I’ve never asked anything so blatantly regarding the business. If Daddy sends over a new coat, I don’t ask questions. Nor do I assume it’s a sweet gift. It’s a statement I’m to make. The family can afford luxury. The family’s doing business with such-and-such company.
Dad’s mouth draws to the side, and I can see the beginnings of him sizing me up. “What sort of a question is that?”
I should take it back, but Charlotte’s voice dings in my head, urging me to be brave.
“It’s a practical one,” I spout back, just about finished with games. “I haven’t seen you since you sent me here, and you come with a favor? Sorry, Dad. I’m kinda already in the middle of the last favor you wanted me to do.” I motion to my jumpsuit, my stony expression communicating that I’m grown enough to play hardball. “My modeling contract pays top dollar for photos of me. Can’t go giving it away for free to the newspaper, now, can I.”
This is where he would take out his fat cigar and put it out on the table between us, except that he’s not allowed to have cigars in here. He brushes over his pockets, as if looking for phantom traces of his comfort habit. His stinky blankie.
His mouth firms. “Is that any way to talk to your father? What’s gotten into you? A month in here, and you’ve turned against the family?”
All of a sudden, I can hear Charlotte’s actual voice chiming in my brain by way of our psychic connection. “Be brave. Be brave.” I try to appear composed as I let Charlotte’s words wash over me.
She knew this was going to happen. Maybe not all the details, but enough to know this is important. Everything in me wants to cower and comply when Daddy lays down his edicts.
But it’s not just about me and my relationship with my father. It’s about every inmate in here, and speaking up for the whole, rather than protecting my own interests.
Still, my mouth buttons shut.
Sloan locks his eyes on mine, and though my father is right there, very clearly, he says, “You have a right to your voice.”
Finally, my tongue loosens.
I straighten in my seat, a mask of composure stinging my features. “A day in here should’ve been enough to prove my loyalty. You never asked me to serve your prison sentence. You told me. That was your one card, and you played it. You played me. Now you have to earn a few cards if you want to play any sort of games. We’re starting from scratch. I owe you nothing.” I level my gaze at Daddy and cross my arms. “Not even a photograph.”
Sloan presses his lips together to keep from grinning or laughing.
If steam could come out of Daddy’s ears, that’s what would be happening now. His face turns red and his fist slams onto the table, but no words come out.
Am I actually winning? Daddy’s never stumped. He’s never out of sorts. Not mid-deal like this.
“Never thought I’d see the day when you had limits for what you’d do to help the family. I’ve done everything for you.”
“Except serve your own damn time for your own damn crimes. You’ve done everything for you, and you’re kidding only yourself if you think it’s any different. That’s why you have no more cards to play.” I tsk him with a slow shake of my head. “You must really want this bad—this favor for the king.”
Daddy scoffs. “Too much depends on me. The head of the Valentine empire can’t just up and go to jail. And I wouldn’t be here visiting you if it wasn’t important.”
My tone turns sharp. “I’m aware, since this is the first time you’ve come to see me. I would have thought I was important enough to warrant a visit from my own father without some other agenda pushing you here, but I guess you were waiting until something actually important came along, like a chance to hook Regis in whatever game you’ve got spinning.”
Daddy shakes his head. “You know how much the big sync means to our family. Helluva time for you to stand up to me.” He changes his tune, softening and leaning in, now that he knows this situation is going to require some elbow grease. “I need this, Princess.”
“Be brave. Be brave,” Charlotte says again, her plea echoing through my brain.
My face remains impassive. “What a shame. See, I have all I need: colorful wardrobe, enemies for miles. I can’t think of a single card you might have that I would want.”
And I truly can’t.
Sloan slides his hand over his mouth. “Give me a few minutes to talk to her, Conan.”
Daddy scoffs, spluttering nothing but frustration at being caught up against a wall. “I’m her father.”
Sloan jerks his thumb toward Daddy. “Do you want him here, or are you done?”
I turn up my nose, though inside, I’m shaking. “Completely and totally done. Come back when you’ve got cards to play, Daddy.”
“I didn’t raise you like…” But he doesn’t dare finish that sentence as he stands. Because we both know this is exactly how he raised me. He just hoped I would never follow his lead.
Yet here we are.
Daddy jabs his finger at me. “I’m too mad to be proud right now, but once I come up with a decent card to play, I’m sure I’ll be a little bit of both.”
My arms cross over my chest as I lean back in my seat. “I’ll be on the very edge of my seat to see which way your mood swings,” I drone, hitting him with a dead gaze that holds back none of my distaste.
I’ve started a rift between us, which I know isn’t going to end well.
But I’ve finally found my voice, so I count it all as a win, even though I know games played against my father always end in a loss.
22
Sloan’s Little Girl
Sloan waits until Daddy exits, and then lets out an airy chuckle. “I can’t believe I got ringside seats for that. If my jaw wasn’t on the floor, I’d be able to tell you how impressed I am. Guess turning in those stilettos for work boots had an effect.”
My shoulders slump and finally I’m able to breathe, showing a little of my underbelly, now that it’s safe. “It’s good to see your face. How are you? How’s Everly Ann?”
“I’m busy. She’s good. Hired a dog-walker to look after her in case I forget. Not that she leaves me much quiet with all her yapping. Not entirely unlike her owner.”
“Oh, you miss my incessant yapping.”
Sloan meets my eyes with a sadness he doesn’t bother to mask. “Only every day.” And I can tell he means it.
I motion to his suit. “I thought you retired. Looks like you’re back in the family business to me.” It’s not a criticism, I don’t think, only a statement of fact.
Sloan slides his hand over his breast pocket. “I’m on damage control. Your father’s having a bit of trouble around the house. Things don’t work the same without you around.”
I don’t know what that means, but I take it as a compliment. “He actually misses me?”
Sloan softens. “We all do, bunny. Of course your dad misses you. But it’s not just that. His influence isn’t the same. You know how he can be. He says something, and his weighty fae magic makes his commands carry double the weight of a regular person’s. Since you left, that’s not how it is anymore. I don’t know how, but his magic’s not what it was.” He examines his nailbeds. “Mark of a guilty conscience, is my guess.”
“Didn’t know he had a shred of conscience left in him.”
“You and me both.” His eyes flick to the clock on the wall, and I know we’re short on time. “I’m supposed to be talking you into this photo shoot. We both know you and I don’t need cards. You’d give the photographer a picture if I asked, but I’m not going to do that.”
“Which is why you have all the cards. You never use them.”
“True family doesn’t need cards.”
It’s the closest he’ll come to speaking against Daddy’s parenting methods, but I’ll take it.
Sloan straightens his suit. “Why don’t you tell me what you want, and I’ll see if I can get it for you.”
I shrug, but Sloan doesn’t accept that non-answer.
&
nbsp; He jabs his finger at me, his lips pursed. “You have a right to your voice, so don’t clam up now.”
I lean forward, my voice too quiet to carry. “Fine. I want the parents to pay for their own crimes. I want this place burned to the ground and the people in here set free. How do I make that happen?”
Sloan doesn’t brush off my passion; he never has. Even when I asked him what string theory was, he sat with me on the computer until I got an adequate explanation. Whatever the problem, we drown ourselves in it together.
Social injustice and unchangeable laws are no exception.
He mirrors my body language. “There is no way that I can tell. I wish I could change the law. I would take your place if it was allowed.”
And I know he truly would. But he must know I’d never let him. I would gladly serve time for Sloan. Sloan loves me.
I bristle, invoking my spoiled nature because in this moment, it serves me well. “It will change because I’m going to make it change.”
Sloan chuckles. “That’s my girl.” He motions to the stubbornness on my face. “That’s the same look you got when you set your sights on landing that modeling contract. Most any model’s ever been paid, and you negotiated the whole thing because you knew what you wanted and you know what you’re worth.” He drums his fingers on the table top. “You’re going after this? You’ve really got your focus set on changing the system? Social justice has never really been your passion.”
I snort. “We can thank Daddy for that.” I mirror the pattern his fingers are drumming on the table. “Have you ever known me to settle for less than what I want?”
“No, but this is different.” He casts around, as if hoping I was asking for my miniskirts back. “This is what you want? Like, not because you’re angry, but you actually want to cook up a plan for this?” When he sees the unyielding nature of my hard gaze, he swears. “I guess you’re serious. You actually want to find a way to get out before your five years.”
“Before Daddy’s five years, yes, but it’s not about me. It’s all of us. It’s a broken system, and I need you to help me figure out how to change it.”
I can tell Sloan was hoping to talk about anything else, and has about as much of an idea of how to go about this as I do, which is none.
He traces his finger in a line across the table, as if it’s one of the papers he used to draw the exit plans on whenever he took me to a party. “Okay. What’s square one?”
I scoot my chair closer, my system flooding with something rare and precious I wasn’t expecting to have quite this soon. It’s hope—pure and straining against the brackets of my heart. “I love you for this.”
“You might hate me when I come up with nothing.”
“I love you for trying.”
“I have no idea how to get you out.” He moves his chair beside mine, so our knees are touching. “I mean, no sure way. I’ve been looking at blueprints, but what you’re talking about is more than just getting you out.”
My eyes sweep shut. “You’ve really been studying the blueprints for this place to sneak me out?”
He shoots me a withering look, as if to ask what else I expected him to do when I was locked up. “After all these years, I thought you knew me.”
I snigger, but then shake my head. “We need more than blueprints. It’s not enough to smuggle me out of here. I want all of us out. I want Prigham’s to close down and the Sins of the Father bill to burn. I want people to pay for their own crimes.”
His eyes go wide, and then focus back on the table, on our invisible plan. To his credit, he doesn’t balk. “What’s square one, then?”
“Getting the parents to see the error of their ways.”
He squints at me. “You’re trying to convict criminals who’ve already passed their punishment off onto people they’re supposed to care about. I highly doubt they’re capable of feeling shame, at this point. If the many people who protest the Sins of the Father bill haven’t given them pause, I’m not sure what else would. The protestors aren’t exactly quiet about the injustice, yet it still goes on.”
“Fair point.”
“I mean, just spit-balling here, but if kids started dying at Prigham’s, would that do anything?”
I weigh the horrible option because it’s the only one we’ve got so far. “No bad ideas in brainstorming. Let’s see. I mean, if people started dying in here, would they really rethink the whole justice system, or would there be like, an inquiry or something?”
“Probably just an inquiry. What if people went missing? Then no one’s paying for the crime that’s been sentenced. That might swing back on the parent.” His lips purse. “Emphasis on ‘might.’”
I swallow hard at the prospect. “How solid are those blueprints? You can really sneak people out?”
“I don’t know yet. Not without tons of prep. Plus, there are tools we’d need to sneak in.”
I love how much thought he’s already put into this. He loves me. Sloan is the same kind of crazy I am. There aren’t many limits for what we’d do for the people we love. “I’m game for anything, but that’s just me getting out, and not a change to the system. We have to think bigger.” My tone turns matter-of-fact. “I’m in here for life, so I’m not worried about getting more time if I’m caught.”
His jaw firms. He’s always clean-cut, freshly shaved and ironed, no matter how long he’s been on the job. Though today is no exception, I can see bags under his eyes and desperation in the tightness of his shoulders. “You’re getting out in five years, so help me.”
I meet his ferocious gaze. “We both know that’s not true. Now that I’m in here, all Daddy has to do is keep paying down the treasury’s debt, and I’m here until I’m an old lady.”
Sloan abandons the plan and gathers me in his arms. His muscles are tense, and I can tell he’s at the very edge of his composure. “I won’t let that happen.”
My head rests on his shoulder, where it belongs. I fell asleep in his arms most nights when I was a little girl. I’d beg for one more story, and then another. We both knew “one more story” was a euphemism for “entertain me until my eyes can’t stay open.”
And now here we are, trying to create fairytales of how to bust me out of prison.
I keep my voice gentle, since I know he can’t take much more upset. “You won’t have a choice, Sloan. I’m here for life, and that’s how it is.” I rub my hand over his back, wondering if I was the last person who hugged him before this moment. “I mean, unless we find a way to make people see how wrong this all is, nothing is going to change.”
He grips me tighter. “Okay, which people? Because there are a lot out there already who don’t agree with the system. You know that. It just doesn’t do anything, because all they have are protests. Criminals have money, which the government needs, so the system keeps afloat because money matters more than people.”
My mouth pulls to the side as I release him from our hug. I can see his stress as his hands splay out on the table. “Okay, then we don’t need to focus our energy on the people who already agree, but have no power to change anything. And there’s no point in trying to educate the rich criminals who are benefiting from the Sins of the Father bill.” I point to a spot on the table three inches from where his finger rests. “We need to hit someone with influence where it hurts. Someone the public will all feel entitled to weigh in on. We need to take down a whale.”
Sloan sits back, hopefully coming to the same conclusion I’m racing toward.
“Be brave. Be brave.”
I’m breathless as the idea forms more fully, and then slips off my tongue. “The king. He’s our whale.”
Sloan shakes his head, but I’m not going to chicken out of saying it.
I grip the edge of the table. “We have to hang a big enough crime on the king to sink him. Big enough for a conviction. He would never pass his crime off onto his son. Prince Paxton is beloved. All his charity work? He’s always photographed saving some dolphin, or building better
recycling plans while kissing a baby or something. If even the thought was raised of him going to Prigham’s to pay for the king’s crime?” I shake my head. “Everyone would lose their minds.”
Sloan’s eyes are wide as he mulls over my madness. “You’re right. The king believes in the Sins of the Father bill, but he’s above actually putting it into practice in his own family. He wouldn’t send his own son here.” He runs his hand over his mouth. “Shite. If we can hang a crime on the king’s head—one he can’t wriggle out of—then he’d have to choose between sending his son to Prigham’s and ruling as a hated man, or he’d have to give up the throne and serve time himself, handing the crown down to Paxton.” His voice lowers to an excited whisper. “He would never send Paxton to prison. Regis would step down from the throne and then Paxton would rule.” Sloan’s excitement matches my own. “Paxton voted against the Sins of the Father bill. With him on the throne, things could finally change. That’s our plan. That’s the way.”
I sit up straighter. “Putting Paxton on the throne is our best shot at overthrowing the Sins of the Father bill. A change in rulers could set things on a new trajectory.”
“Paxton’s more a man of the people than his father. I can’t imagine him ignoring the protestors, like his father’s been doing.”
“This is it, then. This is the plan.”
Sloan closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve thought this through, then.”
“Not even a little bit,” I admit, astonished at my own daring. “If there’s something wrong with the system, only King Regis has the power to change it. He’s looked the other way for far too long on this. It’s time to force his hand. He’ll give up the throne and get sent to jail, and then Prince Paxton will become king.”
I can picture Paxton on the throne so clearly: his blond hair not flattening for the crown. His posture straight and his broad shoulders rolled back with confidence. His kind smile would tell the people that even though their former ruler is in prison, they are in good hands now.
Sins of the Father: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrified Book 1) Page 16
