Chapter Twenty
The smell of pain fills the air. Jonathan Scott is strung up by his wrists, shirtless and clearly beaten. His skin singed and turned black. How long have they been torturing him? By the dead look in Damon’s eyes, it’s been an eternity.
“What are you doing here?” Gabriel says when he sees us.
“Looking for you,” Avery whispers, clearly in shock. “How long have you been here?”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
She takes a step forward “Is this…a hospital?”
Jonathan Scott begins to laugh, a horrifying sound. Blood-tinged spittle flies onto the floor. “Does someone look sick to you, little girl?”
“You’re not looking very well at the moment,” she says.
“I’ve never been well, not really. Neither have you.”
Gabriel takes a step forward. “Don’t speak to her. You don’t fucking speak to her.”
“Gabriel,” she whispers. “What happened to him? Look at all the open wounds, the burns, the blood. Did you do all of this?”
Heavy scars mangle Jonathan Scott’s body.
“Some of it,” Gabriel says. “And don’t look so horrified. He doesn’t deserve your pity.”
“It doesn’t matter what he’s done, no one deserves that.”
“If you had a full accounting,” Damon Scott says, emerging from the shadows, “I think you would disagree. However, the stories aren’t fit for polite company.”
I take a step back, afraid to find out exactly how far gone he is. It’s one thing to know the man hanging from rope is evil. Another to see the man I love, his beautiful smile, his hollow eyes.
He pauses, as if he doesn’t want to frighten me. Too late, too late.
“Forty years ago they thought they could cure what was wrong with his brain.” Damon waves a hand at the abandoned hospital. “That enough heat or electricity or water could shock the crazy out of him.”
“That’s barbaric,” Avery gasps.
Gabriel examines the poker, its tip red and hot. “And ineffective.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
He tosses the poker down to the dirty floor. “I’m not trying to cure him.”
“You’re torturing him,” she says, her voice thick with tears. “It’s one thing to kill someone in self-defense. Even revenge. Another to hurt someone like this, to destroy them, to mutilate his body.”
Gabriel looks as cold as Damon. As broken. “Have I shocked you again, little virgin?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
I touch the back of her hand, my heart aching. I’ve only just found this family and it’s already breaking apart. “He’s trying to save you.”
She looks at me, uncertain. “How?”
“Yes, how?” Jonathan Scott says, looking almost playful. All those years ago I thought it was Damon who looked like his father, who sounded like him, but now the tables have turned. Now it’s Jonathan who looks eerily like his son, jovial and haunting. “Tell her how Gabriel Miller bought her and fucked her and keeps her locked away from the world, all in a desperate bid to save her pretty tits.”
“Get them out of here,” Gabriel mutters.
I’m not sure who he’s talking about until Damon steps towards me.
I take a step back. It’s Avery who says, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You really shouldn’t see this,” Gabriel says.
“It shouldn’t be happening! You’ve caught him. You have him. You can turn him over to the cops.”
“The chief of police is dear old Dad’s drinking buddy,” Damon says, his tone bored. “They liked to torture animals together while they watched the game on Sundays.”
Avery gasps.
“Did I say animals?” Damon says, glancing at me with a dark expression. “Sometimes dogs. Sometimes girls. Anyone who would scream.”
“Sometimes you,” Avery whispers.
He looks sharply at her. “He doesn’t deserve your compassion.”
“Maybe not, but what about Gabriel? What do you think this is doing to him?”
“You can’t save him, little virgin.”
“You should get Penny out of here,” Avery says. “She’s been through enough.”
He takes a step toward me. I back up, but he keeps coming. His hand grips my wrist.
“Come,” he mutters, dragging me behind him.
“I guess I was useful, after all,” I say as he leads me down the cracked path, taking me away from the mental hospital for the second time. It’s a small improvement that I can walk this time around. I know without asking that it’s not a coincidence.
“What?” he asks, his voice curt.
“I was the bait, after all,” I say, my voice small. “Not the one you used to find your father. The one he used to find you.”
Damon doesn’t answer.
It’s hard to say who actually won that battle. Damon may not be the one strung up by his wrists, his body tortured and raw, but his eyes look dead inside.
* * *
Damon brings me to the diner, which is about the strangest thing that’s happened to me in days. Which is really saying something. It’s surreal to see the flickering overhead lights and the cracked linoleum that were once so familiar.
“Why are we here?” I manage to ask.
“You must be hungry.”
“No.”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
I’m not sure I’ve actually eaten anything today. I was too nervous about the plan, too busy keeping an eye on Avery in case she tried to escape without me. “I’m not sure.”
His smile is a perfect baring of teeth. “Then let’s just say I’d like to feed you.”
He holds the door open for me in a parody of chivalry.
If he were truly a gentleman, we wouldn’t be in this place. It’s where people go when they’re tired and they can’t be bothered to go anywhere else.
With a gallant sweep of his arm he gestures to the corner booth.
The same booth where Jonathan Scott once ordered pie. A coincidence?
Swallowing down my disgust I sit on the hard booth, trying not to think about who once sat here. I know a million people have been here since then. A million people before him. It doesn’t stop the shiver that runs down my spine.
“Why didn’t we go to Gabriel’s house?” I ask, my voice low.
“This is closer,” Damon says, which is true.
But not the whole truth. “I won’t be going back there, will I?”
“Why would you? There’s no threat to you anymore.”
Jessica leaves the kitchen and sees us, her eyes wide. She grabs two mugs and a coffee pot from the counter, bringing them straight over. “What can I get you?” she asks, keeping her tone neutral. As if she doesn’t know how huge it is that I’m here with him.
“We’ll have a slice of pie,” Damon says, his voice clipped.
My breathing speeds up. This doesn’t feel coincidental. The same booth. The same order. Damon isn’t making me prepare his coffee, but this still feels like history repeating.
“Are you sure that’s all?” Jessica asks, her gaze meeting mine.
She’s asking if I need help. The offer sends a needle through my heart. We both know there’s not much she could do if I did need help, but it’s sweet to have friends.
“That’s all,” I tell her, forcing a small smile.
When she leaves there’s only silence. The muted shout of Ruth Mae as she gives Jackson grief. How many times have I heard those things? It feels so strange to be here, like I’m a puzzle piece that’s gotten wet, the cardboard expanded. I don’t quite fit anymore.
“How long were you in that place?”
“We staked it out for a week before he came back. There was a short struggle, but we had the upper hand.”
“So you’ve been torturing him for two weeks?”
He looks at me sharply, as if surprised I would mention something so indelicate, despite the fact that he still smells faintly of something burnt. “And would have gone on longer, if you hadn’t shown up.”
“Am I supposed to apologize?” I ask, feeling defensive.
“No,” he says, dismissing the idea. “That’s not necessary.”
I hate the tone he’s using with me, like I’m beneath his notice or care. It’s so far away from the low, seductive voice he gave me all those nights. But as much as his tone bothers me, his silence hurts worse. All the things he isn’t telling me. Leaving me in the dark.
Stripping away my dignity, exactly like his father did in this very booth.
“What happens now?” I ask, digging my nails into my palms.
Neither of us have touched the coffee mugs.
Jessica returns, giving me a worried glance as she sets down a slice of pie. Blueberry this time. Neither of us acknowledge it. After a quick nervous look at Damon, she returns to the kitchen.
“You can go back to your life,” Damon says, as casually as talking about the weather.
Once upon a time those words would have been met with relief. Now I can’t imagine anything more horrible. Not even green tiles and black water are worse than this. “What?”
“I’ve taken care of your father’s other debts,” he adds, like that’s my only objection.
“No.”
There’s a weighted pause, as if Damon’s giving me time to reflect on my disobedience. This is what he’s become all those days torturing his father, becoming him. Losing that final battle.
“I don’t believe you have a choice,” he says lightly.
“You said I would be yours. Yours to keep.”
“For as long as I want,” he says agreeably. “Time’s up.”
It shouldn’t be so hard to breathe outside the water. At least my gasp is silent, my pain private. “You said I would be yours to protect.”
“And you’re safe now. You can run back to your little boyfriend. What was his name? Brandon?”
“Brennan,” I say, tears stinging my eyes.
“Right. I’m sure he would love to fix your intimacy issues and give you a couple babies. You can live happily ever after.”
“That’s not what I want,” I say, my voice low.
“Oh, my sweet Penny. Where did you get the idea that matters?”