Page 58 of King

Cindy makes sure to keep her office locked and no clues have popped up since.

He looks down at my arm. “What’s with the scar?”

My body tenses. I’m starting to realize Damien notices more than he lets on.

“Do you answer every question with a question?” Reaching for my rolled-up sleeves, I pull them down but he stops me. His touch feels warmer as he grazes a finger up the trunk of the tree. It’s too much. Too direct. But when I try to pull away he grabs onto my wrist, pulling the sleeve up higher. My jaw clenches. “Dude, what’s your deal?”

“What happened?”

“What’s it to you?” I pull and he pulls back, I can play this game too.

“Was this that guy?” he asks, his voice like thunder. “The idiot at the garbage dumpster?”

“No.”

He’s in front of me, his tight grip still on my arm, tattoo and scar exposed. “Foster parents?”

“No!” I pull back but he doesn’t let go.

“Tell me.”

“Why?” I wish he’d stop, the memories flooding back.

“I asked.”

Pulling again, his grip tightens. “Damien, fuck off!

“Joelle,” he growls.

I get in his face, having had enough of his bullshit. “You really want to know?" He doesn't answer. Making sure I stare into those mismatched eyes, I let him have it. "I took a knife, dug it deep into my skin and watched as I bled out on my bathroom floor.” Pulling my arm away, he finally loosens his grip.

Leaning over the counter, I take a breath, counting to five and I’m only at three before he speaks, “Seems like we have something in common.” Looking back, he's leaning against the counter, a sleeve rolled up to his elbows. “Didn’t take you for the type to take an easy way out.”

While I'm staring at his tattoo, he rolls up the other sleeve. His finger drags along a similar scar on the other arm. It's buried within the artwork but when he points it out I'm surprised I haven't noticed before.

How fucked up is this? The King and I share suicide scars.

Pressing my back against the edge of the counter, I fold my arms. “Could say the same to you.”

I know why I did it but Damien King has it all. Money. Girls. That sweet ride. I can’t fathom why a guy with this much power would want to throw it all away.

We’re standing next to each other when he shrugs. “Was more of a fuck you to my dad.”

I don’t know why he’s sharing this information. Don’t know why he’s even here. I don’t tell people about my scar. When I do, I regret it. They always give me that pitiful stare, like I’m a walking sob story. It’s either that or they treat me like I’m fragile. Damien doesn’t. He barely even flinches and the longer he stays, the more I want him to.

He takes my arm again, pulling me in front of him. His finger runs along the needles of the pine tree before going down the scar. It makes the hair on my skin stand at attention, my heart a hard patter. Then he smirks, this one more gentle than the others. “I told you, so now it’s your turn.”

His other hand is on my waist and I can hardly breathe. I try to look away but his hand comes to my chin, tilting it up to keep eye contact. Damien’s eyes both seem darker, and once again, I’m mesmerized. “Why do you wanna know?” I ask.

“I can’t even look at my fingers without wanting them inside you.” His low words bring that night to the forefront of my mind, my cheeks on fire. “Can’t blame me for wanting to know more.”

Did Damien King say he was into me? Was that his twisted version of a confession?

“You want to get to know me but you want me to leave Eden?” Confusion furrows my brows. “You kiss me one day, finger me the next and ignore me in between and now I’m supposed to open my life to you? Because you asked?"

“I was wrong about you.” Those eyes dance around my face before he shocks me, running a finger down my cheek. He brings his mouth near my ear again. “You’re mine.” His tongue slides down my neck and my body melts in his hold. “Or did you not notice?”

"Yours?" He can definitely hear my heartbeat now. "More like your toy."

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