The King Read online

  I pick a random spot and cut the deck in half. He folds it over.

  “I accept your terms,” he says softly. “If you win you get freedom from worry. From fear. No one will ever be able to use you against your will again.”

  Does that mean money? How much money? I’m almost afraid to ask, because the truth is no amount of money will make me stop being afraid. No amount of money will stop the nightmares. It’s not money that will save me—it’s power.

  “What would you win?” I ask, not sure this question is any better.

  “Your father,” he says, surprising me. “He stays with me. He disappears.”

  My mouth drops open. “What?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. You should even be glad. Either way you’re free of him, of the gambling and the lies. The weakness. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  In this moment what I want is…him. Whether he’s the wild boy or the perfectly handsome Damon Scott, he’s always been kind to me. Playful and brooding, his touch in turns coaxing and commanding. He only turned cruel once he tortured his father.

  Once he became his father, which was all Jonathan Scott wanted.

  “What would you want with Daddy?” I say, my voice trembling.

  “Does it matter what I do with him? He didn’t ask questions when he used you as his bet into the game. I suppose he didn’t need to ask questions.” Dark eyes run over my body, as if he can see through the sequins and the thin black fabric. As if he sees my heart beating rapid-fire under my ribs. “It’s fairly obvious what we would do with you.”

  I understand then what this is. A test of my will.

  He has to put something on the line, something I would hate to lose. And I almost stop. Because who am I to bet my father’s life? Then again, who was he to bet mine? If I do this, I’ll become just as bad as him. Maybe that’s the point.

  Making me turn into my father the way he turned into his.

  “Fine,” I say.

  “Three rounds,” he says, dealing the cards.

  My first hand starts weak—nothing with a queen high. With new cards I end up with a king, which his three of a kind queens easily beats. He wins the first round.

  Staring at him, I swallow. That means I have to strip. I have to take off a piece of clothing. With shaking hands I remove a red bangle Jessica loaned me from my wrist.

  He laughs softly. “Does that count?”

  “Doesn’t it?” I ask, arching my eyebrow, daring him to argue.

  I win the second round with two pairs, relief pouring over me.

  His eyes glint. “What should I remove?”

  I shrug, expecting him to take off his watch. His shoes. There are so many innocuous things he could remove on such a finely dressed man. The only thing missing from him is his jacket, which he removed when we entered the room.

  Standing, he reaches for the button at his collar. Oh God, he’s going to remove his shirt. My skin suddenly feels prickly and too tight. The tendons in his hands move subtly as he undoes each button, revealing a sliver of golden skin and a hint of dark hair.

  When the buttons are finished he pulls the hem from his pants, letting the two halves of white linen hang open. His masculine figure takes my breath away. Power, exactly the way I dreamed about.

  Then his hands move to his wrists, where he works at the cufflinks.

  They drop onto the table in front of me. Curious because they aren’t sterling silver or even gold. They’re this deep copper color, blackened at the edges.

  Realization washes over me, as potent and clear as an ocean wave.

  It’s a penny. A real penny that has been attached to a bracket, melded to make this cufflink that he wears on his body. I pick one up and find it warm.

  My gaze rises to meet his. “Where is this from?”

  I already know the answer, but it still makes me shiver to hear him say, “They’re two of the breadcrumbs you left me. So I never forget.”

  From the haunted look I know he never would have.

  It might be a memory, but it’s also a punishment. Is that what I mean to him?

  He shrugs his powerful shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor. The only other time I saw him shirtless was when I had just been attacked. I couldn’t look close. Only now can I see his tattoos clearly. And only now can I see the scars between them. Elaborate scrolls and dragon scales. They’re beautiful, and they almost, almost distract from the silvery lines between them. Scars.

  I stand, sick to my stomach. “He did that to you.”

  “Are you surprised?” he asks, his voice low and taunting. “Are you disgusted by me?”

  He sounds so casual, but I know that’s not real. He hates them. Hates them so much he’s covered them up with miles of ink—still never enough. How many people have seen him this way? How many women have actually seen him naked?

  How many suits does he wear to hide his past?

  I reach out a hand. “Damon, please.”

  He turns away with a rough sound. “We aren’t here to talk about my father. We’re here to play a final hand for yours.”

  There’s bile in my throat. I’m sick looking at him, how beautiful he is, how broken. Except he holds himself away from me, his body straight, muscles tight.

  Reluctantly I sit down across from him.

  My voice comes out halting. More sincere than I’ve ever been with him. Tears prick my eyes. “I’m sorry. That I sent you back there. I was sorry every day of my life.”

  “Don’t be,” he says softly. “I was never sorry I did that.”

  “And now?”

  He deals the final hand. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  The cards look like snakes to me. Deadly. Poisonous. I don’t want to touch them. They’re the root of everything ugly in my life—gambling and risk. Money.

  How could anything this dark actually help me?

  Of course the slick coating on the thin cards feels the same in my hands when I pick them up. There’s nothing different about the cards. I’m the one who’s changed.

  A straight flush. An incredible hand, minus one card.

  It seems impossible. I have to keep my eyes down so he doesn’t see my excitement. My nervousness. Because this can’t be real. It’s like I’m dreaming the six of hearts. The seven, the eight, and the ten. The last card doesn’t suit, I’m hovering on the edge of a precipice.

  I push the fifth card down and receive a new one.

  I’m sure fangs will sink into my skin if I reach for it. Poison will spread through my veins. Calm down, I tell myself. It’s just a game. But I learned a long time ago that it’s more than that. It’s hunger and it’s pain. Or it can be survival.

  My hand is strangely steady as I reach for the last card. Even if it bites me I have to know. I lift the card, struggling to breathe. Struggling to see. Adrenaline blurs the nine. The hearts. I got it. The straight flush.

  A beautiful, perfect hand.

  Elation runs through me. In that moment I know exactly why Daddy gambles. It’s impossible not to love this, not to become this wild triumphant creature. Intellect may make us human, but this desperate desire for risk keeps us animal.

  Damon’s eyes glint dark in the lamplight. “You look pleased,” he says.

  And he doesn’t look worried.

  Because he wants me to win? Or because he knows he can beat me.

  I put down my cards. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react beyond a genial nod of his head, acknowledging a good hand. “Well played, baby genius. Not good enough, but still. A very good showing.”

  One thud in my chest. Another. Painfully slow, time crawling now.

  “How?”

  He tosses down his cards with casual superiority. A royal flush. The only thing that could have beaten my cards, almost. And nearly impossible. The odds…

  God, the odds.

  Randomness doesn’t play favorites. That ace of spades is as likely to appear as any other card. The king, the queen. Except when you put the odds toget
her, they multiply. They become infinitely smaller. Like in calculus, they approach zero—never quite reaching it.

  My breath comes short. “You cheated.”

  He laughs. “How do you know? Did you see me do something?”

  My mind races, a hundred numbers swirling around, a thousand of them clamoring for attention. It’s really the simplest one that has the answer. The cards that we played. My hand of nothing, queen high. His three of a kind, queens.

  “The queens. They’ve all been played.”

  Which means the one sitting in front of us right now, it doesn’t belong in the deck. Whether he modified the deck beforehand or whether he used sleight of hand to insert it, that queen doesn’t belong in this deck. And I’m willing to bet the entire hand is fake.

  “I don’t see how you can prove it,” he says, his voice mocking.

  I stand up. “If you’re cheating the game doesn’t count.”

  He stands too, reaching for his shirt. Putting it back on, like armor. Covering up the scars of the past and all that beautiful vulnerability. “Oh, the game most definitely counts. Your father is forfeit. And you, my sweet Penny, are free to go.”

  * * *

  I hope you loved reading Damon and Penny’s emotional book. Find out the conclusion of their duet with the epic full-length novel THE QUEEN. Order it now!

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  Turn the page for an excerpt from Tough Love…

  Excerpt from Tough Love

  The moon sits high above the tree line. Somewhere beyond those woods is an electric fence. And beyond that is an entire city of people living and working and loving each other. I may as well be on the moon for how close I am to them.

  A guard walks by my window at 10:05 p.m. Right on time.

  I wait a few minutes until he’s out of earshot; then I flip the latch. From there it’s quick work to push up the pane with its bulletproof glass. I broke the lock a year ago. And almost every night since then I’ve sneaked down the ornate metal trellis—like a thief, stealing a moment to myself.

  The grass is still damp from the rain, the ground beneath like a sponge, sucking me in. I cross the lawn, heart beating against my chest. I know exactly where the guards are on their rounds. I know exactly where the trip wires are that will set off the alarms. My father is too busy in his office to even glance outside.

  The office I broke into this morning.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the pool. I’m still out in the open, but the bright underwater lights make it hard to see anything on the patio. They make it hard to see me as I curve around the edge and reach the pool house.

  The door opens before I touch the handle. “Clara,” comes the whisper.

  I can’t help but smile as I slip into the dark. Giovanni always opens the door for me. It’s like some old-world chivalry thing, even though we’re just two kids sneaking around. At least, that’s how everyone treats me. Like a kid. But when I’m with him, I feel less like a girl, more like a woman.

  He looks out the door for a beat before shutting and locking it. “Are you sure no one saw you?”

  “You’re such a worrywart, Gio.” I let myself fall onto the couch, facing up.

  “If your father ever found out…”

  We’d be in so much trouble. My father is a member of the mob. Giovanni’s father is a foot soldier who works security on the grounds. Both our dads are seriously dangerous, not to mention a little unhinged. I can’t even think about how bad it would be if they caught us sneaking around after dark.

  I push those thoughts away. “Did you bring it?”

  Reluctantly, Giovanni nods. He gestures to the side table, where a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels gleams in the faint light. “Did you?”

  I reach into the pockets of my jeans and pull out two cigars. I hold them up and grin. “Didn’t even break a sweat.”

  He rolls his eyes, but I think he’s relieved. “This was a bad idea.”

  “It was my idea,” I remind him, and his cheeks turn dark.

  Of course the little homework assignment was my idea. I’m the one ridiculously sheltered up in my room with the tutors and the gilded locks. Fifteen years old and I’ve never even been out to the movies. Giovanni gets to go to regular school. He’s too young to get inducted, but I know he gets to be at some of the sit-ins.

  “I just want to try them,” I say. “I’m not going to get addicted or anything.”

  He snorts. “More likely you’ll get a hangover. How are you going to explain puking to your padre?”

  “Honor will cover for me.” My sister always covers for me. She takes the brunt of my father’s anger. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I love the way she protects me. But one percent of the time, it feels like a straitjacket. That’s why I started coming to the pool house. And I’m glad I did. This is where I met Giovanni.

  He examines the cigar, eyes narrowed.

  “How do you even light it?” I ask. I’ve seen my father do it a hundred times, but I’m still not clear on how the whole thing doesn’t just catch fire. Isn’t it made from dried plants?

  He puts the cigar to his lips experimentally. It looks strange seeing his full lips around something I’ve mostly seen my father use. Then he blows out a breath, miming how it would be. I imagine white smoke curling in front of his tanned skin.

  “They don’t let you use them when they do?” I ask.

  He gives me a dark look. I’m not supposed to talk about the side jobs he does for his father. “I mostly sit in a corner and hope no one notices me. It’s boring.”

  “If it’s boring, then why won’t you talk about it?” I know it’s not a good thing to be noticed by men like our father, to be groomed by them, but sometimes that seems better than being ignored. I’m the younger one. And a girl. And there are rumors that I’m not even my father’s legitimate child. In other words, I’m lucky my sister remembers to feed me.

  He swears in Italian. “That’s no life for you, Clara.”

  “And it’s a life for you?”

  “I would leave if I could,” he says. “You know that.”

  “You turn eighteen in a year. Will you leave then?” My stomach clenches at the thought of him gone. I’m two years younger than him. And even when I turn eighteen, I won’t be leaving. By then I’ll be engaged to whoever my father picks for me.

  Just like my sister. I shudder at the thought of her fiancé.

  He shrugs. “We’ll see.”

  I roll my eyes. I suspect he’s making plans, but he isn’t sharing them with me. That’s how the men around here operate, keeping girls in the dark. Honor only found out she was engaged when Byron was invited over for dinner. He has the money and the power. She doesn’t get a choice. Neither will I.

  “If you go, you should take me with you,” I say.

  “I don’t think Honor would appreciate me taking you away.”

  No, she wouldn’t. And the thought o
f being without my sister makes my heart ache. Sometimes I give her a hard time, but I love her. I’d never leave her behind. “She can come with us. It will be like an adventure.”

  “Don’t talk stupid, Clara.” His eyes flash with anger and something else I can’t define.

  I jerk back, hurt. “It was just an idea.”

  “Well, it’s a bad idea. Your father is never gonna let you leave.”

  Deep inside, I turn cold. I know that’s true. Of course it is. Giovanni doesn’t have the money or the resources to take us away from here. And even if he did, why would he want to?

  I hate myself for even suggesting it. How desperate can I look?

  Shaking inside, I stand up and grab the bottle of Jack Daniels. It’s heavier than I would have expected, but I carry it over to a wet bar still stocked with decanters and wine glasses. No liquor though. There used to be huge parties here. When my mother died, they stopped.

  We’re supposed to have a party in a few days, though, to celebrate my sister’s engagement. I’m not even allowed to go. I’ll just be able to see the fireworks from the window.

  Without a word Giovanni joins me, his heat both comforting and stark. He takes the glass from my shaking hand. He opens the bottle and pours the deep amber liquid inside. Then takes another cup for himself, twice as full.

  “Why do you get more?” I protest, mostly because I like teasing him.

  His expression is amused. “I’m bigger than you.”

  He is bigger. Taller and broader, though still skinny. His hands are bigger than mine too. They hold the glass with confidence, whereas I almost drop mine.

  I take a sip before I can second-guess myself. “Oh my God.”

  It burns my throat, battery acid scalding me all the way down.

  His lips firm, like he’s trying not to laugh. “Good stuff?”

  “Oh, shut up.” Then it doesn’t matter because I’m laughing too. That stuff is awful.

  He grins and takes a drink—more like a gulp. And he doesn’t cough or wince after. “You get used to it.”

  “How much do I have to drink to get used to it?”

  “More than you should.”