SACRED (The Kingwood Series Book 3)

by S. L. Scott

  “You never embarrassed your father. His advisors on the other hand . . .” She laughs lightly. “I know you think we were hard on you, but we never treated you any differently. For good or bad, all of your brothers and sisters were treated the same. We hoped that tough love would help each of you grow to be independent and fuel a drive inside of you for creating your own security and wealth in life.”

  “It led me to do things I shouldn’t have done.” I didn’t expect to be sitting in a confessional, but for some reason, this feels right. Laying our emotional weapons down and seeing each other for who we are instead of what we pretend to be. “When I was being tortured, I felt like a failure inside. Like if I died there, my death would be just another disappointment to you both. I was as strong as I could be. I survived when I should have died.”

  Her hand covers mine. It’s bony and cold, but she made the effort and for that I’m grateful. “You are so much stronger than you ever knew. We knew. We knew the moment we held you in our arms. You had already survived so much.” A small smile, that lends itself to genuine, appears on her face. “You’re here to tell me you want to find your birth mother.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t give birth to you, but I’ll still defer to a mother’s intuition. I knew this day would come and I tried to prepare myself. I was actually surprised it didn’t come sooner. Being estranged from you has been difficult. We may have stopped paying your bills, but we never stopped loving you.”

  This is a lot to process. “I thought you didn’t even like me.”

  “The Senator and I need to work on our parenting technique.” She stands. “You survived a horrendous situation to prove how strong you already were.” There’s that smile again. “You always were a handful, but it saved you this time and for that, I have no regrets. Because of that, we have a second chance. In this second chance, we can discuss your biological parents soon.”

  “Okay.”

  Reaching out her hand, I take it and stand. The chill of her skin has warmed, but I’m struck with reality. My mom is getting older. Her hand is so small, frail almost in my hand, and I realize I don’t remember the last time we walked like this. Maybe when I was five or six. A long damn time ago. We stroll toward the car, and she says, “I would like to have the family over for dinner the first Sunday of next month. Your father and I will be traveling until then, but we’d like for you to join us when we get back.”

  I stop, and our hands part. When she turns back, I say, “You sure I’m welcome by everyone else?”

  “I don’t care what they think if you don’t.”

  I’ve been the black sheep a long time. My siblings haven’t been the kindest. Although there are two exceptions—Paige and Matty. My mother is right. Mending fences, making amends, it’s all the same thing, and maybe it’s time to put this emotional mess behind us. Maybe finding peace with my family will help me find peace in this unsettled world. “I’ll be there.”

  4

  Cruise

  Once a month on a Friday night, some friends from college get together at the pub near campus. The drive isn’t far, and sometimes the company is good, so I decide to go after much harassing from one of the guys I actually like. Maybe this crowd can knock some sense into me, and break me out of the funk I’ve been in.

  “I’d have no problem living free of charge up in that fucking fancy-ass apartment if I could,” comes from the big-ass, lucky-I-don’t-punch-him, mouth of Roy Dockers. Business major. Debate captain. Fraternity president. Now rental car sales manager. Still reigning title holder of all around asshole.

  I think about letting him rattle off his usual bullshit, but since the subject seems to have turned to me, I speak up. “Nothing comes free. I’ve earned every fucking penny I’ve made and more than enough to justify the rent of that place.”

  His beer jostles in the mug as he laughs. “Kingwood keeping you busy over there, huh?”

  By the way he’s looking at me with his tongue shoved against the inside of his cheek and bulging eyes filled with mocking amusement, I understand what he’s saying. I stand, my chair falling back. “Did you just insinuate what I think you did?”

  Four friends roll their eyes or whine for us to stop. Standing, he’s eye level, but his body is soft, out of shape. I’ll take him down in one blow, if he’s not careful. “Maybe I did. So which is it? You fucking Kingwood for that palace—” The pointing finger doesn’t make it two inches from his body before I have him slammed face down to the top of the table with his arm twisted around his back.

  I lean down to make sure he hears me clearly. “I could kill you before you have a chance to beg for mercy.” Violence, for me, is a slippery slope I don’t want to slide down. Everyone becomes my captor after the first hit I land. Roy Dockers is an asshole, but ultimately, he’s all talk. I release him, but leave him with a threat to think about. “You ever talk shit about me or Kingwood again, and I’ll finish what you just started. Without a warning next time.”

  “Cruise?”

  The sweet melody of my name rolling off the tongue of an unknown female diverts my interest from the buffoon before me.

  And there she is.

  I was a fool to let her walk away without getting her name. This time I won’t make the same mistake with the beauty I met on my old stomping grounds. While my so-called friends are settling back down around the table, I move around Fisher Marks who pats me on the back. “You realize you almost killed Dockers?”

  “And your point is?”

  “Dude, that’s savage.”

  I roll my eyes and walk around another table. Taking the pretty woman by her upper arm, I spin her away from these idiots, positioning my body between her and them. “Hi. You’re here.”

  It’s amazing how an innocent smile can be so full of mischief. She tries to peek around me, but I lean left to block them from her view, and then right. “Is everything okay over there?”

  “Better seeing you again. It’s been a while.”

  “A month isn’t that long,” she says, looking into my eyes.

  God, she’s gorgeous. And she knew it had been a month since I’d seen her. Interesting. “Longer than I would have liked, but alas, I never got your name, or number.”

  “I’m sure you’ve gotten plenty of others in the meantime.”

  “Eh, no one caught my eye quite like you.”

  Her long lashes flutter when she looks away. “Does your charm always work for you?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  A lighter shade of the pink skirt she wore that day colors her cheeks, and she whispers, “A girl only has so much armor.”

  Seeing her blush is a sight I don’t see often. I could banter with her all day, but when I look at her, I don’t want quick banter. I actually want to know her. Noticing she’s empty-handed, I ask, “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “I’ve actually had enough. I was on my way out when I saw you. You know, you shouldn’t fight like that. It’s dangerous.”

  Quirking my head in surprise, I chuckle. “Yeah, you’re probably right. What’s up with the shouting to me?”

  “Figured I give it a try and shout at you since you shouted at me the day you chased me down in front of the whole school.”

  She’s funny. “Touché, Mssss?”

  Bursting into laughter, her hands land on my chest. All the composure she held on to so tightly that day on campus is gone in an instant under beer goggle eyes, or maybe it was vodka since I don’t smell anything on her breath but sweet berries. I’m intrigued to find out what she drinks. Either way, she’s super relaxed, i.e. drunk, and petting my shirt like I’m a puppy she wants to take home from the pet store. “Nice try, Romeo.”

  She makes that gray sweater and the jeans she’s wearing look sexy as fuck. With that longing look in her eyes, she’s fucking gorgeous and far too tempting. When I look around, I’m not the only one who thinks so. She needs to get home before she gets taken advantage of. “Maybe it’s time
to call it a night.”

  Wide doe eyes stare into mine. “Do you want to come home with me?”

  Damn, she’s bold. Especially for someone who won’t tell me her name. “Take you home?”

  “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  “That’s not what you said.” Jesus, she’s well past drunk. Taking matters into my own hands, hands that I usually wouldn’t trust to not find their way over to her, but will restrain tonight, I offer, “I can take you home, Dove.” At least she’ll be safe with me.

  “Dove?”

  “My little peacemaker.” Taking her by the hand, I lead her to the door. Once we’re outside on the sidewalk, I add, “So, why were you so worried about me back there?”

  Shrugging, she sighs nonchalantly. “I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Me?” I laugh. “You were worried about me and not the other guy?”

  “I don’t know him. I know you, so I was worried.” I don’t like that she’s taken her hand away from me.

  “You obviously don’t know me.”

  Cherry-kissed lips smirk in my direction as she pokes me in the side. “I know your name.”

  “About that—”

  “I’m freezing.” There is a chill in the air, and I watch as she rubs her arms to warm up. “I left my jacket at home.”

  “I’ll drive you home on one condition.”

  “I’m good with walking.” And walk she does. Quickly. Wow, that didn’t work. I wasn’t even given a chance. “It was good to see you again, Cruise.”

  “Hey, wait!” I jog until I catch up with her. Walking backward, I try a different approach. “So you’re willing to walk away from me, freezing, for no reason?”

  “It’s not no reason. I know what you want.” Her teeth start chattering as she holds so dearly to that stubborn streak. “My name.”

  “C’mon. Just give me a first. Or—”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’m going to start calling you Gertrude or Ethel, maybe Bertha.”

  “Those names don’t insult me. Call me Bertha if you want.” She keeps walking, her chin held high in some spite she’s trying to maintain.

  “You like to play games. Well guess what, Dove? I’m the master.” I walk forward and right past her this time.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  The huff is heard from behind me first, but I keep walking. Slow and steady.

  “Fine,” she says.

  Spinning on my heel, I cock an eyebrow. “Fine?”

  “My name is Clara.”

  “Clara,” I say, trying it out and matching it to her beauty. It’s perfect for her. “That’s a beautiful name.” I move back within whispering distance, but don’t whisper. “It’s nice to meet you, Clara.” Our hands meet between us and this time I bring hers to my lips. Kissing the soft, fair skin, I catch a whiff of something mysterious that caresses her, lingering just to torture me.

  Looking into her honey-colored eyes, the centers are so unique, unique like her. “Again.”

  “Yes, it’s nice to meet you again.” She sways, and her grip tightens, as does mine. Our hands are still bonded together when I lower them to ask, “So how about that ride, Dove?”

  “How about we walk?”

  “Walk?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not far.”

  “I thought you were cold?”

  “That was before you were here to keep me warm . . . I mean, company.” She may have corrected her slip, but she does so unapologetically. I like this side of her a lot. I liked her other side too. I’ve only had two beers but I’m starting to feel a little drunk myself.

  Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I say, “I’ll keep you warm. Which way?”

  I swear I see her blush, and for reasons unknown to me, I feel like I’ve fallen under some sort of spell. I want her as mine. Damn, she’s got magical powers over me. If I’m not careful, I’ll become a pussy and find myself saying stupid things like “live for the day” and “eat dessert for dinner.” No, I can’t let her sweet pinks get the best of me.

  Walking down the sidewalk together, she bumps against me. “Are you going to walk me home the whole way?”

  “I think it’s a good idea.”

  “Me too,” she whispers.

  She’s right. The house is close. Too close. It’s only three blocks away, but in those three blocks, when I didn’t have my arm wrapped around her, I got to hold her hand. It was almost like an accident. I readjusted and her hand found mine searching for hers.

  Our conversation stays light, but I want to go deep with her. The time is passing by too fast, and soon I find myself standing two steps down from her as she unlocks the front door. Turning back to me, she asks, “Want to come in?”

  Fuck yeah, I do. “Sure.”

  She throws me off the game I’m trying hard to play with her. Maybe it’s not a game she’s playing. Maybe she’s just this quirky. Either way, I like it. I like her. She swings her arm in front of her. “Entrer.”

  “Parlez-vous francais?”

  “Non.” She shrugs, cute with her bad accent, but then adds, “I took Spanish in school, most of which I’ve forgotten. I just like French things—Macarons, the Eiffel Tower, the dogs.”

  Wait, what did she say? “The dogs?”

  The door is closed behind me when I enter the small Craftsman-style home. “Yeah, you know French poodles, papillons, and French bulldogs. Papillons were bred specifically for Marie Antoinette. Weird but true fact.”

  All right then. Looking around, I ask, “Don’t you want to know my last name? You’ve let me into your place without even a thought as to whether I’m here to murder you or I don’t know, have sex with you.”

  “Why were you at the school when you’re not a student?” She drops her keys on a small table and walks through the living room and through an archway that’s open to the small kitchen.

  “Neither are you.”

  “I’m student teaching this year.”

  “I was meeting my mother.”

  “See?” She glances back with an all-knowing smile and bright eyes. “You were meeting your mother.” As if that sets the discussion to rest on if I’m here to murder her or have sex with her. What I find more fascinating is that she seems to be okay with either option. “How horrible can you be?”

  Trailing a little distance behind her, I point out, “Norman Bates loved his mother. Didn’t stop him from killing.”

  “Are we having a Psycho conversation?” With her hands on her hips, she looks at me. “Because now I am starting to question if this was a mistake.”

  “No, just pointing to the fact that you can’t just open your home to everyone you meet.”

  She carries on like we aren’t having an awkward and sort of scary conversation. Grabbing two glasses from the cabinet, she fills them with water from a pitcher. When she hands me one, she asks, “Are you going to kill me, or hurt me, Cruise?”

  “No, Clara. I’m not.”

  “Promise?”

  The breath in my chest feels heavy, this promise laden with promise for more. “I promise not to hurt you. Ever.”

  Ever.

  Why’d I say that? Where’s my head at? I’m thinking it’s somewhere hiding out with my heart, plotting my demise at the hands of this woman.

  The shine of the previous smile softens into a glow that worms its way through my hard exterior. Coming forward, she touches me again, her heat penetrating my shirt, and searing my chest. It feels good, so good to have a warm touch over the cold contact I’ve become accustomed to. I cover her hand, holding it there, absorbing her sunshine.

  She whispers, “You like to hold hands.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, I don’t like to hold hands. I rarely do it. But I like holding yours.”

  Moving against me, I release her hand to hold on to her. She’s a tiny thing. Her aura is so much bigger than her actual frame. She fills a room with her light, making
me forget about the darkness I usually struggle to evade. Here, with her, I see a way out from under the nightmares that haunt me daily, at least for tonight. I lift her chin up until our eyes meet, and then lean down, pressing my lips to hers.

  I don’t kiss her. I just close my eyes and feel her, taking her in.

  “Will you kiss me?” she whispers.

  “Take what you want, Dove.”

  Her arms slide around my neck and her lips push against mine, caressing me. Our mouths move together, her lips parting and my tongue wanting more of her, more of everything she’ll give.

  I was wrong. She’s not safer with me. Just in the short time we’ve talked and the little I know about her, I want more than I should. I should stop and walk out that door, but when my fingers weave into her hair, she moves against me. Her breath becomes mine as I explore the wet wonderland of her mouth. Pulling back, her eyes have a wild spark to them. “Cruise?”

  “Yes?”

  Shyness, something I’ve not seen in her, takes over her pretty features. She looks down, presses even closer to me, and asks, “Would you like to come to my bedroom?”

  What insanity is this? “What?”

  “Oh God, how embarrassing. I’m so so—”

  Cupping her face, I lean my head against hers. “I should probably go.” Go, Cruise. Walk out the door.

  Her eyes are closed and I feel her nod against me. My heart starts thumping and I can suddenly hear my heart for the first since the darkness took over.

  It’s this girl. Clara.

  Fuck, I’m sunk. I kiss her forehead. Then when our eyes meet, I narrow mine, not sure why this gorgeous creature thinks she should doubt my answer. I never did listen to reason. “I do want to go with you. So much. Show me the way.”

  Breathing her relief, she leads me around the corner and down a short hall. She stands just inside the bedroom and waits for me.

  It’s dark in the room, but with the blinds above the bed open, the moonlight provides enough light to see. When I walk past her, I take her hand and lead her to the bed. Her bed is made, no clothes on the floor or hanging around. The room is neat and taken care of, and I like how homelike it feels here.