Page 23 of Knight

“Not as pathetic as you look right now,” he smirks and that only fuels my anger, my hands flying to his hard chest. He grabs me by the wrist, his hold tight and cold and I wish it didn’t send a burning heat through my skin. His eyes land on my watch again before his brows lower. “This is your last warning.”

“Or what?” It’s like deja vu, except this time, none of them are getting away with it. I narrow my eyes, the fight in me surfacing again. But I try to level with him, if he can’t give me his heart, he can give me some information. I fight against his hold, but fuck, he’s stronger. He hardly moves while my boots skid against the concrete. “Why do you want me gone? Do you know something about my parents? Is that why you’re pushing me away and turning to your old tired tactics?” His grip tightens and I’m not sure if I’m onto something or if I’m just making him angry. “Or are you just a pussy?”

There’s a tingle between my legs, a twist in my core. Why does the idea of an angry Damien King excite me? Do I crave his attention that much? Or am I as fucked up as he is? I fight through my urges, still trying to get to the bottom of this. “You’re hiding something,” I say. “Is that why you act like we didn’t—”

“You know what you did, Medusa. Stop acting stupid.” He pulls my ear to his lips, and my breath hitches in my throat. Lowering his voice, it’s still crystal clear when he says, “Or did you not kill my father?” With a shove he pushes me back, unleashing me from his hold, from his warm presence and I have to make sure I don’t fall back as I try to regain my composure.

When I do, I feel that tingle in my nose, that glug in my throat. But I only let five words fly, “Go to hell with him.”

* * *

Lauryn Hill attempts to soothe my woes, The Catcher in the Rye in my face as I lay across my white sheets.

I’m trying to get lost in the words of Salinger, but it’s hard. My phone keeps taunting me from where it sits on my bedside table, wondering if his name will light up the screen.

I’m not sure why.

Not like I can look him in his face again.

Or did you not kill my father?

That morning comes back to me, my skin getting cold. Shutting my eyes I try to tune out the memory invasion. No. I didn’t. He’s the one who convinced me I’m not a murderer and now he’s trying to make me out to be one. Sick fuck.

Reading the same words over again, I can’t stop thinking about it, my head far away from this book.

My phone buzzes and it makes me jump before I reach for it like a fiend.

Christian.

It’s his fifth call since we got home.

Throwing the phone across the room I tell myself, “No more distractions.”

The songs on this playlist don’t help. “Can’t take my eyes off you?” What the fuck is that shit? Bella and Willow giggle and chat away in her room while I change the song to something a little more energetic. An iconic track from The Ramones. Trying to settle back into my bed, curls pressing against the soft pillow, I attempt to focus on the words. Again.

“Ew, Low! Not that!” Bella giggles through her words, the sound of her laugh flowing in through the connecting bathroom.

Shaking it off, I focus on the words again but their laughter makes me read the same sentence another four times.

“How about this?” Willow asks.

“Shorter.”

Willow laughs and this time my book goes plunging into the sheets. Huffing, I hop off my mattress, getting ready to close the door to the bathroom. I swear I’m not jealous of Willow getting along with the in-crowd. She’s more of a fit for it than I am but I need to concentrate if I’m going to nab this scholarship.

“Yes!” Bella squeals. “Jasper is going to lose it when he sees you in this.”

My hand stops on the knob, stomach tightening.

Jasper? Who the fuck is Jasper.

Who even names their kid Jasper? And lose it? No one’s losing anything around my sister.

Storming through the spacious white bathroom, clothes from our closet lay everywhere. Hair and makeup supplies sit between it all, scattered all over our shared counter. When I get to Willow’s door, there’s pop music playing out of her speakers. Wait, is that Taylor Swift?

Leaning against the doorframe, they don’t realize I’m there right away. I’m too in awe to say anything, my sister standing in front of Bella in a leather miniskirt and a mesh top. Sparkly black bra on display.

“Jo,” Bella says, eyeing me up and down. That’s a look she must have learned from Nate because it comes off as catty as he is. She doesn’t even have to say anything to know she’s judging my plaid PJ bottoms and tattered Woodstock shirt. “Doesn’t Willow look great in that?”

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