I only don’t want to take Avery with me. It’s too dangerous. And she’s too innocent.
Before I can make a decision, she turns to me. “He sent you to me, didn’t he?”
There are pieces of her story available to me—the virginity auction that Damon Scott ran that sold her to Gabriel Miller. Her enmity with him, her eventual trust.
And now her capture in his castle.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, not entirely sure what connection she has to Jonathan Scott.
Her gaze is fierce. “You’re going to take me to him.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. She doesn’t belong in that mental hospital.
In the end I know she’ll come with me, the same way I came with her. We’re two sides to the same coin. We both love dangerous men. We both will lose ourselves trying to save them.
* * *
I stop by the diner to pick up a knife—a small weapon compared to the ones the men will have, but better than nothing. I also take the opportunity to talk to Jessica, who looks shocked to see me alive.
“What the hell did Damon do to you?” she demands.
I glance down to find blood on my hands, leftover from helping Anders get to a bed so he wouldn’t bleed out. “It’s not mine.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Then what did you do to him?”
All I can do is laugh, which I know makes me look crazy. “I need to ask you something. How do you know if you love someone?”
She laughs too, a little disbelieving, mostly relieved. “Jesus, you gave me a heart attack. The only person I’ve ever loved is Ky. And that’s… you know it’s not a feeling. Not for me. It’s just a state of being. Of turning to him, every second. Of wanting the best for him. Of wanting to give up everything for him.”
Impulsively I give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”
“Wait,” she says, already sensing my exit. “What are you doing with a knife?”
We don’t need to get into details, so I give her a small wave and return to the street. Avery waits for me, looking crazy nervous—which is a legit feeling, honestly. I know she’s older than me, but I have this strange protective feeling. It’s not the love that Jessica described, but it’s something like that.
“When we get there,” I tell her, “I’ll go in first. I know the layout, at least a little bit. And there’s always a chance it’s rigged to explode or something crazy like that.”
Her mouth drops open. “So you’re going to sacrifice yourself?”
“It only makes sense.”
“Are you kidding me? It makes zero sense. If anyone’s going first, it’s me.”
“I’m nobody,” I say softly, embarrassed I need to explain this. “The way that royalty would have someone taste their food, to make sure it wasn’t poisoned.”
Avery James wasn’t born in the west side. She doesn’t belong here. Her father was some famous businessman and politician, and even if he eventually lost everything, that doesn’t change her pedigree.
“I’m not royalty,” she says, sounding horrified. “And no one’s going to die for me.”
Maybe it’s only girls like me who can see the class system, ones who know they’ll never rise above it. “Maybe not royalty in the official sense. But in every way that counts. Girls like me, no one saves us in time.”
“Damon did,” she says, certain in this.
“He kept me from dying, but that’s not what I needed saving from. What Jonathan did to me…” It wasn’t about my body. It was my mind that he wanted. My mind he broke. Some twisted impulse to repeat what happens in that mental hospital. To make everyone else like him.
“God, Penny.”
“So you see what I’m saying. I’m already damaged.”
“Sometimes it’s harder to survive,” she says.
She does understand. For the first time I don’t feel alone. “Yes.”
“I won’t let you martyr yourself for me. We go together, okay?”
After a long pause I take her hand. Together. That’s how we’ll do this. Some small part of my soul eases at the knowledge. And I realize that even with Daddy, with Mama, I have always been alone. Only now with these people, this group of criminals and fallen heiresses, do I feel like I could have a true family. The possibility hangs in the air as thick as the mist hovering over the streets.
Chapter Twenty
The smell of pain fills the air. Jonathan Scott is strung up by his wrists, shirtless and clearly beaten. His skin singed and turned black. How long have they been torturing him? By the dead look in Damon’s eyes, it’s been an eternity.
“What are you doing here?” Gabriel says when he sees us.
“Looking for you,” Avery whispers, clearly in shock. “How long have you been here?”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
She takes a step forward “Is this…a hospital?”
Jonathan Scott begins to laugh, a horrifying sound. Blood-tinged spittle flies onto the floor. “Does someone look sick to you, little girl?”
“You’re not looking very well at the moment,” she says.
“I’ve never been well, not really. Neither have you.”
Gabriel takes a step forward. “Don’t speak to her. You don’t fucking speak to her.”
“Gabriel,” she whispers. “What happened to him? Look at all the open wounds, the burns, the blood. Did you do all of this?”
Heavy scars mangle Jonathan Scott’s body.
“Some of it,” Gabriel says. “And don’t look so horrified. He doesn’t deserve your pity.”
“It doesn’t matter what he’s done, no one deserves that.”
“If you had a full accounting,” Damon Scott says, emerging from the shadows, “I think you would disagree. However, the stories aren’t fit for polite company.”
I take a step back, afraid to find out exactly how far gone he is. It’s one thing to know the man hanging from rope is evil. Another to see the man I love, his beautiful smile, his hollow eyes.
He pauses, as if he doesn’t want to frighten me. Too late, too late.
“Forty years ago they thought they could cure what was wrong with his brain.” Damon waves a hand at the abandoned hospital. “That enough heat or electricity or water could shock the crazy out of him.”
“That’s barbaric,” Avery gasps.
Gabriel examines the poker, its tip red and hot. “And ineffective.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
He tosses the poker down to the dirty floor. “I’m not trying to cure him.”
“You’re torturing him,” she says, her voice thick with tears. “It’s one thing to kill someone in self-defense. Even revenge. Another to hurt someone like this, to destroy them, to mutilate his body.”
Gabriel looks as cold as Damon. As broken. “Have I shocked you again, little virgin?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
I touch the back of her hand, my heart aching. I’ve only just found this family and it’s already breaking apart. “He’s trying to save you.”
She looks at me, uncertain. “How?”
“Yes, how?” Jonathan Scott says, looking almost playful. All those years ago I thought it was Damon who looked like his father, who sounded like him, but now the tables have turned. Now it’s Jonathan who looks eerily like his son, jovial and haunting. “Tell her how Gabriel Miller bought her and fucked her and keeps her locked away from the world, all in a desperate bid to save her pretty tits.”
“Get them out of here,” Gabriel mutters.
I’m not sure who he’s talking about until Damon steps towards me.
I take a step back. It’s Avery who says, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You really shouldn’t see this,” Gabriel says.
“It shouldn’t be happening! You’ve caught him. You have him. You can turn him over to the cops.”
“The chief of police is dear old Dad’s drinking buddy,” Damon says, his tone bored. “They liked to torture animals together while
they watched the game on Sundays.”
Avery gasps.
“Did I say animals?” Damon says, glancing at me with a dark expression. “Sometimes dogs. Sometimes girls. Anyone who would scream.”
“Sometimes you,” Avery whispers.
He looks sharply at her. “He doesn’t deserve your compassion.”
“Maybe not, but what about Gabriel? What do you think this is doing to him?”
“You can’t save him, little virgin.”
“You should get Penny out of here,” Avery says. “She’s been through enough.”
He takes a step toward me. I back up, but he keeps coming. His hand grips my wrist.
“Come,” he mutters, dragging me behind him.
“I guess I was useful, after all,” I say as he leads me down the cracked path, taking me away from the mental hospital for the second time. It’s a small improvement that I can walk this time around. I know without asking that it’s not a coincidence.
“What?” he asks, his voice curt.
“I was the bait, after all,” I say, my voice small. “Not the one you used to find your father. The one he used to find you.”
Damon doesn’t answer.
It’s hard to say who actually won that battle. Damon may not be the one strung up by his wrists, his body tortured and raw, but his eyes look dead inside.
* * *
Damon brings me to the diner, which is about the strangest thing that’s happened to me in days. Which is really saying something. It’s surreal to see the flickering overhead lights and the cracked linoleum that were once so familiar.
“Why are we here?” I manage to ask.
“You must be hungry.”
“No.”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
I’m not sure I’ve actually eaten anything today. I was too nervous about the plan, too busy keeping an eye on Avery in case she tried to escape without me. “I’m not sure.”
His smile is a perfect baring of teeth. “Then let’s just say I’d like to feed you.”
He holds the door open for me in a parody of chivalry.
If he were truly a gentleman, we wouldn’t be in this place. It’s where people go when they’re tired and they can’t be bothered to go anywhere else.
With a gallant sweep of his arm he gestures to the corner booth.
The same booth where Jonathan Scott once ordered pie. A coincidence?
Swallowing down my disgust I sit on the hard booth, trying not to think about who once sat here. I know a million people have been here since then. A million people before him. It doesn’t stop the shiver that runs down my spine.
“Why didn’t we go to Gabriel’s house?” I ask, my voice low.
“This is closer,” Damon says, which is true.
But not the whole truth. “I won’t be going back there, will I?”
“Why would you? There’s no threat to you anymore.”
Jessica leaves the kitchen and sees us, her eyes wide. She grabs two mugs and a coffee pot from the counter, bringing them straight over. “What can I get you?” she asks, keeping her tone neutral. As if she doesn’t know how huge it is that I’m here with him.
“We’ll have a slice of pie,” Damon says, his voice clipped.
My breathing speeds up. This doesn’t feel coincidental. The same booth. The same order. Damon isn’t making me prepare his coffee, but this still feels like history repeating.
“Are you sure that’s all?” Jessica asks, her gaze meeting mine.
She’s asking if I need help. The offer sends a needle through my heart. We both know there’s not much she could do if I did need help, but it’s sweet to have friends.
“That’s all,” I tell her, forcing a small smile.
When she leaves there’s only silence. The muted shout of Ruth Mae as she gives Jackson grief. How many times have I heard those things? It feels so strange to be here, like I’m a puzzle piece that’s gotten wet, the cardboard expanded. I don’t quite fit anymore.
“How long were you in that place?”
“We staked it out for a week before he came back. There was a short struggle, but we had the upper hand.”
“So you’ve been torturing him for two weeks?”
He looks at me sharply, as if surprised I would mention something so indelicate, despite the fact that he still smells faintly of something burnt. “And would have gone on longer, if you hadn’t shown up.”
“Am I supposed to apologize?” I ask, feeling defensive.
“No,” he says, dismissing the idea. “That’s not necessary.”
I hate the tone he’s using with me, like I’m beneath his notice or care. It’s so far away from the low, seductive voice he gave me all those nights. But as much as his tone bothers me, his silence hurts worse. All the things he isn’t telling me. Leaving me in the dark.
Stripping away my dignity, exactly like his father did in this very booth.
“What happens now?” I ask, digging my nails into my palms.
Neither of us have touched the coffee mugs.
Jessica returns, giving me a worried glance as she sets down a slice of pie. Blueberry this time. Neither of us acknowledge it. After a quick nervous look at Damon, she returns to the kitchen.
“You can go back to your life,” Damon says, as casually as talking about the weather.
Once upon a time those words would have been met with relief. Now I can’t imagine anything more horrible. Not even green tiles and black water are worse than this. “What?”
“I’ve taken care of your father’s other debts,” he adds, like that’s my only objection.
“No.”
There’s a weighted pause, as if Damon’s giving me time to reflect on my disobedience. This is what he’s become all those days torturing his father, becoming him. Losing that final battle.
“I don’t believe you have a choice,” he says lightly.
“You said I would be yours. Yours to keep.”
“For as long as I want,” he says agreeably. “Time’s up.”
It shouldn’t be so hard to breathe outside the water. At least my gasp is silent, my pain private. “You said I would be yours to protect.”
“And you’re safe now. You can run back to your little boyfriend. What was his name? Brandon?”
“Brennan,” I say, tears stinging my eyes.
“Right. I’m sure he would love to fix your intimacy issues and give you a couple babies. You can live happily ever after.”
“That’s not what I want,” I say, my voice low.
“Oh, my sweet Penny. Where did you get the idea that matters?”
Chapter Twenty-One
“You have to eat something,” Daddy says, pushing a dry hot dog in front of me.
I swear to God everyone wants me to eat, as if food can fix this gaping hole inside me. As if it has anything to do with the way my body has shifted and grown and changed.
The edge of the hot dog has turned white from being in the microwave too long. The ketchup has slid down the crack of the bun, forming a pool on the plate. Nothing about this is appetizing, even if I were hungry. Except that Daddy made this for me.
A hundred nights he was gone playing card games, leaving me to scrounge for food, to learn to work the stove before I really should have. All I’d wanted was this, a dry hot dog that he would make for me.
I force myself to take a bite. Somehow it tastes worse than it looks.
Chew. Swallow. Act like a person.
Daddy’s eyes are wide with hope and worry. “If you don’t like it I can bring something else.”
“No,” I say, a little loud. “No, this is perfect. Thank you.”
The truth is he’s been nothing but supportive ever since Damon dropped me off at the door, like an errant lost puppy he was returning to its owner. Daddy fell over himself apologizing to me, swearing things would be different. At the time I had been too numb and too cold to even run through the ordinary thoughts—don’t believe him, Penny. It w
ill only be worse when he gambles again.
Except he didn’t gamble again. Not in the three weeks I’ve been home.
That might not sound like much, but once upon a time it would have been a miracle.
Now it’s a curiosity. A concern, even. Who is this man?
When I’ve eaten half the hot dog, I push the plate away. My stomach threatens to revolt if I don’t stop. “When is the big game?” I finally bring myself to ask.
He freezes in the act of putting ketchup in the fridge. “What game?”
Guilt burns like acid inside me, because he looks so pained. So ashamed. I don’t want to make him feel bad. That’s how dark and twisted family makes you. You’re desperate to console them even when they’ve hurt you.
“The game you used me to buy in.”
He flinches. “I’m so sorry, Penny. I never should have done that. Your mother—”
There’s a whirlpool inside me, a constant and wild swirl that’s been there ever since Damon walked away from me. And for a moment, everything goes still. “What about her?”
“She would have killed me,” he says, sitting down heavily at the kitchen table. His knee still bothers him, but he doesn’t use the cane. It sits by the door instead, a wishful-thinking weapon in case Jonathan Scott comes back.
For so many years I tried not to think of Mama in that bathtub. And when I saw Jonathan Scott hanging from the ceiling of that mental hospital, I couldn’t stop thinking of her. They didn’t look alike, not in those moments, not before. There was only a kind of helpless self-destruction to both of them. They had not sunk to the bottom of the lake; they had both dived in head first.
“She wouldn’t have cared,” I say softly.
“Oh, Penny. What she did… she was sick. And I wasn’t strong enough to help her.”
Not while he was busy battling his own addiction. Not while he was making his own dive. Maybe Damon Scott and I are destined to repeat history, each of us too wrapped up in our own pain to help the other swim. I already know I can’t rely on him. Or Daddy.
Brennan came to see me three times now. He looked ashen the first two visits, unable to fully meet my eyes. I thought maybe he considered me damaged goods. He wouldn’t have been wrong.
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