SACRED (The Kingwood Series Book 3)

by S. L. Scott

  “Okay.”

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Tell me this counts as our second date.”

  The sound of her laughter is soothing to my torn heart. Maybe there’s hope for me yet. Coming over, she wraps her arms around me. “This definitely counts as our second date, and Monday is our third, if you’re keeping track.”

  Running my palm over the round of her ass, I reply, “I’m most definitely keeping track.”

  I kiss her again, this time on those sweet lips of hers. Then I dash down the stairs. “I’ll see you Monday, Dove.”

  “See you Monday.”

  She heads inside the house and I get in the car. This time my mood is different. The car isn’t a reprieve I need, a sanctuary to escape to. The woman inside the house is. I start the car and drive away in the best mood I’ve been in in a long time.

  Sara Jane opens the door, and asks, “And to what do we owe the pleasure?”

  “Just wanted to stop by. Is it a good time?”

  “You’re always welcome. You know that, Cruise. C’mon.” I follow her inside the little white house with blue shutters. It’s little compared to the manor where they used to live. “Alexander’s in the office. Go on back.”

  I walk to the hall, but stop. “Thanks. You doing okay?”

  “Great,” she replies with a smile. “You?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “Pretty good? Ohh.” Her whole demeanor perks up. “It’s good to see you smile.”

  I laugh because I’m so obvious. “Feels good.” I pass two doors and knock on the third. I don’t wait, and just walk in.

  Alex looks up, but he’s on the phone. Nodding, he signals toward the chair. “That valuation is off by forty-three percent. I’m not paying more than it’s worth just because I can. Get the deal done at a fair price. Call me next week with good news.” He hangs up and looks me over. “Is this a social call or business? If it’s business, no can do. I promised Sara Jane I’d eat dinner with her tonight. The last two nights, I’ve been stuck on calls.”

  “Social.”

  He stands. “Great. Beer?”

  “Yup.” We go back to the living room.

  Sara Jane is in the kitchen with two beers already waiting on the island. “Are you staying for dinner, Cruise?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Nope. I made lasagna from scratch. So you’ll be a guinea pig like Alexander.” She laughs. Like Alex and myself, she’s had challenges to overcome, but I love seeing the carefree person she has become.

  We take the beers and sit on a pair of stools. I say, “Happy to help out.”

  Leaning on the marble counter across from us, she says, “So spill.”

  I grab my beer and laugh. She’s not going to let this go, so I give in. “I met someone.”

  Sara Jane gasps, but her smile pops out right after. “A new woman? Tell. Me. Everything.”

  “You’re finding way too much joy in this considering it might not turn into anything.” It has. Already. I’m in deep with these feelings I have for her, but it seems ridiculous to admit it when it’s been such a short time.

  Sara Jane urges, “Please tell me she’s nothing like Celeste.”

  “She’s nothing like Celeste.”

  “Well, that’s good because Celeste is a snob and a gold digger.” Sara Jane was never shy about her feelings toward Celeste. Before I started dating her, Celeste had started a rumor that she had dated Alex during the break that he and Sara Jane took. It wasn’t true but the bad blood remains.

  Alex taps his bottle against mine. “She’s old news. What about this new girl?”

  “I met her in a brief encounter at Baynard Prep and then ran into her down at the pub last Friday.”

  By how attentive Sara Jane is to every detail I share, I can tell she lives for this stuff. “What happened?”

  “Well, Mrs. Kingwood, I escorted her home and then . . .” Memories come fast—I taste her skin, licking her from navel to neck while squeezing her tits through the silky lace-edged fabric of her bra. “Nothing happened. I left.”

  “Oh.” She sounds disappointed. Turning around she takes the dish out of the oven. “But you’re going to see her again?”

  “I saw her tonight. It’s kind of odd, but we randomly ran into each other again.”

  Sara Jane gasps, the oven mitts covering her mouth. “Twice. That’s not a coincidence. That’s serend—”

  “That’s living in a suburb for you.”

  Her gloved hands fist and she puts them on her hips. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “It’s what I’m comfortable with. Call me superstitious, but I’m not a big believer in happenstance. Do I think there could be a greater power playing a role in this relationship? Sure. But should I believe in Santa Claus. No.”

  Alex says, “On one of the worst days of my life, I was given a sign.”

  I know where he’s going with this. I was there the first time he ever saw Sara Jane. He was never the same after that. He became a better man because of her. Can my Dove do the same for me? “You think Clara could be my sign?”

  “Her name is Clara?” Sara Jane asks. “That’s so pretty.”

  “She’s very pretty.”

  “Is she kind?”

  The question doesn’t surprise me. Alex’s wife can be guarded sometimes. They may be billionaires, but possessions have never meant anything to her, and she’s sensitive to shallow people. She wants to know where someone’s heart lies. Are they good or bad, evil, or kind? “She’s very kind. A lot like you in some ways. She hides behind walls she’s built around her. I recognize the signs since I do the same. She’s been hurt and carries that with her, but she’s also open. At least with me.”

  Sara Jane replies, “I like her already. If she can make you smile, she must be nice. The witch never did, that’s for sure.”

  The witch—Celeste. To be fair, I never went to Celeste for smiles.

  I take another pull from the bottle. “Your wife is still as feisty as ever. You know that?”

  “I do.” He’s chuckling as he moves around the kitchen island and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. Kissing her head, he then says, “She’s always been a badass.”

  Seeing them so in love for many years, but also in awe of each other reinforces that desire I try to keep buried. I’m not sure I’m deserving of a great love of this lifetime much less the next. If there is a next life after this one. I’ve paid the price five times over, and from what I gather, so has Clara. But is it enough? Is the penance too high for us to ever pay our debts? Or will we remain hopeless sinners in this hell on earth? “I’m hungry. Can we eat?”

  They both look at me. Sara Jane smiles, and says, “Sure. Get the plates.”

  Thirty minutes later, we’re all sitting in the living room watching some show on the history channel when I say, “My family wants me to come over tomorrow night for dinner.”

  Sara Jane, curled against Alex’s side, asks, “Are you going?”

  “I told my mother I would.”

  Alex mutes the big screen. “Your brother is going to be there?”

  He doesn’t have to say which brother. I know which one he means. “My mother said everyone should be there, so yeah, Fredrick will be.”

  “How do you remain so calm?” he asks.

  “Celeste and I were not committed. As for my brother, he crossed a line. He’s an asshole, so most likely he’ll provoke me. Guess I’ll see how calm I remain and then decide.”

  Sara Jane says, “You don’t owe them anything, Cruise. You know that, right? You’re family here. We’re your family, so if they don’t welcome you, we always will.”

  “I appreciate that.” And I do, and have for years now. But the nightmares invade my mind, even in good times like these.

  . . . My wrists feel weightless with the shackles off. My loss of energy is bothersome to the man with the gun. He’s hit me twice on the back of the head to “encourage” me to move fast
er. He’s more anxious about starting tonight’s round of torture than I am. “Fuck you,” I spew, then spit on his fucking ugly brown shoes.

  “Always with the attitude, John.”

  He calls me by my given name to get a rise out of me. When I was adopted, my parents named me after my father, the Senator. They thought it would bond me into their family. But as much as they kissed me in front of the cameras, I was ignored behind the scenes.

  I’m kicked in the groin and drop to my knees. My lungs burn with the air expelled and the pain is like fire burning through my body.

  Three times a year, the Senator would ask me to play catch or ride a horse with him, go for a walk. It wasn’t until I was eight that I realized that I wasn’t just his son, but a photo-op.

  A metal rod whacks the center of my back and my chest hits the cement floor. I might be broken. I can’t feel much anymore. I used to scream. Yell at my perpetrator, but now, I take life blow by blow.

  The floor is almost cool against my heated cheek. The taste of blood fills my mouth. It’s too dark to know what’s going on with my vision. Punishment always comes at night.

  I remember how it used to feel real—my life, like my family actually loved me. I think they do in their own way, just like I love them in mine.

  The man with the mask on, the one who comes each night to drag me from the cell I share with my friend, my brother not by blood, but by choice, won’t break my loyalty to Alex. He may break every bone in my body, but I’ll die before I let him win. Maybe my death will be his victory. Ultimately, it’s Alexander Kingwood IV’s death that he covets.

  As long as I’m alive, he won’t get his prize.

  . . . Alex and I are better at compartmentalizing our emotions after being kidnapped last year. We had to, to survive or they would have killed us mentally before the physical torture even started.

  Sara Jane is still soft in all the ways that matter. She went through hell, but came out the other side fiercer than ever with her love for Alex, but still intact with who she always was.

  Working for the Kingwoods isn’t a job I sought out. It’s the life I inherited. They are my family, so as long as they’ll have me, I’ll stick around. And I could imagine Clara sitting around with us. They would immediately graft her into our fold.

  10

  Cruise

  I need a haircut.

  Running my hand over the top of my head, I like it shorter these days. Less hair means less hassle. My patience for appearances waned a long time ago. I lean closer to the mirror and look at my skin. My face is clean-shaven. I’m trying not to give my family any reason to judge me and don’t like to give them the ammo.

  I straighten my tie and then leave the bathroom. My phone lights up just as I grab it and my wallet from my dresser.

  Clara doesn’t have my number.

  Hell, she doesn’t even have my last name.

  I finally got hers, and now I’m the one withholding. Like Kingwood, Cristley holds weight in this part of the country, probably even beyond state lines.

  As a Senator, my father was in the public’s eye. By association, his family was as well. I grew up hating the cameras. The nightly news caught every awkward stage of my life, reminding me of every failed haircut and bad fashion choice. I learned a hard lesson; when the public takes interest in you, they believe you owe them more than gratitude. You owe them your soul.

  My view on life differs. I owe the strangers who watched me grow up nothing.

  Cameras don’t follow me anymore. Being an asshole generally discourages interest and ratings. Alexander was the king of getting rid of onlookers. Between our two families, the wealth is unfathomable to most. To us, it was our day-to-day life.

  I take my keys and go to the garage. I’m tempted to take my motorcycle, but my family always hated me riding. I love my Merc, but looking at my bike, I’m reminded how much I always loved pissing off my family more. I detour to the bike. Fuck it.

  I’m going to be judged anyway.

  It takes thirty-one minutes to get from the penthouse downtown to my parents’ house on the hill. They’ve got a nice spread out here. There were lots of places to hide when I needed to get away from people. With a family of seven and a staff of eight, time alone was rare. I had to create it.

  I push the code to open the gate, but it doesn’t budge. Guess they changed it without bothering to mention it to me. Jabbing the security call button, I wait, my bike idling loudly.

  “How may I help you?”

  “It’s Cr—John. John Cristley.” I flash a fake smile at the camera. A loud click is heard and then the iron gate starts to open. A long drive leads to a circular driveway in front of the house. Who needs a butler when the sound of my Harley will announce my arrival?

  Prius. Paige

  Audi. Fredrick.

  Range Rover. Matty.

  Cayenne. Liza

  Cadillac. Mother.

  Harley. Me.

  My bike fits right in. Not. It makes me chuckle though. My car would have, but it’s much sleeker and newer than even the most high-end models parked here. The Bentley is noticeably missing. The Senator probably had something come up. Just like when he was in Congress, business keeps him away a lot.

  I hang my helmet on the handlebar and run my hands down my jacket. Paige is waiting at the door, barefoot and carefree in her flowing dress and untamed hair. “About time, little bro.”

  “Who you calling little?” I tease, reaching the top step. I greet my sister with a kiss to the cheek and I’m welcomed with a tight hug.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “You know where I live and I believe you have my number.” I walk in. She shuts the door and quickly grabs my arm.

  “Hey. I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy for me apparently. Have you gotten shorter?”

  I get a swift hit to the chest for that remark. I’m still laughing when she says, “I really have missed you. I’m sorry for not calling.”

  Shrugging, I reply, “You don’t owe me anything, Paige.”

  Suddenly she’s wrapped around me. Her arms squeeze me, and her head is tucked close to my chest. “I do. We almost lost you. I almost lost you to those maniacs.”

  My sister always had the biggest heart, but I’ve learned not to rely on anyone. She’s been dating a banker, also known as an asshole. Needless to say, I had to back out of dinners with them last year or I would have pummeled him. My sister may have a big heart, but she also has shit taste in men. She’s still my sister though. I wrap my arms around her. “I’m here.”

  With a twirl and excited jump, her joy in life is contagious. “Yes, you are. Mother said you would be here and you are.”

  Paige is unlike any other Cristley. I think that’s the reason I like her so much. She grabs my hand and pulls me deeper into the house. “Matty’s here. C’mon.”

  I’m dragged through the foyer into the main sitting room where my family gathers before dinner.

  My brothers are both here, talking about something they will never agree upon—money. Matty made his own money at the age of twenty-five. Always a geek for numbers, he found a pattern in the stock market, borrowed one hundred thousand dollars against his trust fund, and made millions. As a financial consultant, he now manages other people’s money. He doesn’t have to work, but he chooses to build his fortune versus spending it. The baseball cap he’s wearing is his way of rebelling, but his outfit reminds me of Forrest Gump. Standing in wrinkled khakis and a checkered button-up, he’s arguing dividends with Fredrick. He’s passionate about money, but more so in the theory of making it. I need to get him to spend some of it on new clothes.

  Unlike Fredrick, who sits in high command in the wingback chair my father reigns from, he doesn’t care how it’s made as long as he’s gaining from it.

  Paige flits into the room like a fairy. “Look who’s here.”

  My brothers turn at the same time. Their eyes land on me, but their expressions are a long way from each other’s�
�one happy, one not so much.

  “Hi,” I say, striding across the room.

  Matty, who’s about to turn twenty-nine, takes my offered hand and pulls me into a hug. “Good to see you, brother.”

  “You too.”

  Sitting on the arm of the sofa, he adds, “You’re looking well. Gained back your old muscle and more. You working out?”

  “A couple times a week. You?”

  “Every morning at five. I have to fit it in before I go to the office. Too crazy in the day to do it later.”

  Fredrick, at thirty-four, is the oldest Cristley sibling. According to him, birth order always matters and all decisions and privileges roll down hill from him. “What brings you by, John?”

  He refuses to call me Cruise. For some reason, or like every reason, it bothers him to use a nickname, even if I do identify with it more than my given name. “Our mother invited me.”

  “The Senator will be joining us later. He’s caught in a meeting downtown.” Fredrick works with my father. He’s in line to inherit the family business. He can have it. I never enjoyed politics or trusted anyone who did. Fredrick does.

  Since retirement, The Senator seems to be busier than ever running his business. I’m used to it though, so I ask, “Are Liza and Trevor joining us?”

  Trevor is my sister’s husband. I always liked him. I also felt sorry for him. He had a choice and he still chose to join the family.

  Paige replies, “She’s around here somewhere. Trevor is out of town. Shanghai. How exciting is that?”

  “Why is he there?”

  Padding across the room toward the door that leads to the dining room, she says, “New account.”

  She pushes through just as a woman I don’t recognize wearing a maid’s uniform comes in, and announces, “Dinner is served.”

  “I see some things don’t change.”

  Fredrick rises from his throne. “Not everyone is born with a taste for refinement.” Dig.

  “It’s not refined, it’s pretentious.” Asshole.

  He tugs at his lapels and pretends to ignore me. That’s fine. I’m happy to ignore him as well. When I enter the dining room, I find a seat with distance between us. I still see him, down on the other side, opposite end of the table from me. He glances my way.