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And where’s Puck now?
Dax pulls on the door handle, slowly prying it open, and I find the small amount of strength I need to pull my head back up and off the window. He says nothing. Just peels off King’s jacket and reaches across me to undo my seat belt. He offers me his hand, which I stare at, probably for way longer than what’s deemed acceptable to stare at a hand offered to you. I gently raise my arm and grasp his hand, his palm casing mine and tightening, and I slowly move my legs outside of the car, my whole body stiff from not moving in hours. I stumble a little as I straighten up, but Dax wraps a strong arm around my back to steady me.
He slams the door behind me, but my feet still refuse to carry me forward. If I walk, I’m walking away, and I just can’t do it. I look up at Dax, willing him to see my predicament, but when I meet his eyes, already understanding, I burst into tears again. He catches me in a hug so tightly, I know I’d never fall. I cry on his shoulder, soaking his shirt, taking in the comfort, though unfamiliar.
Dax’s hold loosens and I grasp onto the back of his shirt, not ready to lose the support, when two strong arms circle around my waist and I sink. I turn into his arms and sink into the comfort I know. The comfort I need.
“I got you,” he whispers in my ear.
He lifts me off the ground, carrying me effortlessly once again, up the steps of his grand mansion, Dax following in step beside us.
I’m so torn. The man I hate the most, the man who makes me feel like I’m anchored down, left to drown, is also my only life raft in a sea of sorrow.
How do I hate him for dragging me down when he’s the only one keeping me afloat?
21
KING
It’s beena week since I brought Theo here and placed her in one of the many guest rooms. I laid her fragile body down on the bed and she instantly sank into the mattress and buried herself under the thick covers before dropping off to sleep.
Theo hasn’t had this kind of comfort for months. Her body must be craving everything we all take for granted. A bed, soft pillows, a fucking duvet cover. Nice food, daylight, real people. Not criminals or men trying to assault her daily.
It’s been a week. A whole week since Theo was nearly murdered. A whole week since Puckwasmurdered.
Fuck.
It still cuts deep to the bone that I didn’t help him. I’d promised him. As soon as me and Dax figured out a way to kill my father, I promised him he’d be out of that fucking shithole. And then it just so happened that Theodora Harlow became his replacement, becoming an inmate on the day that should’ve been his last. I just couldn’t leave her in there without protection. I couldn’t. And the son of a bitch knew that as soon as she moved into the cell next door, and he didn’t hesitate once to stay in and help her. Even after finding out Carlo was dead, not once did he ask to leave.
Years we’ve spent trying to find a way to kill Carlo Rhivers. Years making up elaborate plans and trying to find the best way to do it. Then little miss Theodora comes in and shoots him. Just shot him, in the open, in front of everyone.
Theo hasn’t left the room once since I put her in there a week ago. I’ve tried to pry her out, letting her have the freedom of the house and the grounds, something she was deprived of back in the prison?deprived of back home?but nothing. She doesn’t leave that fucking room.
I’ve cracked down her routine day in and day out now, silently watching her from her open doorway. She gets out of bed close to noon, spends up to an hour, no less, in the shower, then changes into lounge clothes I left for her, just to spend the rest of the day sleeping or staring out the window.
I know life has been hard for her the past five months, and I know she’s hurting over Puck. We all are. Hell, I’ve known him since I was a kid. But in this life, our world, we can’t just sit and grieve. We have to keep going.
Ihave to keep going.
* * *
I makemy way through Theo’s room, not bothering to knock. I’ve left it unlocked for days now, letting her know she’s free to leave the room, but still, she doesn’t.
Unsurprisingly, she’s lying on the bed, staring out the window, her face bored, and my restraint snaps.
“Move!” I say, losing my last shred of patience.
She turns to look at me but does nothing.
“Fucking. Move,” I almost shout, stepping up to the bed and towering over her. She looks into my eyes, but I can’t read her. I have no idea what she’s thinking. And that’s one of the things I hate the most.
“This is ridiculous. You can’t fucking stay in here forever, Theodora!”
“Why not?” she says, almost casually. Is she kidding me?
“You can’t spend the rest of your life lying in this goddamn bed.”
“What can I do, King, huh?” she starts off quietly. “Walk around your fancy fucking house? Take a stroll through the gardens? Bake a cake in your no doubt massive fucking kitchen?” She’s shouting now, sitting up in the bed, stabbing her finger right into my chest. “I’m your fucking prisoner, King. Let’s not pretend anything’s changed.”
