Page 64 of Knight

“You’re not eighteen now,” Damien counters.

“That wouldn’t make it much better, would it?” I wince.

“If you don’t, I will, Johnson,” Damien cautions.

Isaac groans, “Why don’t you pay her off or some shit? This all can’t be worth it. Wouldn’t it be nice to have family around?”

“So you can be my uncle?” Damien sneers. “No chance. You think someone like her only wants a slice when she can have the whole pie? I’m not taking that risk. Not like you.”

“Yeah, we know you’re not about taking risks,” Isaac says with a glance at me.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Damien’s voice is deeper.

“You know what I mean.” Isaac sits up. “You’ve got all these twisted reasons to try to stay close to Jo but you won’t make it a thing. You say she’s off-limits but let her slip away. Every. Single. Time. And when someone else steps up, you hate that even more. So don’t talk to me about not taking risks. If we’re comparing pussy sizes you’re the biggest pussy of them all.”

SLAM!

Another wall gets the Damien King treatment before he storms for the door. He’ll have hell to pay if he leaves me again because he’s too wrapped up in whatever the fuck is going on in that head. On the way out, he grabs a black puffy jacket from the wooden rack before a cold gust of wind comes through the room.

Looking back at Isaac he looks defeated. Worried. With a glance at the entrance, he takes my hand. It’s cold from the ice-pack but soft like he dipped it in oil. “Don’t let him do anything stupid. He’ll listen to you.”

What? He never listens to me. “Isaac, I—”

“Please, Jo,” Isaac begs like it means the world and I know it’s not every day a King makes a plea. Shit, he does think he’s in love. Usually, he’s all suave and “baby” this and “sexy spy” that, but now, he looks like a heart struck boy.

When I get outside, the car’s still in the driveway. Damien’s leaning against the little bridge, joint hanging from his lips as he stares into the pond. Even when he’s being a diva he looks delicious, like he’s posing for Bad Boy Weekly.

“You’re still here,” I say when I’m next to him.

Pulling the joint from his lips he keeps his eyes forward when he holds it out to me. “Don’t trust me?”

“Seems we have something else in common,” I put the joint to my lips. “Trust issues.”

“Isaac’s the one with issues,” he scoffs.

“We all have issues.” A puff of smoke escapes me when I speak before I nudge him so he takes the joint, and so he hears himself. “Isaac’s your best friend. Your fellow King, or whatever stupid thing you’re calling yourselves these days.” That gets me a bit of a smirk, and I try to drive this thing home. “So don’t be a dick and do something that’ll hurt him. You hurt him enough with those fists.”

“Did he ask you to ask me that? To keep her safe?”

“I’m asking you,” I say. “I’m trusting you not to.”

He puts out the joint on the railing, turning to me. His eyes shimmer in the light, a moony gaze that makes me shiver when our eyes connect. “Isaac has nothing to worry about.” He starts walking to his car and I’m not too far behind him before he says, “Clear your schedule tomorrow night. We’re going on a date.”

Fourteen

“Like … an actual date?”

Willow stands in front of me in a leather skirt and sweater, arms crossed, perfect eyebrow arched. She’s as surprised as I am when I tell her my plans the next evening.

Pulling my hands from my hair, I stop twirling it like a basic bitch and shrug. “At least he says it is.”

“That box on your bed looks like it is,” Willow points her chin towards the black box on my white sheets. It has a shiny purple ribbon, ‘JO’ in cursive. Vincent or Holly must have left it on my bed and I’ve been pacing my room the minute I saw it. I didn’t hear Willow calling me from the other end of our shared bathroom until she appeared in my room and asked if I’m okay.

“This isn’t the first time he’s sent a gift,” I remind her. Butt plugs and nipple clamps come to mind. “Some of them, a lot more,” I pause. “Adventurous than others.”

“Don’t remind me,” Willow winces. “So, what does he have in mind?”

I shrug. “No clue. I didn’t see him all day.” Which doesn’t help to solidify that this is a date.

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