Page 83 of Knight

He hands me the rolled joint and I light it, watching it in the flame.

“Alright.” He bites his lip. “Fuck this movie bullshit. I raise you a body count.”

Coughing at his words, not the joint, I pass it to him. “What?” My body freezes up but I’m trying hard to play it off.

His eyes narrow as he takes a puff like he’s already trying to figure it out. Or he’s thought of it before. “You heard me.”

“You want to know how many guys I’ve slept with?”

“Or girls.” He’s not even being cheeky, saying that with a straight face.

“Okay.” If I’m going to dig deeper into Damien, he’s digging deeper into me too. But of course, by his rules, where he gets to ask the tough questions first. Grabbing the bottle from his hand I take another long chug before I take another puff. Wiggling my body I try to shake the nerves, my hair whipping side to side. Not like I have anything to hide. “Three,” I force the words out. “Including you.” My body gets chills saying it and I glance down at my knobby knees before I meet his eye again.

His head falls to the side, a lock of hair in front of his eye. “Zane and …”

“It’s not important,” I say.

“Coward.”

“Fuck you. You’re jealous.” I keep the joint between my fingers, pulling my knees to my chest.

“You won’t unless you tell me.” His eyes turn into slits. “Who was it? Christian?”

“What? No!”

“Your foster parents?”

He’s direct and it’s hard not to look down when he says it. I can’t even meet his eyes. Instead, I pull the joint to my lips, pulling on it hard. When his hand comes to my knee it startles me, and I instinctively smack it away, my head doing the best it can to push the memory out of my mind.

“Jo?” Damien leans closer, taking the joint from my fingers. He tilts my chin to meet his gaze. Then my eyes blur. I try to look away but he keeps me there, searching my face before he takes a deep breath. “Shit, really?”

“It was a long time ago,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. Four years to be exact.

When I told my foster mom what happened with my foster dad, that cold night in my new bed, she brushed it off. Told me to get tested and not to let it happen again. So I shoved it in the dark spot in my mind behind the death of my parents and vowed to move on. Stronger. Better.

“Jo?” Damien’s voice brings me back to the present. I’m already brushing him off before he says anything else. I know what’s coming next. An apology on their behalf. A pitiful look. “I slept with my nanny.”

“Woah,” the word falls off my tongue. Well, that’s not what I expected.

He finishes the joint, his hand lingering on my knee, heat forming underneath. His face tenses, so does his grip when he says, “Five years ago.”

Shit. It’s like Damien has the same twisted past as I do, except his past is covered in gold and diamonds. I’m relieved he’s not prying or saying those canned responses most people give rape victims. It’s like he completely understands.

He laughs and while it surprises me, I realize why when he goes on, “My dad commended me. Might’ve been the last pat on the back he ever gave me.” Scoffing, he reaches for the bottle. “Makes me want to slam my fist through Luca’s face again.”

“So it was you.” This whole time I thought he got someone else to do his bidding but … is King my knight? Always there to save me? If I wasn’t so sure he orchestrated those pranks at school, I’d believe it.

There’s a buzzing from the bottom of the steps and it doesn’t quit, my phone vibrating along the surface. I can see the name that lights up my phone from here and I steady myself getting up, my legs more wobbly than I expected.

“Easy, Rowland,” Damien warns, his hands out to help and I can’t help but feel warm. His desire to make sure I’m okay even when I’m only walking down the stairs makes me wonder if I got it wrong about him.

When I grab my phone it’s on its last ten percent, having not charged it for days but I’m happy it’s alive. “Willow!” I yell, a little too loud again.

“Jo?”

“Hey, baby sis!” I try to slow my slurs, steadying my voice. Holding on to the rail, I take a breath, my head still a little spinny from our conversation and the booze. Be normal. “What’s crackin’?”

“Crackin’? Are you drunk?”

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