Throne of Truth

Penn wouldn’t find me.

David and Dad wouldn’t find me.

I truly was on my own.

Chapter Two

Penn

I THOUGHT THE night couldn’t get any worse.

I was wrong.

Served me right, seeing as my entire life I’d had the shittiest luck of anyone. If I took a risk, it backfired. If I spied an opportunity, it was a con. If I saw hope, it was always false.

So why I thought tonight couldn’t get any worse after Elle ran from the charity function, didn’t answer her phone, and refused to come to the door when I drove over to her place, I didn’t know.

This was my normal. I had to get used to it instead of being constantly surprised.

I’d returned home confused and fucked off with the entire world. I’d entered my building and climbed the steps to the renovated unit that I’d keep as my own while doing up the rest of the apartments for people transitioning from an existence on the streets back into the rat race we called life.

I had great plans for this place.

The chipped walls and leaky pipes didn’t faze me. I had the funds to invest in its foundation and décor, and I couldn’t fucking wait until the building crew had finished their current project in lower Manhattan and could work exclusively on mine.

My thoughts bounced between my past and Elle as I stalked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of vodka on the rocks.

Carrying my drink to my bedroom, I didn’t bother to undress. I merely kicked off my shoes, shrugged out of the silver blazer, and unbuckled my belt. The rest—a white shirt, silver tie, and metallic slacks remained on as I climbed onto the bed, sipped a sharp mouthful of liquor, and pulled the bag containing Elle’s lingerie and sex toys from our first night together toward me.

I couldn’t fucking wait to use the toys on her, but now, she’d run away. She’d run before I could tell her, then refused to have anything to do with me. Her door remained closed, her phone unanswered.

If I was honest, the anvil wedged where my heart should be made me ache. But I’d known we couldn’t have a future. I’d banked on it. I’d hunted her knowing full well I would take what I wanted and then leave.

But that was before the chocolate mousse and the limo and the gala.

Each time I saw her, it got harder and harder to keep my emotions from spilling.

The fake engagement, the bullshit...all of it was gone. Just like Elle.

Fuck.

Exhaustion from all the years I’d been planning this finally caught up with me. I swigged the rest of my drink before my eyes could close.

I would rest tonight.

Tomorrow, I would apologize, accept her verbal lashing, and then walk out of her life for good.

The plan wasn’t a good one but having it helped calm my messy thoughts.

I reclined against my pillows and vanished into sleep, just as Elle had vanished from my life for the second time.

* * * * *

Sleep began quickly and ended suddenly.

Just like I should’ve expected more shitty things to happen, I should’ve seen this coming.

But I hadn’t because I was a fucking idiot.

I woke to a fist to my jaw, jarring me from chaotic dreams into manic reality.

Another fist landed on my solar plexus, stealing my oxygen, making me gasp.

Another fist to my jaw followed by a double jab to my stomach.

What the fuck?

Two men, four pummels, one of me.

I curled up on the mattress, protecting my head while they fucking beat me. Hip, chest, ribs, temple.

Wash and repeat.

I lost count how many blows they delivered or how many aches flared into being from new injuries and old. My past meant I’d taken a beating a few times while others I’d done the nasty work.

Bones never forgot, though.

They heated some nights in remembrance. They ached on others in punishment.

I was a walking shambles of bones and lies, and these cunts had let themselves into my place to attack me while I was unconscious.

There was no way to retaliate without being knocked out. So I waited, grunting with agony, as they struck again and again.

Finally, when I didn’t move or threaten to kill them, the bastards stopped their rain of pain, whispering to each other as I lay in my stupid little ball.

Spying an opportunity to fight back, I pushed aside the blazing discomfort and launched upright.

I always could move fast.

They didn’t see it coming.

I landed an uppercut on one asshole’s jaw and a side-kick to the other dickhead in the groin. “You fucking come into my place and hurt me?”

They stumbled backward, holding body parts.

I half-leapt, half-collapsed off my bed, fists raised. “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”

The bigger guy of the two cracked his neck, rearranging his beefy body. He swiped at his lower lip where his teeth had sliced him from my uppercut. “You’ll pay for that.” He launched himself at me.

I met him head-on, fists to fists, kicks to kicks, but they’d already stripped my strength, and there were two of them.

His punches landed too often, whittling away my power.

“Hey, fucker,” the smaller guy said with a balaclava over his face. “Lie down, or we’ll knock you out.”

The larger grunted something I couldn’t hear, his face covered with acne scars and a chin strap. He decked me hard, ringing my skull with church bells, swiping my balance until the room spun.

I wobbled backward against the mattress.

I tried to blink it away—to keep fighting. But a solid punch to my chest sent me soaring into horizontal.