Page 3 of Knight

A lump forms in my throat and I vow not to shed a tear. I’m not the weak kid he thinks I am. Won’t ever be.

“Redecorating?” Isaac’s voice comes from the door. It stops my fist midswing, a lock of dark hair falling in my eye. I’m going to have to have another talk with Isobel. She’s been with our family forever but she really has to stop letting people in like it’s the goddamn circus.

When I turn to my buddy, my brother, he has a couple of bottles of his own in his hand, two girls on either side. They look like the usual young models Isaac grabs when he wants to party. The little baggie of pills hanging from his fingers means he’s here for exactly that.

“Thought you might need an escape,” he says with a smirk. His blown auburn eyes move between the two sets of giant tits on each side.

This guy’s like the Batman of parties and he hardly needs a signal before he’s getting shit moving. He doesn’t have to say much else. No apologies, no condolences necessary. With a tilt of my chin, I invite him in, tanned girls smiling on each side.

Trying to push out the fact that I wish these girls were here, I turn to Isaac. It’s time to end this mopey shitshow, “Let’s rage. For the old guy.”

That’s when I make my decision. Jo and I? We can’t be together.

Things are already too messy. No matter what my heart thinks, I’m a man who thinks with my head. And I don’t mean the one between my legs, even if he is excited at the thought of her. Biting my lip, I’m imagining those hazel eyes looking at me while she comes on my fingers. That hypnotizing gaze makes me want to bury myself inside her forever.

Medusa.

My Medusa.

I’ll protect her.

My heart won’t let me do otherwise and that’s a promise. But I don’t have to trust her. Don’t have to be with her.

Believe me?

I don’t.

But if I can’t have her. No one can.

One

Jo

POW!

That sound replays over and over in my head.

“Get the fuck out of here!”

So does his voice. Lifeless. Pleading. Desperate.

“Jo…” His voice crackles, that smooth, booming bass broken down to a croak. “Go.”

Images flicker through my mind, eyes focused on the crucifix positioned on the ornate altar. I’m not religious, especially not now being recently cast down by a god. But maybe I ought to be. Maybe that will save me.

My head falls to my right, dark curls falling in front of my face. With blurry hazel eyes on the intricate display, I feel just like Jesus. Hung out to dry.

“Jo!”

Blood and flames blur together.

Were my parents crucified too? Did they have a Judas of their own?

Screams. Shouts. The crackling of flames.

Am I as fucked as they are? No chance for a rescue?

Red. So much red.

---