Page 15 of Don't Make Me Beg
CHAPTER FOUR
Luka
Scout tries to keep a neutral expression as she takes in the home before her, but the tears welling in her eyes give her away. It’s easy to see that she’s upset. I can see it in her stiff movements and how she refuses to look me in the eye.
I can practically hear her heart breaking as recognition hits. She doesn’t even have to step inside to know what I’ve done.
Her childhood home is virtually unrecognizable and knowing I’m the one who took this from her feels even better than I imagined. For the first time in years, there’s a momentary reprieve from the dull ache of betrayal that’s become my constant companion.
Sure, there are plenty of old homes I could’ve restored in Ashford Falls. Hell, I could’ve built my dream home anywhere I wanted. But I have a lot of great memories here, and the thought of taking something that was so precious to Scout and completely gutting it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I never dreamed that I’d get to witness her seeing it.
Is it cruel of me? Absolutely. Could I have warned her prior to offering her a place to stay? Also, yes. But then I wouldn’t see the moment all her childhood memories crumbled right in front of her.
Besides, how was I supposed to know her parents hadn’t told her? I mean, it’s been three years since I approached them with an offer well above market value, and they couldn’t say yes fast enough. I guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t seem to care about preserving Scout’s childhood memories… I know it had to wound their pride to sell it to me—the most hated Kingsley of the whole bunch—but at the end of the day, money talks and it’s not like her family enjoyed living next door to mine.
I’m not sure where and when the tension between our families began. All I know is that the hatred has always seemed one-sided. The Sinclairs have made no secret about their disdain toward us, always complaining about how noisy we were or my parents’ eccentric hobbies outside. The two houses share a five-acre lot, but they might as well have been on top of each other, from the way her mother was always complaining.
They hated Scout’s and my friendship and made every excuse they could to pry us apart… but there’s only so much you can do when you live next door to each other. We were inseparable from the time we started Kindergarten up until the night we graduated.
Of course, their hatred toward me was only magnified after my arrest. Scout’s father, Henry Sinclair, has been the town judge for the last thirty-five years, and he took every opportunity he had to lengthen my sentence, giving me the maximum punishment for anything he could grasp.
It didn’t help that his buddy was the head prosecutor against me, the same bastard whose son Scout got engaged to her first semester in college. She didn’t even wait six months before shemoved on with her life…with the son of the man who ruined mine.
They colluded against me, charging me with everything they could dig up.
The vandalism charge was made worse by the fact that the building had been deemed historic.
The joint I’d stowed in my pocket didn’t help, nor did the weed in my system.
They tacked on a DUI just because I’d driven there, stacking the deck against me like they’d been waiting for the excuse.
They then tried to come after my family’s company, making a huge deal about the toxic material in the spray paint harming the environment. My parents had to fight the rumor mill for years after that to repair their reputation.
In the end, Judge Sinclair got his way. I went to prison, serving the maximum time of three years, while Scout moved on with her life and went away to school.
They finally succeeded in separating us. But even that wasn’t good enough.
After they’d fucked me over, it was like they’d made it their mission to make my parents’ lives miserable, too. After I was released from prison, my parents were so stressed by the whole ordeal that they were considering moving from the home that’d been in my mother’s family for over one hundred years.
There was no amount of mediation or compromise that could fix it, so, I took matters into my own hands and offered them a more-than-generous cash offer for the house and everything inside it.
They were moved out by the next weekend.
And I’m guessing by the way Scout’s looking right now, she never got the full story. Either that or she’s too naive to think her parents capable of any wrongdoing. I don’t know how she can’t see it…but Scout’s always been that way. She sees the bestin people, no matter how many times they prove her wrong, even when it’s at her own expense.
Oh well. It’s not my problem anymore. It’s not my job to help her see the truth when she’s so clearly determined to ignore it. I don’t need to defend myself, nor do I care if she’s angry with me. Honestly, I hope she is. Because as much as I did it to help alleviate the stress my parents were feeling, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t my need for revenge that sealed my decision.
Heat flickers in my chest as I watch her try to hold herself together, to keep from falling apart right here in front of me. For a second, I think she might crack—but somehow, she finds the strength to swallow the tears back down.
Damn, I guess she’s stronger than I thought. Good thing I have plenty more surprises hidden up my sleeve.
“I thought the old place needed a little sprucing up. What do you think?” I say, gesturing to the newly renovated Victorian.
“Oh yeah…looks great…I hardly recognize it,” she mutters under her breath, dragging her suitcase behind her as we head inside.
As we step inside, the lights turn on automatically and we’re greeted by a friendly robotic voice. “Welcome home, Mr. Kingsley. I see you’re entertaining a guest this evening. Shall I prepare your play?—”
“No. That won’t be necessary.” I cut my AI assistant off before he can go any further. “Miss Sinclair isn’t that type of guest. L.O.K.I, this is my…friend—”the word is bitter on my tongue—“Scout. She’s going to be staying here for a while…in the guest room,” I add for extra clarity. It shouldn’t be necessary, but I know how curious he can be when he’s bored, and I don’t need him stirring the pot or meddling. I may have programmed him to be my home manager, but my AI assistant has adopted a few personality quirks over the years that I’ve grown attached to. These days, he feels more like a friend with no filter than a robot.
