King's Horses

by Lana Sky

  One seat?

  The receiver slips from my grip, landing on the desk. I can hear Ronan calling for me, but nothing registers over the rage surging through my veins, deafening me. I’m racing into the foyer before I know it, catching him heading toward the elevator.

  “I’ll have a car sent around seven to bring you to the…” He stiffens at my expression. When I form a fist and smash it against his chest, he doesn’t even flinch.

  “One seat?” I shout. “One goddamn seat?”

  “It’s all I could risk,” he says, not even trying to hide it. “With my position already in peril, I would have been laughed out of the building if I’d proposed to restore two Hollingses now. I made a calculated move by installing Hunter first. I always intended to add Ronan when I could afford to spend the capital.”

  “A move,” I echo. “Perhaps a better word is a game. Another way for you to watch my brothers fight over their goddamn birthright.”

  Danger flashes in his eyes. “And what about my birthright, Snow?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit, stepping back. “I don’t even know who you are anymore. You aren’t Brandt Lloyd.”

  Anger. It hardens him like nothing else, twisting his features into a chilling mask. “And who do we have to thank for that?”

  I shake my head, blinking rapidly. “I won’t let you make me spend the rest of my life apologizing. Not after everything you’ve done to me!”

  “Then don’t,” he says, his teeth gritted. “And I won’t dare expect you to give me anything else. Feel free to leave, Snow.”

  Exasperation forms a pathetic response. “I don’t want to fight. I just… I just want you to stop pushing me away.”

  He turns, heading for the door. “Stop letting me.” Then the elevator doors open and close with him behind them and he’s gone.

  I don’t storm from the penthouse, crying tears of despair. I pace instead, tearing at my hair as I run over every word. Every phrase. Every kiss and fuck and touch. My parting words ring truer than ever: Stop pushing me away.

  And his are equally enlightening.

  Stop letting me.

  God, everything about him feels like a test. A game. How far can he push me before I run? Before I break? How far can Snowy bend before she lets him down again?

  A part of me rails at the treatment. How dare he dangle trust like a carrot he’ll never let me have? But there’s the true heart of the matter: I did have it once. By all intents and purposes, I threw it away.

  But that doesn’t mean I deserve this. Or do I?

  Doubt haunts me every fucking minute I stay within these walls. Rather than leave, I’m driven farther into the maze of rooms, eventually finding my way inside the navy one. Without thinking, I finger an emerald gown and then rip it from the hanger. Another. A whole damn rack of clothing tossed onto the floor. I once thought these pieces of silk and satin made me who I was—Snowy Hollings. But who am I really?

  A rumpled pile of couture gowns can’t tell me.

  Panting, I work my way through the entire closet, grasping, tearing, throwing. Fittingly, the last dress I reach for holds the most significance.

  I have no idea how he found it—or if he even looked inside the black garment bag. I hid it at the very back of my old wardrobe, if only to stop myself from trying it on every five damn minutes.

  My fingers shake as I undo the zipper now, freeing the dress for the first time in months. As always, an appreciative gasp catches in my throat. This floor-length creation of white silk was my dream wedding dress. Ironically, I chose it without my fiancé in mind. It was the gown of a fairytale princess, with lace sleeves, a sloping neckline, and a body-hugging bodice. In lieu of a veil, I intended to wear flowers in my hair, otherwise adorned only by my wedding ring.

  But that was then. Now, it’s just another worthless item, but I stop shy of tossing it aside. Instead, I carry it into the bathroom like a spoil of war.

  If Blake Lorenz wants to play a game of guilt and blame, then I’ll take the next round.

  Carefully, I drape my gown over the counter. Then I face my reflection, eyeing the woman staring back. Her eyes are reddened, but she hasn’t cried yet. Gritting my teeth, I ensure that she won’t.

  Then I turn to the shower and run the water as hot as I can stand it.

  Hot like hellfire.

  Chapter 16

  The fact that I find a car waiting for me at seven feels more like an ominous warning than a gesture of good faith. I shiver as the driver ushers me into the back seat, taking care to ensure that my dress doesn’t get caught in the door.

  A ten-minute drive later, we arrive before an exclusive venue on the outskirts of Mayfield. Blake didn’t pick just any event to stage his apparent innocence. He chose the Hollings-sponsored benefit gala—an event that once was the mainstay of our societal events. It blows my mind that I forgot about it in all the chaos.

  Despite—or perhaps because of—the rumors swirling around its newest board president, reporters are out in droves tonight, positioned near the entrance of the ballroom behind metal barricades. The moment I step from the car, a frenzy of flashing cameras and shouted questions ensues.

  Apparently, my date decided against meeting me at the door tonight. So I enter alone, using one hand to maneuver the skirt of my dress while advancing with my head held high. A pair of ushers dressed in tuxedos allow me inside and I join the fray, a fallen princess among a sea of watchful enemies.

  My most daunting opponent doesn’t use stealth or violence to unnerve me tonight, however. I find him in the foyer, directing guests, his smile gallant. Until he spots me, that is, and his mouth falls into a hard line that takes my breath away.

  His narrowed gaze slices through my delicate ensemble like a razor, ripping down to the bone underneath. I can’t stop my fingers from self-consciously covering my breasts, and the motion only makes a muscle in his jaw lurch. Two involuntary steps take him away from the pretty woman in a red cocktail dress he’d been directing, and I can tell he intends to turn back, ignore this slight.

  But he can’t. Not when I’ve been this fucking brazen.

  “I take it that no other option was suitable?” he murmurs, snatching my wrist the moment he’s close enough while positioning his body so that no one else can see the possessive motion.

  Up close, I sense just how angry he really is. Fury bellows from his nostrils, mingled with every harsh exhale he takes. His fingers twitch against my skin, reminding me of his earlier confession: I see that girl and I want to crush her.

  “Tell me I look beautiful,” I command him, my voice weak. Beautiful even quaking with rage and pain. Beautiful even in another man’s wedding dress.

  Something chilling alights his features as his mouth cocks into a cruel excuse for a smile. “You always look beautiful,” he declares. “Fucking beautiful.”

  “Now, kiss me.” I can’t stop my teeth from skewering my lower lip as his attention turns to it. “Make it good, darling. Good enough to convince everyone here that I don’t want to strangle you or that you don’t want to…” More-than-strangle me. God, the violence promised in his gaze is too horrifying to give voice to. “Think you can manage that?” I settle on daring.

  He scoffs. The next second, I’m in his arms, his palm pressed against my lower back, burning me through satin and lace. His mouth claims mine without warning, his teeth gnashing my tongue when no one can see. I jump at the sharp pinch, but he growls in answer, licking at the claimed flesh. I’m gasping as he pulls away and lowers his mouth to my ear.

  “And when do I get to rip this fucking dress from your body and show you just how beautiful I think you really are?”

  I swallow hard and brace my hand against his chest to find enough leverage to back away a single step. “After you make some speech filled with lies about how much I mean to you. How much you care about me. How much—” I suck in a breath. Damn it. My eyes burn, blinking frantically. I force air into my lungs and soldier on. “How much you love me
. Go on. This is my company too. I don’t want to see it ruined. But, after this, I’ve given you everything.”

  And he couldn’t even give me one promise to cling to.

  “Snow—” He grips my arm tighter when I try to pull away. “You wait for me,” he demands, his tone rough. “I’ll know if you don’t and I swear I’ll come after you and drag you back. You wait for me.”

  I pull away, breathing rapidly as I delve deeper into the crowd, imagining him hunting every step I take. But when I finally turn to get my bearings, he’s gone. I’m alone in a realm of unfamiliar faces all jostling for a look at the woman with bloodshot eyes in a beautiful dress.

  “You certainly know how to make an entrance.”

  I flinch as someone loops their arm around mine. Sloane. She’s cutting a stunning figure in a black gown almost as revealing as the one I wore at the auction.

  She tugs me confidently through the center of the room, smirking as we draw attention with every head turned. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  A hitch snuck into her voice. Perhaps I stole her chance at the spotlight once again? I don’t have the energy to decipher her motives. Instead, I let her parade me around like a shiny token, unable to avoid my “date” for the evening.

  It’s like he positions himself to constantly remain in my line of sight though he never once looks my way. He mingles, and laughs, and talks up a room of people who secretly think him to be a predator. As charming as he can be, however, none of them dare say as much to his face. I now understand why he’s maintained his precarious spot at the company for so long when any other man would have been driven out for less scandal.

  He’s Blake Lorenz and the world has no choice but to acknowledge that fact. He spins lies so emphatically that you start to question the visible truth.

  “You’re distracted tonight,” Sloane teases, her breath tinged with her fourth glass of champagne. “Do tell. Do tell.”

  “Why?” I disentangle my arm from hers, unconvinced by her playful frown. “So that whatever I say can show up in tomorrow’s papers?”

  She winces. “I’m sorry. Beautiful Snowy, desired by all. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  Something in her tone draws my attention. Pain? Whatever it is, she dispels it with a charming grin. “Don’t be too upset?”

  “Why Daniel?” I find myself asking. “I know you… I know—”

  “I was never the one he wanted,” she says, her gaze fixed somewhere far beyond this room, I suspect.

  “What are you saying?”

  She stiffens and shakes her head before plastering a fake smile onto her otherwise blank expression. “Nothing. Oh, he looks dangerous.”

  I follow the line of her gaze, confused by the statement. Oh God. Marching onto a raised dais serving as a makeshift stage, his eyes aglow, Blake Lorenz looks more than dangerous.

  He looks insane, hunting for me in the crowd as he takes the microphone.

  “I’d like to make an announcement,” he declares, and it’s as if the whole world stops, turns, and waits.

  Dread forms a weight around my heart, growing heavier with every second he holds my gaze. So many unspoken words pass between us in this instant, which terrify me when he finally opens his mouth again.

  “Thank you all for coming. Especially given current…rumors swirling around myself.”

  An audible murmur runs through the crowd. Like any manipulative bastard, he knows the best way to capture every ear here—through intrigue and spectacle.

  Satisfied by his captive audience, he continues. “With that in mind, I’d like to start off this night by announcing that not only will I be pledging a generous donation to the Haven Project, but I am officially making Hollings Incorporated a designated benefactor of such an amazing charity.”

  A part of me bristles at how easily he utilized my donation for his own needs. Does the man have no ounce of shame? Or perhaps he does. There’s something in his gaze that sends my heart hammering against my chest. Something raw and real, impossible to ignore: guilt. He doesn’t hide it from me for once. He lets me in, allowing me closer than I’ve ever been to the emotions he guards, even while across a spacious ballroom.

  “Haven and the ideas it represents mean more to me than a worthy cause,” he continues, his voice thick. “Rape, sexual abuse, and assault are the taboo deeds we usually regulate to tabloids of sordid news stories. But you and I know the dirty, dark secret lurking in most homes, even here in Mayfield. The black eye you use makeup to disguise. The bruises we can’t explain away. The illicit touches we excuse because it hurts too much to call it what it is…” He looks at me directly and so many words spill into the air between us.

  A million secrets.

  A hundred memories.

  Perhaps a single, earnest apology.

  It feels like an eternity passes this way—but in the end, it must be no longer than a few seconds. Clearing his throat, he turns to the crowd still hung on his every word. “It hurts. So you turn your shame and embarrassment into anger, and you direct it at the people who mean the most to you.”

  I inhale sharply, steeling myself for what he might confess next. His tormented expression claims it’s brutal.

  “When I… When I was assaulted,” he says hoarsely to audible gasps of shock that erupt throughout the room, “I blamed myself. I blamed the people who I thought were supposed to protect me. And I punished them and myself. But now I realize, even after the physical abuse was over, by continuing to hate, I was only destroying myself and continuing to be a victim instead of a survivor. It’s organizations like Haven that offer resources to help young boys and girls who felt as powerless and helpless, as I once did, move on from being victims to survivors… Thank you.”

  He leaves the stage in a rush as my mind spins, a whirlwind of agony. He meant it, every word. I may not know the man he’s become, but I knew Brandt. I knew that tortured look in his gaze, lingering just long enough for him to tell his secrets to me. Only me. I remember the nights his father antagonized him the most. And I remember what snippets of his ordeal in prison Blake Lorenz let slip: Once, they tried to show him what rape was, Snow.

  “Heavy stuff,” Sloane murmurs beside me, snapping me back to the present. She downs her last glass of champagne and grabs my arm. “Come. I want to get fresh air.” She’s in the process of fishing a cell phone from the cleavage of her dress. It’s buzzing, and she frowns at the number before stowing the item back in place. “Come.”

  “But…” My gaze tears from regal figure to figure, hunting for a familiar face.

  There. He’s fixated on me, slowly pushing his way through the crowd. They part adoringly. By baring his soul, he’s won their fickle hearts over. But mine?

  “Just five minutes,” Sloane pleads, tugging me forward.

  I expect her to head for one of the terraces overlooking a courtyard with a bubbling fountain. Instead, she takes a turn down a winding hallway and shoulders a metal door open.

  “Where are we?” My nose wrinkles in the blisteringly cold air. Rather than a beautiful, scenic view of one of the venue’s gardens, I make out the shape of a dumpster and a white van parked along a narrow alley. It must be a service entrance of some kind.

  Giggling, Sloane tugs me forward, forcing me to heft the skirt of my gown with my free hand.

  “Where are we going…” Motion catches the corner of my eye. Then pain. Wham!

  Stars float across my vision. The world tilts violently sideways, and something firm catches my fall. I throw my arms out, a desperate attempt to get my bearings.

  Then blackness.

  Chapter 17

  Consciousness returns in slow, painful drips, and only snippets of sound give me context to my surroundings. I’m lying flat, tasting salt. Night air nips at my skin as the faint roars of traffic allude to the fact that I’m outside. Near the gala?

  Scuffling footsteps bolster that suspicion. I recognize the distinct click of high heels, echoed by a heavier, steadier set of
footfalls.

  “What…what are you doing?” a woman demands, her thickening accent betraying her fear. Sloane?

  I try turning in her direction, but my limbs won’t obey. My head feels too heavy. Agony shoots through my skull, focused around a single, throbbing point. God…was I struck with something?

  “You weren’t supposed to hurt her! You were just supposed to—”

  A sudden crack echoes and the woman goes silent. Alarm doesn’t even have the chance to sink into my limbs before a sound like a car engine revs into gear and the world sways beneath me. Someone has my arm in a vise grip, using it like a leash to shove me against a firm surface. I scramble to regain my bearings, running my fingers over an uneven material in a desperate bid to place it. Soft. Rugged. Carpeting?

  “Don’t move.” An unfamiliar touch shocks my cheek.

  That voice…

  “Not so fast,” I’m warned when I attempt to move. Something chafes against my eyelids when I try to open them, obscuring my vision. “If you can hear me, just nod.”

  Swallowing hard, I do, once.

  “Good.”

  The pressure withdraws, and my heart races as I try to settle on a possible culprit. Ronan? Hunter? Again, I’m sure I know that voice, but my throbbing head fails to come up with a name. Someone gruff, nervous…well-spoken?

  “You’ll be safe, as long as you do what I say,” my captor warns, furthering the mystery.

  Licking my lips, I risk his ire to ask, “Who…who are you?”

  There’s no reply. Silence mingles with the perpetual sirens that wail throughout the city and my fear only grows. We’re moving, I realize. Fast. Away from the venue to somewhere unknown. In a car or a van?

  “Where are you taking me?” I croak, trying once again to probe for answers.

  For the second time, I receive no response. In its absence, my headache worsens, and pain feeds a million dangerous suspicions.

  “Someone offered me more, Little Hollings,” Lyle Harlow claimed.