eyes glance down to our adjoined hands, my hold on her still just as firm. “May I have my hand back, Cruise?”

  “Yes,” I reply, and then reluctantly release her.

  “I’m late for an appointment.”

  I don’t want her to go. I like looking at her. I like talking to her and I really like holding her hand. She has fine features, but I can’t stop staring at her cherry-kissed lips. She turns to walk away too soon, so I call out, “Hey, I never got your name.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  She’s not showy when she saunters off, but I watch rapt by every sweet sway of her hips. I find myself tugging at the collar of my shirt, that all-wrong-itchy feeling returning.

  Fuck it.

  I run after her.

  Sidling up beside her, I keep her pace, and ask, “Why won’t you tell me your name?”

  “Because you don’t need to know it.”

  “I want to know it.”

  She stops, and looks at me. “Just because you want it, doesn’t mean I owe it to you.”

  Feisty. Getting a woman’s name isn’t usually a problem for me, but I respect her argument too much to counter with one of my own. “You’re right. Absolutely right.” This time I notice how the white sweater hugs the front of her body. Damn. I invade her personal space, captivated by her defiance. “I’ve been rude. My apologies.”

  “I don’t need an apology, but I do need to go. I’m running late.” She takes a few steps away from me, but says, “Have a good life.”

  My hands rise in the air, exasperated with this outcome. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

  Her laughter splinters the air. “Unfortunately no. I can tell you’re the kind of trouble I should definitely walk away from. Name intact.” Quick stepping with determination, I watch as she crosses the parking lot.

  “John?”

  My mother is walking down the front steps of the building. One last glance at the beauty who just blew me off and I decide to let her go, and even though she still own
s my full attention, I greet my mother.

  Dressed in a head-to-toe stuffy designer suit, her outfit screams of uptight and snobby. Beatrice Cristley is the epitome of WASP, though her religious beliefs waver with her drive to see the Cristley name immortalized as one of the great families of New England.

  Despite the fact both women are dressed conservatively, my mother is in stark contrast to the vixen that just caught my eye. I’ll be thinking about that skirt all day. I look back over my shoulder and she’s long gone. Probably for the best. I’m the kind of trouble a good girl like that doesn’t need. That makes me laugh. I’m sure that’s similar to what Alex said to me about Sara Jane the day he met her.

  “John, you’re here?” my mother says when she approaches as if I wouldn’t be.

  “As promised.”

  We greet with polite kisses on each other’s cheek. “You’re looking well.”

  “Taking it day by day.”

  She looks around. “Should we talk here?”

  “Sure. There’s a bench under the tree.”

  We take a seat on opposite sides. I would normally be uncomfortable. Conversations with her usually don’t end well. With my ego and her strong stubborn side to make everything into a lesson . . . we tend to clash. I assume she has no plans to speak of money and I have no plans to ask for any, so things should stay on the lighter side. “It’s a beautiful day,” she remarks finally glancing my way. “Why are you here?”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “Seven months.”

  That she knows when we last saw each other surprises me. I drop my head a little and lean my forearms on my legs. “The effects of . . . ah, the recovery from being kidnapped took longer than I would have liked. I’m sorry if that put you out in any way.” She didn’t really want to know about the effects. Just the recovery.

  “It didn’t put us out, John. It hurt. You made it clear you didn’t want to see us. Although it pained me to see you hurt, I tried to respect your wishes. I understand there’s a lot of water flowing under our bridge, but maybe we can give each other the benefit of the doubt instead of assuming the worst.”

  She may not be my biological mother, but I’m definitely stubborn like her. Maybe it’s time to mend fences with my family, especially if I want to find my birth parents. “I’d like that. I know I was a disappointment in many ways, embarrassed the Senator when he was actively in office, but they were growing pains.”