Page 50 of One Bad Knight

But I love you.

A tightness twisted in my chest, bearing down against the confession. Against the words I’d never said, much less thought or felt before her.

My own words returned to me.

Love wasn’t real, it was a manipulation, and I was about to try and manipulate her. I wouldn't do it. I wouldn’t be that person.

Before I was aware of what I was doing, my feet carried me backward. Part of me expected her to reach for me, stop me. To say she changed her mind and then ask me to stay, to crawl in her bed and make love to her.

But her chin never dropped, and her stance never softened. Kat had made up her mind. She’d made her choice, and I wasn’t it.

You are the leftover scraps of greatness. No one would ever choose you,my master’s voice whispered.

I crossed the room, opened the door and left. I left Kat behind, along with the burning remnant of the only dream I ever had.

* * *

I almost didn’t noticeit. Striding across the grounds of Kat’s house toward where I’d hidden my motorcycle, I was completely entrenched in my traitorous feelings. But no matter how wrapped up I was, the hairs lifted from the back of my neck. A dark heat followed me. I was being stalked.

I felt the hate radiating from a set of eyes that could only be born from the fiery hell of the Stygian.

A beast was summoned to keep me away from Kat, to kill me if need be. The monster sent it. But Kat didn’t want my help. I was ruining her life, and I realized she was right.

The beast wouldn’t hurt Kat.

But I’d been using her as bait, and for my own selfish purposes. I was the true monster here, and the farther I got away from her, the better she would be.

And I could go back to what I knew best. Being on my own. Which was how I liked it.

20

Kat

The smile on my face was plastic. Everything felt forced, from my walk, to the pleasantries I exchanged, to the very breath in my body. But I stayed glued to Jimi’s arm throughout the function put on at the Denver Botanic Gardens.

The long tent was covered in shining fairy lights, and impressive sculptures were lit up against the decorative hedges. The night air occasionally cut through the tent and swept out the overpowering perfumes of the attending ladies. The two small bars on either end could hardly keep up with the demand for booze, but the bartenders knew how to serve with a smile on their face as their tip jars nearly overflowed with crisp bills.

Jimi did exactly what Uncle John said he would. He flashed that million-dollar smile and oozed charm until people forgot to look at me with disdain or outright disgust.

With him by my side, it didn’t seem to matter to anyone that John Hart’s niece and surrogate daughter’s outrageous behavior was splashed all over the news and social media. Jimi knew exactly what buttons to push to get people to focus on what was important. Politics, and him.

I’d attended a hundred of these parties, but this time I couldn’t seem to get control of my breath. I kept holding it in, like I couldn’t let it out once the night was finally over. But there were several more hours to go, so I continued to suffocate.

I longed to duck out of the tent, into the night and follow a path to a secluded corner of the gardens where no one could find me, but I stayed and performed my duty. I was the docile, agreeable, elegant niece who was so grateful her uncle had taken her in after being tragically orphaned. My uncle even chose my dress for the occasion. A black, one-shoulder velvet dress. One of my arms had a sleeve that went all the way to my wrist, leaving the other completely bare. It was perfect sophistication, making me look more grown up and serious with its straight, modern lines of design. To accommodate the hot weather, a slit rose on one side to give my legs breathing room.

This was so much harder than I expected. It was like I could see the prison I was stepping back inside of, after experiencing freedom for a brief time. I hadn’t realized I'd even been in one until Gatsby showed back up in my life. Though I’d embarrassed myself and my family, I’d never felt so like myself as I had the last several days.

And now that I had to show up again and play my given role, it squeezed around me like a vice.

All the right things came out of my mouth, but I couldn’t stop the insistent thoughts that pressed down on me.

“We appreciate your vote for my uncle.”

I don’t want to be here.

“Thank you for your donation.”

I’m suffocating.