Page 54 of One Bad Knight

I couldn’t afford to stick around. And Kat didn’t want me here. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I melted into the shadows, leaving her in the hands of the people she’d chosen.

22

Kat

Iwoke up in my uncle's office, wrapped in a heavy fur blanket.

“There’s my girl,” my uncle John said from nearby. A cold glass pressed into my hand. I stared at the brown liquid over ice.

“It’s to help with the shock,” he said.

“Water,” I rasped, as I set the glass down on the coffee table with a shaky hand. I’d had enough alcohol to last a long time. The fuzziness was leaving my brain all too soon, but my heart pounded out of my chest as events in the garden came back to me in intense flashes.

The bite of the rose bushes. The image of my renegade angel throwing himself into danger to save me.

My uncle moved to get me a glass of water, which I greedily gulped down. Once I finished, I began to shiver uncontrollably.

Uncle John adjusted the blanket around my shoulders. “There, there. You’re safe now, Katherine. The hellhound is dead.”

“Gatsby?” I asked, terror striking my heart. I couldn’t remember him leaving. Had the demon dog gotten him? When had I passed out?

A frown tugged at my uncle’s mouth, making him look like an angry bass. He paused for a long moment as if calculating something. “He must have run off before we arrived with the police.”

When I told Gatsby to leave the night before, I’d been certain he’d never be back. I thought he’d get on his motorcycle without looking back.

My drug-addled brain made it hard to comprehend he had actually showed up, and it hadn’t been my imagination. I couldn’t feel his touch even as he checked me for injuries; I had gone numb. But I remembered the way his face closed off when I asked what he was doing there with me. And then I blinked, and he was gone.

I stroked a hand along my shoulder and arm, expecting to feel tiny wounds and scabs from the thorns that bit into me. I found smooth, unmarred skin. Had I imagined it?

My uncle spoke again, leaning back against the side of his desk. “Do you think you can tell me what happened? I managed to convince the police you would give your statement when you felt up to it. But I need to know.”

It spilled out. How Jimi spiked my drink and led me out into the garden to have some “fun.” Gatsby showed up and kicked his ass right before that hell-spawned creature tried to eat me.

Now that the drugs had worn off, the horror of what almost happened reared its ugly head with new reality. I could still feel Jimi’s slobbery lips, and how it felt like he was smothering me as he pushed my dress up. The unwanted flesh brushing against my inner thigh. I shuddered.

“The damn fool boy,” my uncle muttered, looking off at one of the massive bookcases. “I told him this was a business event, and to keep things professional.”

I blinked. “He drugged me.”

My uncle shifted, as if uncomfortable. “Well, he must have tried to help relax you. But I certainly don’t agree that this was the way to go about it.”

“Go about it?” The shivering in my body intensified. Everything drained away from my brain, leaving a single shard of glass.

“Yes, well I’m agreeing with you that he was being inappropriate. But that’s no one else’s business.” Hard interest glittered in his eyes. “Now would you mind telling me why Gatsby was there after you assured me you sent him away?”

That shard in my brain couldn’t be ignored. “Uncle. Jimi almost raped me.”

He scrunched his face up, as if I’d said something wildly inappropriate. “Katherine, let’s not talk like that. It’s unpleasant.”

I shot to my feet, visibly shaking as the blanket fell away. “You’re damn right it’s unpleasant. How can you act like this?”

By his wince, I could tell I was shouting.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s nothing. Like it’s no big deal.”

My uncle got to his feet and walked over to grab the whiskey from the desk. “Katherine, the poor boy is dead. No need to speak ill of the dead.”