Page 31

He exhales slowly. “I know a guy.”

I lift an eyebrow, turning my head to look at him. “Do you have a guy for everything?”

He doesn’t answer.

My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, and extra bitter. “Of course you do. But you won’t answer, because that was a question, and those are forbidden. Please forgive me, your highness.”

It’s immature, but he doesn’t flinch at my sarcasm. He doesn’t even make a face. He just clicks another folder and watches it deny him access.

“Might take a day or two,” he says. “That’sifhe agrees to do me the favor.”

“And in the meantime?” I cross my arms, accidentally elbowing him in the process. “So we just sit here and give Brett a chance to get my daughters? Or pull Ebony into all this?”

King doesn’t answer right away. He leans back slightly, which moves my elbow out of his way. He stares at the cursor, which blinks like a warning.

“Are there any records at the house? Documents, files, anything we can use?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Probably. I’ve never gone through his office. I don’t know what he keeps in there.”

“We need to go through it. There’s gotta be something there.”

“But…I don’t wanna go back to that house,” I murmur.

“We don’t have a choice,” he says, and it sounds like he’s tempering the aggression in his voice. “You’re safe, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He finally turns his head to look at me. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The silence that follows is thick, but not heavy. Just…charged.

Then he asks, “Why’d you leave your daughters’ doors unlocked last night?”

I stiffen immediately, shame washing over me like a wave. I close my eyes. My stomach rumbles.

“Do you think I’m a bad mother?”

He answers without hesitation. “I think you’re a great mother.”

The words hit me hard. I open my eyes to see if he means that, but his eyes are locked on his screen again as if it’s easier for him not to meet my gaze.

“I just wonder,” he continues, “why…why you trusted me. With them.”

I lower my head, staring at my hands clasped together in my lap. “It’s kind of embarrassing to admit this, honestly. I don’t really know how to explain it. I guess I just…I felt like we were safe with you. Something in me knew you wouldn’t hurt them. Or me.” I shake my head. “It sounds so stupid. Ifeelstupid.”

He’s quiet again, but I feel his gaze settle on my face, his stare pointed and sharp, like he’s reading through layers of me that I don’t even understand myself.

“I wasn’t thinking straight,” I say quickly. “I’m usually on top of everything related to them. I just…I just knew.”

He studies me for a moment, then he says it. It’s so quiet I almost miss it.

“I never had a mother.”

The words make my breath hitch.

“I grew up in group homes,” he continues, his eyes staring at something on the screen. “I joined the military the second I turned eighteen so I could get the hell out of there. Be free.” He shrugs. “I needed to be around people who gave a fuck about me, even if the only reason was because we were all trying not to die together.”

My voice is small when it comes out. “What was it like?”

Minutes tick by. The screensaver takes the place of the file explorer. A beach and beautiful sunset stare back at us.

“Boys’ homes are hell on earth,” he finally says. His voice sounds different. Distant. “Nobody cares if you get hurt. Nobody stops the bigger boys from terrorizing the small ones. It’s part of the experience, it seems. You either learn to fight, or you suffer.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “I learned to fight.”