More tears form and spill with every blink. There’s no end in sight, especially at the mention of my dog. “You’re feeding Everly Ann twice a day, and walking her? Does she have her pink pillow?”
“You spoil that mutt.”
Then an idea strikes me. “The Henley property.”
His nose scrunches. “What? I’m not looking to buy anything from the family right now.”
I wave off his assumption. “It’s mine. I bought it under my name with my modeling money. If I sign the property over to you, then it’s yours.”
He sits up straighter, frowning. “No. Don’t even think about it. Your father paid me well. I’ll find a place, no problem. I’ll land another job a year before my financial situation actually needs it. I’m just dragging my feet right now. Getting my bearings, I guess.”
I shake my head. “Don’t you dare argue. I can sign the property over to whomever I wish. It’s still mine.” Before he can protest again, I place my hand on his. “Sloan, if you don’t take it, Dad might. I can’t imagine what he’d use it for, but if he asks me to sign over my property, you know I won’t refuse him. But if I can’t because it’s not mine anymore, then that’s that.”
Sloan runs his hand over his face. “You know that’s not why I came here, right? And there are other options than signing it over to me. I’ll lock it in a land trust for you. Something airtight. That sound better?”
“Then where will you live? What if your new job takes you far away?”
Sloan leans forward, his forehead pressing to mine. “Listen to me, Arly. I will make sure your father doesn’t take anything else from you. I’ve got enough of your things in my hotel room for you to start over without him, if that’s what you want when you get out. I’ll lock up your property so he can’t get to it, but no way am I going to become a man who lets his daughter take care of him. You don’t need that on your shoulders. You think you’re stubborn? You got that from me.”
And that’s one of the reasons why I love Sloan so much. He’s a parent at all costs.
“I love you ten thousand stilettos.”
“I love you five hundred yapping Everly Anns. Not five-hundred-one. That yip is annoying.”
We snicker together, and then hug as tight as breath will permit.
“Find a friend and learn to vent some of this stuff to them,” Sloan instructs. “You’ll boil over if you don’t let out some of this steam.”
“No one wants to hear me whine.”
Sloan stiffens. “You have a right to your voice.”
It’s the same truth he’s tried to drill into my head from birth. Every time I clammed up and let Daddy call the shots, he would whisper those words and propel me forward. The simple phrase instilled confidence in me, once upon a better time, but now, it only strikes fear in my bones.
I don’t have a right to my voice in here. I don’t have a right to much of anything.
When the bell dings, signaling the end of my lifeline, my arms won’t release him. “Not yet. I said not yet!” I shout as Officer Andrews’ heavy hand cups my shoulder.
Several people around me hiss or make “aw, snap!” kinds of noises.
“Line up, Valentine.”
Too much defiance rises, because I’m sick and tired of being told where to go and what to do. This is my moment. This is my family.
A snarl bubbles in my chest. “You can pry my best friend out of my cold, dead hands!”
“Sounds like insubordination to me!” It’s the only warning I get before I’m ripped out of Sloan’s arms and thrown to the opposite wall.
My head bangs on the drywall, sending pops of stars into my vision as I sink to the floor.
Gray darts for me, his hand on my head while he blocks my body from the guard with his own bulk. “Don’t!” he commands the guard, who, surprisingly, pauses.
The shifter’s visitor stands and stalks toward me, his attitude toward my tears melting when he sees clearly that my life isn’t all roses and candy. “And I thought fae at least looked after their own kind. Unbelievable.”
Gray gets in my eyeline. “Stay down. I’ll handle this.”
I don’t know him, this shifter who’s sticking his neck out a second time for me. Why is he being nice?
Sloan’s on his feet, clutching the officer’s arms. He throws the man onto the floor in full view of every prisoner and visitor. His breath is heavy and his pupils dilated. He always gets like that whenever someone tries to put their hands on me. I’m not even sure if he meant to attack, or if it’s years of muscle memory kicking in.
My bodyguard doesn’t play around with my safety, and even though he doesn’t wear that title anymore, his loyalty to me runs deep. His shiny shoe presses down on Officer Andrews’ collar, pushing the man’s back to the floor and ignoring the protests from the visitors. “Manhandle Miss Valentine like that again, and you’ll have the family to deal with.”
The fae visitors filter out with the hallway guard while two other officers dart inside. Sloan and the shifter’s relative are the only two visitors who linger, their sneers demanding someone pay for this wrongdoing.
The shifter’s visitor is wearing a charcoal t-shirt and ripped jeans, his scowl aimed at the guard. “This is how you treat the prisoners in here? This is your idea of justice? She wanted to hug her boyfriend a little while longer, and you couldn’t hold your breath and be patient? You realize these prisoners have done nothing wrong, right?”
Sloan and I both blanch in unison. “She’s my charge,” Sloan amends, “but other than that, you’re spot on.” His shoe slowly lifts from the officer’s clavicle. “Now everyone, line on up.” The inmates skitter to obey. “See? I didn’t have to put my hands on any of them to get them to comply.”
Gray helps me to sit up, his fingers touching on a tender part of my skull. “You alright?”
I’ve never been this close to a shifter before. He smells like cinnamon and something purely masculine. He’s hugely muscular, but the fingers that leaf through my hair are gentle. His hair is tucked behind his ears, giving me a clear view of the compassion in his gaze.
Sloan rushes to my other side, taking my hand and staring into my eyes. “Focus on my finger, Arly.” When I do, he exhales. “Okay, that’s good. I’ll have a talk with the warden before I leave. That’s not happening to you ever again, understood? Who takes care of you?”
“You do.” I will my lower lip not to tremble.
“That’s right. Before I leave, I’ll either have that man’s job on a silver platter, or his head. I don’t care which. I’ll address the issue, and you’re not going to lose a wink of sleep over it. Understood?”
I’m supposed to be regaining my stiff upper lip, because visitation hours are over. But being so near to my greatest source of comfort softens me enough that the unpolished truth slips out. “I don’t like it here,” I admit in a choked whisper.
“She’s going to have a lump back here,” the shifter tells Sloan, touching a tender spot on the top corner of my head.
Sloan adds to the pressure, and then overrides all policy, which is kind of his thing. He shakes hands with a shifter, bucking social norms. My safety comes first; screw the rules.
“What’s your name, Son?”
“Gray.” He clears his throat. “Grayson Knight, sir.”
“Gray, are you capable of looking out for Miss Valentine in here?”
A couple of the guards mumble behind us as they help up Officer Andrews. But no one is brave enough to lash out at Sloan, who’s known for doing Daddy’s more serious dirty work.
The shifter’s eyes turn serious. “Yes, sir. If she needs it.”
Gray’s relative’s mouth tightens in a firm line. I can’t tell if it’s firm disapproval of the new turn Gray’s life is taking, or if his disposition is normally this surly.
“I’m fine,” I protest, turning to Sloan. “Don’t tell him to look out for me. It’ll put a mark on his head. They hate me in here. Don’t do that to him. He seems like a
good person.”
Gray rolls his eyes, showing a bit more personality. “Oh, no. What would I do without my millions of friends?” He locks eyes with Sloan. “I’ll watch out for her, but I’m not in her morning detail. Might take a day or two to get me switched over. If you can speed that up, I’ll make sure no one throws her around or bruises her face as best I can. They’re afraid of me in here. Even the guards.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Gray holds up his hands. “It won’t fix everything if I’m near her, but it’ll help.”
Sloan has good instincts, but I question his complete faith in this stranger. Still, Sloan cups Gray’s shoulder. “I’ll speak to the warden. Anyone else you trust?”
“Charlotte Bronson and Cassia Chang,” Gray answers, and I can tell he’s loving that the guards standing behind them are too chicken to make them move. “She had lunch with them, so I know they get along. Miss Valentine will have the most trouble at lights out. I don’t know who her cellmates are, so I won’t be able to protect her from them. If you can get her with people who won’t hassle her at night, that would be helpful.”
Sloan nods, and I can tell he’s already patting himself on the back for selecting such a capable guard-in-training. “Excellent. I’ll speak to the warden on my way out. Charlotte and Cassia?”
Gray nods. “Charlotte’s not muscle, but people respect her. They don’t start fights near her. And Cassia is a fighter. She doesn’t back down when she’s irritated. Keep us near Miss Valentine, and we’ll do what we can.”
I sit up. “I can handle this myself.”
Sloan’s demeanor steels, so I know he’s gearing up to argue with me. “That would be true if they were angry with only you, but it’s the whole family they’re livid with, and they’re going to take it out on the only Valentine they can get their hands on. You can’t defend that alone. I don’t defend the family alone, either. You’re not weaker to need help. You’re smarter, because you’ll be able to stand up against them for even longer.”
“I’m in,” Gray offers, taking Sloan’s hand in a second shake meant to solidify lifelong deals.
“Good man.” Then Sloan does something so humiliating, I want to kick and throw a proper fit. But of course, I don’t, because that would make the whole scene that much worse. Sloan lifts me up in his arms, like he did when I was a little girl whenever I scraped my knee on the playground.
Over his shoulder, Sloan calls to the hapless Officer Andrews, “I’m taking my charge to the infirmary, where your abuse of the prisoner will be documented. If I’m supposed to be escorted by an officer, now’s your only warning that I’m heading out.”
Gray’s relative holds up his hand to stop Sloan. “Just because my cousin’s agreed to help Miss Valentine doesn’t mean he works for the family. He’s a good person, and he’s not going to get mixed up with the Valentines. He’ll never be one of Conan Valentine’s thugs.”
Sloan smirks at the man. “No wonder I knew I could trust him.”
My best friend ignores the shouts from Officer Andrews and carries me down the hall when the other officer leads us out. Sloan carries me away from the stares of inmates who looked the other way, pretending they didn’t see my body thrown across the room.
For the span of these few minutes, I pretend that I’m safe.
I pretend I’ll always be protected.
But I know it’s only a matter of time before I’m on my own.
4
Heart Murmur Tea and Sympathy
After Nurse Jen confirmed the bump on my head was simply a bump and not cause for any sort of medical intervention, Sloan insisted the nurse brew some of the tea he’d brought me before he would agree to leave.
“I’m alright, Sloan. Honest. It looked worse than it was.”
“Well, that’s good, because it looked horrifying. Aged me twenty years.”
“I was thinking you looked suddenly sixty-eight.”
He gives me the stink eye, and then turns to Nurse Jen. “It’s important she have this tea at least once a week. Here’s the doctor’s note. I’ll provide the tea. I just need to make sure someone is giving it to her. That’s you, yes?”
Nurse Jen doesn’t get up from her circular swivel stool, keeping close to the patient bed I’m supposed to be lying down on. “That’s me. If you have a doctor’s note, I can make that happen. What’s it for?”
“Heart murmur,” Sloan lies. I don’t have a heart murmur. I have a broken heart, and so does he. He’s my best friend, sure, but I’m his, as well. Our weekly tea time is a cherished tradition. If we can’t be together to rehash the best and worst parts of our week, then we can at least pretend we’re together.
Sloan is a good person. I mean, faking a doctor’s note for the sake of sentiment? Not many would go that far to send a phantom hug every week.
But Nurse Jen is no fool. She holds his gaze, her skepticism matching his cool defiance. “Heart murmur, eh? If you say so.”
“I do. And more importantly, so does her doctor.”
Nurse Jen holds up her hands with a chuckle. “Whatever you say. I can make sure she gets her cup of tea.”
“Every week,” he says again. “I’ve paid for her infirmary visits for the rest of the year, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Of course he did.
“Every week I’ll see she gets the tea. Quite a finicky heart murmur she’s got.”
Sloan ignores the fact that Nurse Jen can clearly see through his blatant lie, and crosses the room to scoop me in a hug. “It’s going to be okay, bunny. I’ll address the issue with the warden of Officer Andrews getting out of hand. If anyone else steps out of line around you, I want to know about it, yes?”
I bury my face in his suit jacket, missing the fierceness of his protection. Holding onto his lapel, I permit myself a vulnerable moment. “I’m on my own in here.”
Sloan stiffens. “The shifter is going to look after you as best he can. And the fact that you think my reach has limits astounds me. I have always kept you safe. I will find a way to make sure you get through these five years as seamlessly as possible.” His kiss on the top of my head jerks emotion to my throat. “I’m here, even when I can’t be in here. Understood?”
“I love you a thousand swing sets.”
“I change my mind. I love you exactly one Everly Ann. Two would be pushing it.”
We share a snicker because we share just about everything.
Sloan leaves with a guard to talk to the warden the moment the tea’s brewed. My heart aches at his absence. No matter what he’s assured me, I know I’m on my own in here.
“He’s a fussy one,” Nurse Jen says good-naturedly, preening one of her potted plants in the corner. There’s precious little color in this concrete prison, so the green stands out as something special. “Not that I mind a parent actually caring about the children in here.”
“Sloan never had any children. But yes, fussy is a good descriptor.”
Nurse Jen’s tone turns respectful and quiet. “I know who your father is. It’s the one who carries you in here, brings you tea and then deals with any issues so you have a better life.” She eyes the box of teabags Sloan left, with the instructions faked from the doctor that I’m to get a cup each week. “I’ve never heard of tea being prescribed to treat a heart murmur.” She sniffs the bag. “Oh, that’s dreadful.”
“It’s terrible, for sure. But it’s our thing. It’s his favorite tea, and we drink it together every week while we talk about the ups and downs.” An airy laugh through my nose comes at the memory. “Though, it’s silly, really. I mean, he was by my side through the entire week anyway. He knew my ups and downs, and I knew his. I think it’s just the conversation we enjoyed.” I would suffer through any cup of sewage to hear Sloan describe Harlan’s squat walk, or Uncle Antoni’s pickle breath. The cup of tea isn’t for heart murmurs; it’s so I have something that reminds me of home. It’s so my heart doesn’t completely freeze over in his absence.
; Nurse Jen smirks at me, her short dyed red hair falling forward across her arched brow. “Then I think we can make that happen, as well. The ups and downs part.”
“It’s nothing dangerous. Ingredients are on the bag. Something fussy, just like Sloan, and just like me.” I can’t help the smile that finds me. “It’s licorice and rose petal tea. Tastes like death, but I’ve grown to love the dreadful smell. He swears it’ll make me live longer.”
“Well, who am I to argue with your doctor?” Her arms are covered in happy-looking, bright tattoos. Her cherry hair is buzzed in the back, and she wears a chipper smile without agenda to it.
Gosh, someone without agenda? It’s so refreshing; I don’t mind that I’m wasting time sitting here with her, if it means a break from the games. A break from the tension.
“Thank you, Nurse Jen.”
“Just Jen,” she corrects me. “No one uses my title in here. I don’t need it. You all lost your families, coming to Prigham’s. I get to be everyone’s big sister.”
I bristle. “I didn’t lose my family. They’re still out there.”
She quirks an eyebrow at me, as if to say, “Exactly my point.” Instead, she’s kind and says, “Glad to hear it. Maybe you don’t need a big sister, but a lot of the inmates here do. So if you ever need to fake a headache and come down here, I keep a bowl of mints in this tin. I pretend they’re pills for headaches, so the inmates can take a breather whenever it gets to be too much. The one thing this place is missing is a therapist to help you all wade through the crap that got dumped on your heads. Well, that and a heater.” She shivers in her blue scrubs. “It’s only going to get colder as the seasons change.”
I sit forward and take the teacup she offers me, letting it warm my fingers. “Thank you. That’s real nice of you to do that for the inmates. But I won’t need it. I’m acclimating just fine.”
She’s gentle with my pride and doesn’t call me a lying fool, which I appreciate.
Sins of the Father: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrified Book 1) Page 4
