Page 59 of One Bad Knight

I raced up the stairs, nearly tripping over Gatsby’s floppy sweatpants. In no time I’d thrown on a pair of my own shorts, one of my favorite oversized shirts that was covered in paint smears, and twisted my hair up into a clip. For the first time, I didn’t get the pang of shame dressing how I wanted to. Like I was finally allowed to be myself.

Back downstairs, I searched for Gatsby in the kitchen, but only Bear was there, gnawing on a rawhide bone. I looked around more until I returned to my uncle’s study and heard their voices filter into the hallway.

The door was ajar, enough for me to catch sight of Gatsby standing in front of my uncle, who sat at the desk.

“You can't get rid of me,” Gatsby said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"It’s all you, isn’t it? You’ve been influencing her to act wild, using her as bait. Trying to stir things up to attract attention? Make sure the demon comes for her, so you can have a chance to fight it again?”

Gatsby was oddly silent. I waited for him to explain that I wasn’t bait.

“How about I’ll tell her I’m using her as bait, when you tell her about Wanda. Explain why she left?”

Who was Wanda? My uncle’s wife’s name had been Patricia. But they weren’t talking about his runaway wife.

My uncle stood up; his hands flattened against his desk. “And when were you going to tell her that you’re the one who killed her father?”

I was about to push the door open and insert myself into the situation, when Gatsby’s words stopped me cold.

“She wouldn’t let me close if she knew that. I’ll tell her before I go.”

“After you’ve completed your mission?” my uncle asked with a scoff. “You really don’t care if the world burns, do you? You only care about ruining my campaign, and her future. She thinks you’re here for her, but we both know you came for me.”

“Guess you figured me out, John,” Gatsby said, saying my uncle’s name in a mocking tone.

I stumbled away from the door. My hand clutched at my stomach, as if it could tear out the writhing, nasty feelings.

Gatsby lied to me. He murdered my father.

And now, he wanted… my uncle?

My mind couldn’t grasp what Gatsby wanted with my uncle, but it slid right into the sticky tar pit of realization that he really had killed my dad. Slit his throat. Because he was an assassin. It’s what he’d been telling me, forcing down my throat; he was bad and would ruin my life.

If he hadn’t killed my father, I would never have had to go to the institution. My uncle and cousins wouldn’t have had to move in. I might have been able to have an entirely different life with the love of my father. I might have the sense to stay away from bad boys who could destroy me.

My vision blurred as I numbly walked back down the hallway. Betrayal seeped and sizzled into my bones. The realization I’d slept with my father’s murderer a number of times made me sick. I stumbled over to a large antique vase and rounded over it, heaving the contents of my stomach. Tears burned my eyes.

I really was stupid.

Almost everyone I had ever known wanted to get close to my uncle through me. Why was Gatsby any different? Did he want money? Power?

It didn’t matter.

It never mattered.

The only thing that mattered was how close I let someone get to me after a decade of guarding my innermost self. I let him shatter me, for what? For a devastatingly beautiful, fierce face, and someone who told me in no uncertain terms that he would never love me. A choked half sob, half laugh escaped me. I clapped a hand over my mouth.

I ended up in one of the half baths, washing the acid out of my mouth from the sink. My shaking hand managed to pour some mouthwash from the fancy decanter into one of the small glasses. I almost choked as I gargled it.

I was coming unhinged, and I almost yearned for the drugs they used to pump into me to keep my mind in a distant fog.

The blue liquid spattered against the white porcelain.

A cold clarity came over me. There was another way. A way to reclaim my independence and settle the score.

Without rinsing the sink out, I made my way toward the kitchen. Our chef had long gone, and it was clean, dark, and empty. I went to the knife block and pulled out the biggest one. The steel of the blade glinted. The cooks always kept the cutlery in prime sharpened condition.

I had to protect my family, my uncle, and my sanity. This time I’d make sure to kill the monster before it took anything else from me.