Throne of Truth

by Pepper Winters

  “If you’re going to use a term of endearment, how about you choose a more appropriate one?”

  Arnold grinned. “What would you prefer?”

  “Oh, I dunno. How about the truth for once? Scapegoat? Fall Guy? Whipping Boy? Any of those work.”

  I’m the one you blame and take the rap for others, you lying sack. Might as well own up to it.

  His face blackened. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Why? So your staff won’t find out what a heartless cunt you are?”

  He flinched.

  I didn’t stop.

  “Five years of my life you stole on three different occasions—all for things I didn’t do. And now, you’re about to steal more. But this time, I’m not gonna be so silent. I have a family now. I’m rich. Charge me with whatever you goddamn like, but rest assured, I won’t have some shitty state-appointed lawyer who’s on your payroll to shuttle me off to the slammer and then be beaten by your men to keep me silent inside.”

  I took a step toward him.

  It was a balancing act of pushing but not being an idiot. Any one of his officers could shoot me if they thought I was threatening him.

  “I’m not afraid of you anymore.” I lowered my voice. “Do your worst. Let’s fucking dance, Arnie. Let’s see who wins this time.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Elle

  WAS IT WRONG of me that I’d taken Penn’s box?

  Was it immoral to sit on my bed after the longest bath in history, biggest dinner I could stomach, countless checks on my father and his heart, and endless cuddles from Sage to open his box of secrets?

  For the past three hours, I’d assured Dad I was okay, made sure he was okay, answered his questions, dodged others, and then lamented with him while he directed his red-hot fury at Greg.

  Steve called professing apologies, David stood guard at my door—even though I told him that wasn’t necessary—and Sage wouldn’t let me go even to use the bathroom on my own.

  She curled up on a towel on the edge of the bath while I soaked away the aches and bruises Greg had given me.

  Afterward, she swatted the belt of my Terry cloth robe as I padded warm, tired, and finally alone to my bedroom.

  And there was Penn’s box.

  Begging me to read its contents.

  To pry.

  To sneak.

  To steal everything I could about him.

  I’d stared at it for the past hour while both angel and devil squatted on my shoulders, whispering to keep it closed, muttering to open it, murmuring to trust, nudging to search.

  I’d failed him in the hallway when he was taken. I’d failed him when he’d kissed me, and I fought the knowledge my heart already knew.

  Was I failing him again by picking apart his lies and seeking the truth without him here to fill in the blanks?

  He’s Nameless.

  Wasn’t that all that mattered?

  I thought it would feel different to finally know.

  To hear him admit that he was there, he was the chocolate kisser, he was the Central Park romance.

  But his confession had split me. I couldn’t add up the Penn I knew and the Nameless one I didn’t. They didn’t match. Why had he changed so much? Had he changed or was it all an act?

  The stupid fantasy that I’d believed in of finding Nameless and picking up where we left off, faltered. What if that kismet attraction and instantaneous lust weren’t enough to delete the mess between us and start afresh?

  I’d slept with him. I’d lost my virginity to the man I’d been dreaming of for three long years.

  I felt...ashamed.

  I’m confused.

  I’m angry with him and myself.

  I didn’t know how to make sense of anything anymore.

  It made me doubt everything I’d felt that night and tarnished it because if I could be around Penn this long and not fall insanely in love with him, then what did that mean about that night in Central Park?

  Open the box.

  Stop wasting time.

  Sage batted it with her paw, meowing softly as if she didn’t approve of the foreign object taking up space on my lap. Her soft silver fur glowed warm like a tiny moonbeam, her tail flicking in impatience and curiosity.

  “Don’t look at me like that. Go. Fetch.” I threw her purple mouse that was missing its tail and half of its whiskers.

  She arched a kitty eyebrow as if pitying me that I thought she’d play catch like a dog. I merely held her stare until she scowled and leaped off the bed, hunting for the thrown toy.

  While her back was turned and her judgy eyes were elsewhere, I cracked the lid and held my breath.

  I held my breath until my head swam and my heart knocked on my ribs in a reminder that it needed oxygen to breathe.

  I didn’t want to breathe because beneath the emergency contact numbers was a driver’s license of a man I wished I could forget; one I wished I could delete and pretend never existed.

  Baseball Cap.

  Gio...I believe.

  I recalled the two men calling each other names but couldn’t be entirely sure I’d remembered them correctly.

  Then again, his name printed on the license told me I was right.

  Why could I remember him so clearly when I’d struggled to place Penn?

  My fingers shook as I plucked the laminated identification and stared into the heartless eyes of the man who’d tried to rape me. Without the cap, his hair was shaggy and unkempt, mousy brown with matching uneven stubble on his jaw.

  He was nothing like Nameless.

  Nothing connecting us enough to evoke the emotions Penn did.

  How could I think Penn was him?

  How could I have let the years erase the feeling of disgust and terror?

  Penn wasn’t Baseball Cap or Adidas.

  He could never have been, and I must have known that all along.

  Oh, my God.

  Dropping the license, I clamped a hand over my mouth.

  How insulting to him.

  What a slap in the face for me to believe he could be as evil as those two bastards.

  He was right to hate me.

  Could he forgive me?

  But why does he have Gio’s license?

  Gio Markus Steel according to his full address.

  Steel...that name was familiar. It flopped around inside my head like a fish on a line, ready to reel in, but the string was too tangled to haul.

  What was Larry keeping secret on Penn’s behalf? Who was Penn? Where did he come from? His family? His past?

  He’d given me a tiny part of himself, but I needed more.

  So much more.

  Steel!

  I sat upright in bed, recalling the day Penn had ambushed me at work. The day I’d done my floor inspections and come upon a little boy having a suit made from a man’s.

  Master Steel.

  Same last name as Gio.

  Did that mean Stewie and Gio were related?

  Argh!

  How could I unravel this mayhem and make sense of it without Penn to guide me?

  Penn had saved my life—multiple times—but now, I needed him to save me from my questions.

  There was only one way for him to do that.

  I have to see him again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Penn

  I KNEW THE process—I’d done it a few times before—but it didn’t make it any easier.

  The first time had been scary as fuck with a night in the station, arraignment with a useless public defender nodding to felonies I hadn’t committed, and no cash to post bail. It took days to join gen pop before I settled in to serve time for a crime I hadn’t done.

  That night had also been the first time I’d had the joy of meeting Arnold Twig.

  Fucker.

  I’d served one year, one month of a three-year sentence—let off for good behavior.

  The second time was unfortunate bad luck, but once again, Arnold was there to ensure I was the perfect scape
goat.

  A night in the holding cells, another useless arraignment, another district attorney advising bail I couldn’t afford, and then I was back in jail.

  Once there, I enjoyed a two week stay in the infirmary after a vicious beating ensured my lips remained firmly shut about the secrets Arnold Twig had no intention of letting me spill.

  I’d served three years, two months of a four-year sentence—let off once again for good behavior.

  The third time had been the night I met Elle. The night when my heart was full and my head hurt, knowing if Arnold had his way, I’d be in prison for a lot longer.

  He’d shuttled me back to Hell as fast as he could. The moment dawn arrived, he’d yanked me from the cell and sent me to the district attorney with yet another jaded public defender. By the afternoon, I was in a prison uniform and holding out a plastic tray for food.

  Hey, at least I got to eat that day.

  That night, though...fuck, that night I couldn’t stop tormenting myself with memories of kissing the girl I’d rescued, imagining we’d been able to finish what we started—that in a better, kinder world, I would’ve asked to see her again and done my best to get off the streets so I could deserve her.

  And now, while my bones still cried and my clothes hid a fight-sweaty body, Arnold once again expedited my case.

  After our little chat, he personally escorted me to complete the sham of gathering my official information.

  I refused to say a word apart from, “bite my ass.”

  Besides, I had no reason to give up my name, age, and entire autobiography. They had that information already.

  My file listed exactly who I was and precisely what my past convictions entailed.

  What was it again? Oh, yeah.

  Incident number one—grand theft auto.

  Two—aggravated assault and theft.

  Three—aggravated assault and rape.

  After that waste of time, he arranged for my transfer to central booking where they could keep me up to twenty-four hours in the cells affectionately called the tombs. The rank, filthy pens where homeless, drunks, and low-collar criminals were crammed together like livestock destined for the canning factory.

  My statement consisted of, “Call my lawyer,” and Arnold took great joy in repeating my Miranda rights as he slammed the bars closed.

  Whatever evidence Greg had fed them while moaning and playing the victim at the hospital ensured my case was a special one. Not only did I have the chief of police ready to bury me in the system, but he also had the power to speed up or slow down my trial.

  The meeting with the Criminal Justice Agency ensured a district attorney who bowed to Twig’s every command, agreeing that I was too dangerous a flight risk to allow bond at any amount.

  Unfortunately, my prior actions supported such a shitty denial because the last time I’d served in the great state’s penitentiary, the moment I’d been released, I’d moved with Larry to LA to get my head on straight and the fuck away from New York.

  Either Larry was too late to attend the hearing, or he was busy putting together my defense. Whatever the reason, I trusted him because he knew what I was up against. If he thought it was worth staying away for now, then fine. I had no doubt he’d file an appeal and request an early trial to set this long-winded, beyond-aggravating system into motion.

  Greg had better get fucking arrested, too.

  I wouldn’t be able to stomach going to jail while the real perpetrator got away with it.

  Again.

  At least this time around, I wasn’t a penniless, homeless throwaway.

  I had money.

  I had friends.

  And that made it even more imperative in Arnie’s corrupted mind that he control my reinsertion back into prison with utmost perfection.

  I had no intention of keeping his secrets this time. Give me a judge, a jury, a fucking court full of people and I’d tell them all about Arnold’s precious son.

  Unless I get shanked, of course.

  Fuck, I missed Elle. I missed being free.

  Hours had a tendency to blur together in this place. I had no idea how many had passed by the time I was collected in a minivan with bars on the windows and manacles on the floor.

  Cuffed hands and ankles, I shuffled onto the bus and a clank of chains locked me into position. The noise of the links reminded me Greg had chained Elle.

  That he’d hurt her.

  Almost raped her.

  My rage and desire to punch him all over again helped overshadow my fear at being trapped against my will. The incessant blistering fury fed me better than any food or liquor, and I didn’t pay attention to the officer closing the door or the driver sliding the van into gear and taking me from police station to prison block.

  At least, Arnold had retreated to his office like the scum he was.

  * * * * *

  Arriving at the Department of Corrections, I was finally given a shower to wash away the blood, a quick check up by the in-house doctor, who kindly prescribed more painkillers, and searched for contraband—which was the single most degrading thing a man could go through.

  Once clean and dressed in a dark green prison uniform, I was met with the usual welcome of a blanket, pillow, and toothbrush parcel then ferried into the prison population where remanded felons were kept just in time for the warning bell for lights out.

  For now, I had a cell with two bunk beds pressed up against the wall to myself.

  I had no doubt that would change, but tonight, I’d enjoy the fucking privacy.

  Choosing the top bunk, I spread out my blanket, fluffed my pillow, and lay down to glower at the pockmarked ceiling.

  Every inch of me hurt.

  My head, my hands, my chest, my legs...everything.

  But despite the heat and throbbing in my joints, I waited to feel something other than physical maladies.

  To ache with unfairness and suffer discomfort at being somewhere foreign. To crave freedom and open spaces with the unsatisfied appetite of a drug addict.

  And I did suffer.

  But I couldn’t fake myself into believing this place was foreign.

  It wasn’t foreign at all.

  It was familiar.

  A second home.

  A well-known place I despised with every inch of my being.

  Its welcome whispered over me, deleting the past few years where I’d been wealthy and cared for and obsessed with the girl who’d shared my chocolate bar, fell for me, and then looked at me as if I was scum even when she heard the truth.

  Her apology echoed in my ears.

  Her tears glistened in memory.

  I’d hurt her, but she’d hurt me.

  And now, I was here, and she was there, and there was no way to fix what was broken.

  “Fuck.” I punched my pillow, rolled over, and closed my eyes.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Elle

  “I HAVE TO SEE him.”

  Another phone rang in the background, but Larry didn’t make an excuse to end our call to answer it.

  He sighed, but it wasn’t cruel, more like lost as to what he could offer me. “I can arrange it but not for a few days. New prisoners are given a stand-down period before visitors are allowed.”

  “New prisoners?”

  “He’s being held without bail. I’ve already filed an appeal and fighting for a hearing date that isn’t sometime in two years. We’ll get him back, but the justice system is archaic. It’ll take time.”

  “Time?” I sucked in a breath. “How much time?”

  “Can’t say. But it’ll be as short as I can make it.”

  My heart plummeted, rolling in shame, coating in guilt until it sat tarred and feathered in my stomach. “But...he didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “The previous times he was locked up, I would’ve agreed with you.” His voice layered with tiredness, reminding me not so long ago, he was seriously sick, and Penn had been the one to look after him. Now, it was Larry’s turn.
<
br />   How many times has it been his turn?

  “Previous times?” My voice was small, timid. My question hesitant.

  Larry heard my uncertainty.

  I hated myself for it. Here I was so close to the truth, and I wasn’t sure I had the balls to learn any more.

  The more I did, the more I cursed myself. Cursed myself for not trying harder to find Penn. For doubting him. For hurting him.

  His arrogance and fine-edged cruelty had been the perfect mask to hide the loneliness and hardship of a life I could never imagine.

  Fate had been so generous and kind to me. It had been an absolute bitch to Penn.

  How can I make it right?

  Once again, I had dreams of protecting him, cooking for him, caring for him the way I knew he would care for me if only he could forgive my doubting.

  Sage waltzed over my desk, sprawling on her side on my notepad, unapologetically asking for cuddles while my mind whirled.

  Automatically, my fingers sank into her soft fur. I blinked at my office in Belle Elle’s tower, returning to the present rather than dwindling on awful, awful imaginings of what Penn was going through.

  “Yes,” Larry said. “The previous times he was arrested.” Something banged as if he’d closed a desk drawer. “For example, the night in Central Park—when he was with you.”

  I froze. “What about it?”

  “He was sentenced to eight years for aggravated robbery, armed assault, and attempted rape.”

  “But that’s a lie!”

  “Doesn’t matter. He had no one to fight for him then. Neither did he have support when he was first arrested and held in an adult penitentiary, even though he was a minor. He didn’t commit the crime, but he paid—purely because of bad luck and similar facial features to another.”

  My mind cartwheeled, growing dizzy. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean, Elle, the first time he served thirteen months and was out early for good behavior. The state didn’t ask him if he had a home to go to, family to see, or a job to earn a living. They just kicked him out with nothing—not even the lint from his pockets because he didn’t have any lint when they’d arrested him.”

  “That’s...awful.” I didn’t want to hear anymore.