by Vivian Wood
Okay, maybe he has good reason to be mad. I’m deflated like an old balloon, its plastic stretched and small. I put my head in my hands, covering my face. “You’re right. There isn’t an answer.”
He grimaces. “Look, I’m sorry. This is a tough situation. I know that. But the core issue isn’t time, not really. It’s money. You don’t have anything worth that much money. And you won’t, not ever.”
I peek through my fingers. “Is this you trying to make me feel better?”
“Yes,” he says, sounding rueful. “And not doing a good job of it. It’s just—he’s a heavy weight. You know? I don’t want you to hold on so long he pulls you to the bottom.”
The words land inside me, hard with impact. He’s right, of course. Daddy’s addiction will sink him. And it will sink me too, if I let it. Am I just supposed to walk away, though? I’m ashamed to admit that the thought scares me even more than it should—not only because of what would happen to Daddy. Because of what that would mean for me. I’d be well and truly alone in the world. And if I’m going to be underwater I’d rather hold onto an anchor than nothing at all.
“What if—” My voice cracks, though less from fear. More from a strange, dark excitement. “I know this is bad. Maybe I shouldn’t even talk about it. But you’re my best friend. And I have to at least consider this option—what if I paid off the debt a different way?”
It speaks to how common such ways are in the west side that Brennan doesn’t ask what I mean. Sex. “That’s really fucking stupid, Penny.”
I flinch. Of course it is. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it to you.”
“You shouldn’t even be considering it. There are worse things than your dad being held accountable for his debts. This could break you.”
“Do I seem that fragile?”
“You’re strong, Penny. But these men, they’re fucking mountains. They will crush you. And they’ll enjoy doing it.”
He sounds so sure, as if he understands the impulse to crush me. As if he would enjoy it, too. Maybe it’s inherent in men. And only the rich can indulge it. “Look, I’m not… I’m not saying I want to do it. I’m saying, isn’t that option better than Daddy dying? In a totally objective way, I mean. After that we’d both be alive.”
“You and your damn logic,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t sound angry anymore.
Only sad.
“What else is there?” I ask, honestly unsure.
“There’s pride,” he says.
“Yours or mine?”
He laughs a little. “I honestly don’t know.”
Chapter Eleven
And so after a week of circling the problem, a week of failed attempts to solve it, I find myself in a cab heading deep into Tanglewood. The windows are down, letting muggy air brush into the black interior. Gouges mar the plastic handles, as if someone tried to get out. And failed.
I have this sense that everything has led me to this moment.
Everything has led me to Damon Scott.
The Den is a gentleman’s club, which doesn’t mean there are flashing marquee lights and free buffets inside. It’s an exclusive membership, where you have to know someone powerful and pay a lot of money. In other words, my father’s never been inside.
I stand in front of the carved wooden door, wondering what I’ll find inside. Half-naked women?
Completely naked women?
For all I know they won’t even let me in the door, but I’m counting on my body to carry some weight. The same way it can be used as the entry fee to a high-stakes poker game.
The sun ducks behind the buildings, sending hot rays across my vision. It leaves the steps in shadow. I wonder if that’s on purpose. A smile tugs at my lips. As if rich men can bend the elements to their will. Then again they brought me here, didn’t they? As surely as rapids in the river.
The knock sounds quiet on such a heavy door. This is the historic part of downtown. There are no doorknobs. No fancy fingerprint scanner or security camera, at least not that I can see.
With a creak the door opens.
The dark silhouette is tall and familiar, the dark eyes a strange relief.
I would have expected a doorman. Maybe a bouncer. Not the man himself, his jacket missing, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He looks disheveled, as if I’ve pulled him out of bed.
Well, maybe I did.
“Damon Scott,” I say, making my voice as hard and as haughty as I can.
He gives me a small smile. “Penny.”
“I’m here to talk about my father’s debt.”
One dark eyebrow rises. “Do you have ten thousand dollars? That was fast.”
Of course I don’t have the money. It may as well be ten million dollars, because I’ll never make either amount. He doesn’t even want the debt repaid, not with cash. He wants a different currency.
“Can I come inside?” I ask, hating how nervous I sound.
He could tear me down with just a sentence. With a word.
Instead he steps aside, opening the door wider. The foyer is empty. No naked women. Nothing at all except an antique side table that actually seems demure. Only in the face of such understated class do I realize fully that I expected a bordello, garish and blunt.
“Follow me,” he says, turning away.
I watch his broad back, the smooth white linen. He doesn’t wait for me. He doesn’t have to. I hurry to keep pace with him, entering a room with plush leather chairs and a tinge of cigar smoke in the air.
“Have a seat,” he says, pouring two fingers of amber whiskey into a crystal glass.
He sets it down in front of me. It makes a soft chink against the warm wood table.
“I’m not thirsty,” I blurt out, my hands twisting together.
His handsome face is drawn into stark lines. “Tell me what you came here to say.”
I had felt more sure of myself in the cab. In my bedroom, imagining Damon Scott’s glinting black eyes as he told me I’d be his. Now that I’m here, my presumption seems embarrassing. My naivete even more so.
“The debt,” I start, my tongue thick and ungainly. “I can pay with… Well, you know. That’s what I came here to tell you. That I’ll have sex with you.”
“I thought you were keeping your dignity?” he asks, his voice even.
If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.
This is what I figured out while talking to Brennan. That my pride isn’t about sex or money. My pride is about controlling my own fate. And that’s what I’m doing here—setting the terms. This is what dignity looks like for me. Owning my own body. Deciding how it’s used.
He looks down at his hands, the way they’re folded together.
When he looks back up at me, his dark eyes are haunted. “I’m not my father.”
There is a hot air balloon in my chest, large and rising. It feels uncomfortable to look at him, but I can’t look away. “I know you aren’t.”
“You said I was like him, and I understand why you said that. There are things that I do, because this is the world that I operate in. But I don’t hurt young women. I won’t hurt you.”
A strange sense of sorrow fills me. I shouldn’t be sad that he’s giving me time. I should throw a damn party. My heart stutters as if I’m losing something important. “Why not?”
“Does it matter? I won’t press your father on the debt. You have more time now.”
Unease moves through my stomach, because we’re back to his terms. “How much time?”
He looks away, giving me a glimpse of his hard profile. It makes me realize how much I don’t know about him. Does he have friends? Or family besides his father?
Does he have a woman upstairs?
“Long enough,” he says finally.
Tension tightens the air around us, a strange pressure that builds as the seconds tick by. I should take the reprieve with a smile, but I find myself more worried than ever. “Is everything okay?”
The second the words leave my mouth I wish I could call them back.
I shouldn’t care about Damon Scott, even if he did protect me once. Even if he is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
He glances at me, his dark eyes impenetrable. “No.”
One word doesn’t invite more questions. My feet are rooted to the concrete, my lips forming words before I’ve given them permission. “Damon.”
Something sharp flashes over his face. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Say my name.”
I blink, slow and uncertain. “Why?”
“Because it’s what I need to get away from. This game we’re playing, the stakes are higher now. High enough that I need to leave you alone. You’re not safe.”
Undercurrents swirl around me, like the rapids that once pulled me under. I can sense the sharp rocks looming, the darkness closing in. “I don’t understand.”
“I can’t want you, Penny. I can’t even like you.”
He wants me. “Because I’m fifteen?”
A harsh laugh. “That’s not why. Do you think that could stop me? Do you think the police in this town would lift a finger to protect you from me?”
A shiver runs through me. “Stop.”
He circles me on the pavement. “That’s the point. This has to stop.”
“You’re talking in riddles,” I say, turning to keep pace with him.
His voice drops lower. “That’s what you like, isn’t it? Riddles? Puzzles? Something that will keep that sharp mind occupied for even a second. There’s been so little of that. So little mystery, hasn’t there?”
I swallow hard. “You’re the one who made me like this.”
“I’m to blame,” he murmurs, his tone sure but not sorry.
“Where are you going?”
“That’s not important. The important thing is that I won’t be near you. You’re in danger as long as I want you. As long as I follow you, as long as I have people watching you. In danger. You’ll never be safe while I’m here.”
Anticipation beats in my chest. Maybe it’s wrong to be excited by a man like him. Maybe it’s disloyal to be interested in someone else. But Damon is right. He is a riddle I can’t solve, and I’ve had so few of those. He’s a warm, breathing puzzle with wooden parts and hidden clasps.
I still remember the boy he was, so fierce and alone.
What would I want with a puny kid?
He said that to me so I wouldn’t be afraid of him. It worked.
It worked too well, because even knowing what he’s become, what he’s capable of, I’m not afraid when he’s near me. My body feels electric, my breath comes short, but not from fear.
I place my hand on his arm. The first touch. Heat arcs from him to me, along with a jolt of boldness. “What would you want with a puny kid?” I ask him.
The corner of his mouth turns up. “You’re in over your head.”
Dark water. Sharp rocks. I lift my chin, determined not to let him bring me low. “That’s probably true, but I know a secret. You are, too.”
He moves so quickly I can’t anticipate, can’t defend against it. Suddenly I’m up against the bricks, the coolness against my back, his hard chest an inch from mine.
“My sweet Penny. So smart. So pretty. So fucking little. And you’re right.” His words are low, bouncing off the bricks as if they’re coming from the night itself. “I lived so long underwater that I became a part of it. I rule this place.”
“Then what are you afraid of?” I ask softly, knowing it’s true.
Because the body in front of me, the arms that hold me in. They’re flesh and blood.
“You,” he says.
It doesn’t seem possible. I’m a poor village girl. He’s the prince. How could I pose any danger to him? But when he lowers his head, it feels almost against his will. As if he’s being moved by some unknown force, denial and frustration in the air. His lips brush my cheek, barely a soft touch. Chaste. Innocent. Earth shattering.
“It doesn’t matter, even if you give Daddy an extension. He has other debts. And he wants me to do this big poker game with him. He says—”
“Wait. The big poker game? How did he even get the buy-in money?”
I look away, my cheeks turning hot. My insides a terrible churn.
“Let me guess,” he says, his voice dark. Something moves in his eyes, a shadow beneath the waters. “He’s going to use you.”
It’s hard for me to say yes. Hard for me to look Damon Scott in the eye now that he knows. Impossible for me to reconcile the daddy who loves me with one who would do this. “He thinks we’ll win.”
“You won’t. And it’s not worth the risk. Do you know who’s running that game?”
“He came to the diner.”
A sharp breath. “After I did?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do to you?” His gaze sweeps over me as if he can see beneath my dress. “Are you hurt? Have you seen a doctor?”
“He didn’t touch me.”
“You’re lying.”
I spread my hands palm up, as if that proves something. “He came and ordered a slice of pie.” I shrug, not wanting to add about the coffee. Or the hundred-dollar bill. “I recognized him right away. I’m pretty sure he didn’t recognize me from that day on the playground.”
“Good,” Damon says tightly. “Stay away from him.”
I had given up more dignity in those fifteen minutes than actual sex would have been. Preparing his coffee and fetching pie he had no interest in eating. Only so he could watch me. I had known it was wrong, but I hadn’t known how to stop it. Never again.
“If I do the game I don’t have a choice,” I say, “but either way you don’t control me.”
“About this I do.”
I don’t know where the impulse comes from, but challenge sparks in the air like electricity. A touch, not with skin but with energy. I can feel him pulsing five feet away from me. “Or what?” I ask softly.
His black eyes narrow. “You want trouble, baby genius? Is that what you’re after? Because I know a way you can get a little adventure and help me find my father.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been looking for him for years. Didn’t you know that? Trying to trap him. To hunt him down like the fucking animal that he is.”
“For what he did to you.”
“For what he did to everyone,” Damon says, his voice scathing.
He doesn’t need to spell it out. “And you want me as bait.”
He looks almost sad. “You always were smart.”
So smart that I had to hide for years. It might seem like a small thing. Only numbers. Only breathing. I’ve been in shadows forever, my skin pale, my eyes hungry for the sun. “I’ll do it.”
He runs a hand through his hair, mussing the silky strands. “No. Forget I said that.”
“I can’t forget. This is too important.”
“It’s not safe for you, not if my father has his eye on you.”
“He had his eye on me ten years ago,” I remind him. “I got away that time.”
“Only because—” Damon’s voice cuts off, but I can hear the rest. Only because he protected me. Only because he sacrificed himself. He wouldn’t do that again. Why would he? “I can’t risk it again.”
That solidifies my decision. All of us need justice—especially Damon. A sense of protectiveness rises up inside me, as foreign as the possessiveness I feel for him. I don’t understand it, but I know he’s hurting. I know this will help.
And my life isn’t his to risk. It’s mine. “I didn’t sell myself to your father, but that doesn’t mean you own me. That’s what I came here to tell you. I’m making the decision to do this.”
His eyes turn liquid black. “And what if I decide to stop you?”
“Can you?” I ask, feeling bold now. Feeling free. “He already knows where I work. Already came to see me once. He’ll do it again. You know that as well as I do.”
“I could keep you here.”
I look around
at this beautiful prison, the bars made of ancient oak. He’s the one trapped here. Trapped by his anger and his need for revenge. In a perverse way, trapped by me.
“No,” I say softly. “I don’t think you’ll do that.”
He smiles, which only makes him seem darker. More dangerous. “That sounds like a challenge.”
The idea forms with a sense of deep satisfaction, of rightness.
Damon Scott ties me into knots. The things I feel for him crisscrossing and turned over—sympathy and guilt and longing. And an unbearable anger that he became this man. Not exactly his father, but still so far away from my wild boy.
Everything may have led me to this moment, but not so that I could lose to him.
So that I could beat him.
“Do you want to be challenged, Damon?”
His name hangs in the air, far too intimate for the two of us.
“God yes,” he says, and it sounds like a prayer.
“Then let’s play cards. If I win then I help you catch Jonathan Scott. I’m your bait.”
He looks dubious. “Have you even played much cards?”
“No. Actually never,” I admit, feeling shy. “But I’ve seen Daddy play plenty.”
“Christ.” He shakes his head, at once amused and dismissive. “And when I win, what will you give me? I think you know the answer to that. You’ll stay here with me. You’ll be mine. Mine to keep, Penny. Mine to protect.”
Chapter Twelve
Of course we don’t play cards at anything as mundane as a kitchen table.
Not over a coffee table, the way Daddy sometimes fiddles with an old deck, shuffling the cards and running them through his fingers. He would never even bother with Solitaire. It couldn’t satisfy that itch.
Damon has a private card table, deep emerald velvet and butter-soft leather on the bumper surrounding. There are only two seats at the table, even though poker usually has more. I imagine private business meetings happening in this small wood-lined room.
Or maybe he brings women here.
It seems appropriate for a man like him. A bordello for people turned on by risk.
He pulls out a chair for me, every inch the gentleman. Even in a shirt soft from wear, in slacks less than crisp, he could be in a magazine for menswear. His eyebrow rises as I stare at him. My distrust of him must be plain on my face, because he seems pleased.
