Page 33 of Twisted Kings

“Can we please watch something else?” I asked as some stupid drama around the hot tub played out on screen.

“No.” Eden reached for a chocolate left over from the night before, but I grabbed it first.

“Landon Fucking Rothmore, give me that chocolate now or I’ll put hair removal cream in your shampoo!”

My jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Go on, try me!” She bared her teeth at me.

“I wouldn’t push it, Lan,” Milo advised. “She grew up with Declan and his brothers. I bet she’s done a whole lot worse than that.”

Eden grinned. “Damn right. I was the only girl in a family of psychotic boys until Aoife and Saoirse came along. How else was I supposed to survive some of the shit they did to me?”

I shuddered. “Fine. Eat the fucking chocolate. I hope it makes you break out.”

A spark of anxiety in her eyes told me my barb had struck home. She reached up and prodded her chin. There was nothing there but a faint red mark, but from her expression, she fully believed a zit lingered just below the surface.

“I’m sure Michael won’t mind if you turn into a pizza face,” I reassured her.

“Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú, Landon,” she shrieked before throwing the chocolate bar at me. “I hope Thea never forgives you for being a spineless jerk!”

My shoulders slumped. She was right. Ihadacted like a spineless jerk. Instead of defending her, I’d gone along with Dario’s bullshit claims and pushed her away. A decent guy would have whisked her away from campus the night the sex tape story hit the press. Protected her. Shielded her from the press.

But no. I’d believed Dario and made her think I no longer gave a shit about her. If Thea never forgave me, then I’d spend the rest of my life making up for my lack of faith in her.

She’d cave eventually. How could she not? I was pretty fucking awesome, after all, even if I was now penniless.

16

Thea

The sound of engines roaring penetrated my dreamscape. The burning, smoke-filled forest that surrounded the dream version of me faded. Fire was a recurring nightmare, probably a manifestation of my anxiety and emotional conflict about the awful things my father had made me do over the years.

Why was it so noisy? The dungeon had always been quiet, aside from the whimpering and screams of the monsters in my head. Unless I’d somehow astral projected into the middle of a Formula One race, the current level of background noise made no sense.

Rather than a cold cement floor, it felt as if I was lying on a bed, my cheek resting against a deliciously soft sheet. Last I checked, Dad’s dungeon didn’t boast 1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton bed linen.

I tried to juggle my most recent memories into some kind of order, but beyond the dungeon cell, there was nothing but a blank space. Was my father taking me somewhere? From the way the bed jostled, we were on the move.

Shit, I was on a plane. This couldn’t be good. I desperately wanted to open my eyes, but fear of what I might see kept them sealed shut.

Nothing good ever came from being knocked out and put on a plane. The last time that happened, I ended up back in the middle of my worst nightmares, burning forests not withstanding.

Someone stroked my cheek. The bed dipped. It was enough to break through my paralysis. If Torrance thought he could touch me while I slept, he was mistaken. My training kicked in and I lashed out.

“Ow!” yelled a familiar voice. Kyril? What the fuck was he doing on my father’s jet? Oh fuck. Had Dad captured them?

When I opened my eyes, Kyril stared down at me, blood spewing from his nose.

“Why are you on a plane with me?” I hissed, anxious not to attract attention. Not that I had a hope in hell of escaping if my father hovered nearby.

“We rescued you. Don’t you remember?”

What? How?!

I blinked. “So this isn’t my father’s jet?”

“No, it’s Declan’s jet.”

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