Page 105 of Knight

She’s pushing back and she’s pushing hard as she yells, “Just because your life’s fucked up doesn’t mean that I can’t have the life of a normal fourteen-year-old!”

We’re not normal. We’ll never be normal. She must be getting help from Bella because the door won’t budge in my favour. I call back, the tightness of my voice giving away my struggle, “I’m only watching out for you!”

“I have Bella!”

Her words sting a lot more than I’m sure she meant. But it feels like she has a replacement. A smaller, shorter version of Nate. I let go, the door slamming while I stare at it, my heart shattering into pieces. Willow’s always one to take my advice, to be by my side. But have I lost her too?

There’s rummaging on the other side of the door before her voice comes from the hallway, “I’m going to King’s and don’t follow me! No one wants you there!”

Dashing out my bedroom door, I’m too late. By the time I get to the staircase, my sister and Bella are already rushing through the front door, giggling as they do.

“Girls?” Nancy comes down the hallway in a white and black dress. “Why do you sound like little banshees? Go … do something.” She waves me off on her way to the kitchen, leaving me guttered and boiling.

This doesn’t end here.

Not a chance.

Heading back to my room, I rummage through the mess on the floor for a clean pair of jeans. The ones I find are tattered but I’m not doing this as a fashion statement. Not this time. Pulling my leather jacket over my sweater, I leave the hoodie over my head. Pushing my feet in my Docs, I stop by the edge of my bed. Crouching down, I reach my arm under my mattress, patting around for that leftover bottle of bourbon. It’s about half full.

“Aha!” My hand hits the bottle. If I’m going to do this, I’m doing this on my own. And if I’m doing this on my own, I’m going to need a little liquid courage.

* * *

“Damien King!”

Heads whip towards the door when I stumble into the mansion.

The place is a blur, colours moving by me with the smell of expensive perfume and cologne.

“Damien—” I trip over my boots, whiskey flying out of the bottle I have in my hand. “King!” If I was going to set foot back in this place after the week I’ve had, I wasn’t doing it sober. I’m not a masochist. Am I? If that were true, would I be here? Back in hell?

Rock music blares through the house but I don’t recognize the song. Something by The Pretty Reckless. While I would commend the choice, right now I’m on a mission.

When I take another step, I wobble, and okay, maybe I had a bit too much liquid courage.

“Woah, Jo!” Carlos’s hand comes to my side, catching me from hitting the floor with my face. “You okay, mama? You can’t be here.”

I narrow my eyes at him. Fuck him for telling me where I can and can’t be. “Fuck you!” Oops. I didn’t mean for it to fly out of my mouth but if Willow won’t listen to me, I need Damien to kick her out. She can’t be here. Not without me. And if I can’t be here, she can’t be either.

“I’m only trying to help,” he says, keeping his voice low but I can see we’re already drawing an audience. “You don’t look too good.”

Fuck. My liquid courage is not courageous at all. I’m a total mess. Like my life. But it’s too late. I’m already here. “Wh-where’s Brillow?” I don’t know if he’s still in front of me, room blurring as I try to glance around.

“Rowland?”

That voice cuts through the crowd and right through my soul. Damien’s standing at the top of the stairs and even drunk as hell I make out every inch of his chiselled features. That smouldering gaze. He looks so fucking good bare-chested in that jacket, rips on his expensive jeans that were likely there when he bought them. My eyes move to that bitch from the club, standing beside him.

Wait. Is he looking good for her? Prick.

A crowd builds in the foyer as I climb the stairs the best I can. I’m only now realizing how many steps he has, and how hard it is to climb.

“Jesus, Rowland,” Damien’s voice is a growl, as usual, his scent twisting my insides. When I try to grab the rail, I don’t know how but my hands hit his face instead. Those soft cheeks, that rigid jaw bone. “How fucked up are you?” he asks, leaning back to get a better look at my face.

“You’re one to fucking smudge, you bathe in scott,” I spit, trying to steady my balance. That made less sense than I intended so I cut to the chase. “Willow! Where is she?”

The room goes lopsided and before I stumble again, Damien’s hands come to my waist. They’re cold, but his touch feels so warm, a heat flooding through me. His scent surrounds me. Whiskey and peppermint and fuck … I want a taste so bad.

My lips come to his. It’s sloppy and messy but I want him. I want him now. He’s the only thing that can stop making me feel this pain. This emptiness. He’s always been. His hands come to my arms and he pulls me off him, gazing into my eyes. “Jo.” The way he says my name sounds pitiful but it only makes me want to kiss him again. I pucker my lips but he pulls back, laughter erupting around us. “Go home, Jo.”

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