Page 86 of Knight

“Rowland,” he calls, voice bellowing through the empty home. “We’re not through with this conversation.”

I’m stumbling to my bag. When I get there, I rummage through until I find it.

The key. The same one I took from this house.

It’s time I find out what’s in that drawer.

Damien calls after me as I make my way to the stairs. I have a stumble, the room a little blurry but my mind is one-track. If he wants some sort of commitment I need to know what we’re dealing with.

Did his dad have something to do with my parent’s death? Did he?

Taking the key, I’m climbing up that grand staircase. I don’t hear my name again until I’m at the front of Sebastien King’s office. When I get inside, things are a little different than I remember. A lot of the books and nick-nacks around are in boxes like they’ve been making room for the next CEO. The next heir to this kingdom.

“Jo!” I can hear his steps in the distance, but I’m not stopping now. Stepping over a white box of strewn around documents, I find that drawer under his desk again.

“What are you doing?” He’s at the door, glass still in hand. “How do you know that’s there?”

Sticking in the key, it fits and my heartbeat picks up.

Damien stumbles over. “Where’d you get that? I’ve been trying to get into that drawer for weeks.”

The drawer unlocks and Damien’s eyes widen. It’s as if he knows there’s a treasure inside. He sways, bottle in hand. “Open it,” he demands.

I do.

Inside sits a couple of pages. Another police report but this time it’s not for anyone I know. There’s a bill for an ambulance, a lens and a list of more names I don’t recognize.

This isn’t what I expected. That isn’t what I wanted.

A feeling of defeat washes over me and I’m deflated.

“What is it?” he asks and I see the lump in his throat go down as he waits for an answer.

“Some old documents.” Slumping in the chair, I shuffle through the drawer again before taking everything out and scattering it across the desk. I find absolutely nothing. “Fuck.”

Reaching over the desk I grab the bottle from Damien’s hand. I don’t care how drunk I am, this shit is disappointing. Unnerving. It’s a puzzle I can’t solve.

Damien’s eyes lower when he takes one of the pages in his hand. “It’s never just some old document,” he mumbles, his eyes darting around the page before he falls backwards.

“Damien?” I’m on my feet where I get a good view of him, laying on the floor, staring into that paper like he’s trying to make it burn. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.” He squints, holding the paper away from his face, arm outstretched as I make my way over to him.

“What’s it say?” Lowering to the ground, I sit across from him, studying his face for a clue.

He doesn’t move the paper out of his sight when he answers, “My dad killed my mom.”

Nineteen

“Wh-what?”

“Sebastien King killed my mom,” he repeats, that voice a low growl. “He admitted it to the police but the fucker couldn’t admit that to me.” There’s rage in his voice, then the inevitable …

SMASH!

He throws the rest of the glass at the wall and it smashes into pieces. I jump, I always jump, glass and whiskey spraying against the wall. Putting the sheet of paper at his feet, he reads it over and over, hands on his head, fingers through his hair.

“He fucking killed her,” he mutters. “He took her away!”

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