Page 49 of Safe (King’s Heart #1)

Landon

I finagle my body through the slender space between the iron pickets of the gate surrounding the property and begin the long trek up the driveway to his uncle’s house.

I run, my legs pumping as hard as they can, kicking up the gravel until I make it to the paved portion of the driveway.

My heart pounds inside my chest, threatening to burst right out of my body.

But I need to get to him. If he’s even here.

Taking the city bus to the nearest stop, then walking because this house is so far out of town, made the journey so much longer, but it’s the only transportation I have. Anything could’ve happened in that extra time.

I swiftly pass the angel, stonily staring out at the grounds.

She looks especially ethereal tonight. The house behind her rises up in an ominous fashion, looming against the twilight, looking much more threatening than the last time I saw it.

Despite how immaculate it seems now, I can still feel the decay wafting off of it.

When I was last here, at the party, I was too distracted by the masses of people pouring in and out of it. Now, by myself, the house howls with pain. Years of it.

When I reach the hulking door, I pause for a second. It’s deathly quiet outside—even the crickets are quiet and hiding.

I reach for the knob and turn it, finding it unlocked.

I’m not sure if I have absolutely zero self-preservation, or if my intuition is telling me something important, but I walk into the house. Uninvited by anyone, quietly stepping against the dark flooring.

I try to listen for any disturbances, fighting against the silence to hear anything.

There’s the faintest muffle of a sound. I can’t place what it is, but I follow it, leading me up the refinished stairs and standing outside a room that I wish I wasn’t so familiar with.

That same impending sense of doom prickles at my brain, sending an uncomfortable wave of chills along my skin.

The sound is louder now. Yelling. A sadness twisted through the sound. Choking it to death.

I go inside and immediately see the nightstand next to the bed, haphazardly moved to the side, the door to that passage thrown open.

I swallow. I don’t want to fucking go in there. But then the distinct cadence of Grant’s voice rises from the yelling.

Without any more thought, I rush the passage, squeezing my body inside and crawling through, noting how much tighter of a fit it is as I hear his voice get louder and louder surrounded by that same buzzing lightbulb I remember.

I look at the path before me, watching the light at the opposite end get larger with each slide of my knees against the dusty boards, until I make it to the end.

I poke my head out and two sets of eyes jump to me.

“Landon.” Grant’s panicked face crumples in front of me. “Landon. Please. Go away.” His voice is harsh, trembling as he pulls his eyes away from me.

“Oh, thank god! You have to help me! He’s crazy!” his uncle yells.

“Shut the fuck up,” he grits back at him, giving a harsh jerk of the arm he has extended in his direction.

And then my eyes start to focus on the whole picture, zooming out to lay the scene in front of me.

The same room Grant trapped me in all those years ago. And despite the rest of the house getting a facelift, this one didn’t. It has the same peeling wallpaper, weathered even more in the time that has passed.

The one thing that’s changed is the rocking horse. It’s been replaced. Gone is the demon horse, and in its place is a newer one, painted a rich brown with gleaming green jewels for eyes.

Grant stands close by it, imposing and vibrating with anger, face covered in tears, with his hand gripping a gun pointed right at his uncle, who cowers on the ground next to him.

I stand slowly, careful not to spook anyone and keep my voice soft. “Grant. Grant. Baby.” He flicks his eyes to me, just for a moment, before putting them back on the whimpering mess in front of him.

“Landon, please.” Tears continue streaming over his cheeks as he stares at Mr. Nate. “You have to go. He-he deserves this.”

“Why?”

He wildly shakes his head, still keeping his eyes on his uncle, his lower lip trembling the tiniest bit, before a snarl takes its place. “He was never gonna stop.” It’s an angry whisper, hot with resentment and rage.

“Stop what?”

Grant shakes his head again, sniffing as he leans closer to his uncle, pressing the barrel to the middle of his forehead, which draws more wails from him. “Tell him,” Grant orders quietly. “Tell him what you did. What you still do.”

Mr. Nate doesn’t move, but he whimpers again and turns his eyes as far as they can go to look at me. “Landon! Landon! He’s crazy. You’ve gotta help me, please!”

Grant reaches for the gun, cocking it with his opposite hand. The sound echoes around the room, instantly quieting his uncle who devolves into frenzied whispers to let him go.

When I look back up at Grant’s face, all the emotion has fallen off of it. He blankly looks at his uncle. “It was the only way to get him to leave me alone.”

I don’t say anything back, sensing that he might just want to talk.

“It hadn’t happened that many times. Maybe three. I blocked most of it out. And then one day, I got the flu. I was so sick. I couldn’t stop puking.”

He smiles sadly, looking over at me with fresh tears rimming his eyes. “He didn’t touch me. He didn’t come near me that whole time. It was… so peaceful. So I kept doing it after I got better. Making myself sick. I had to keep myself safe, Lan. Even if I was killing myself in the process.”

Realization dawns on me. Of what his uncle did. Of what the court case is for. Of what Grant had to do as a ten-year-old kid just to survive in this house. My heart shatters. A million pieces splinter and fall inside my body, razor-sharp edges slicing and cutting me on the way down.

I nod and take a slow step toward him. His eyes watch the movement, but he says nothing, staring sadly at me for another moment before swinging his eyes back toward his uncle.

“The deposition?” I ask hesitantly.

Grant and his uncle both look at me with slightly puzzled faces. “Someone came by the dorm with a subpoena,” I explain.

Some of the anger returns to his eyes, making them glow brightly as he glares at his uncle.

“He wanted me to lie for him. Again. To tell those people that he could never do what he’s being accused of.

” He digs the barrel of the gun harder into his uncle’s forehead, making him wince.

“I went through this before, with some other boy that he…” His voice trails off and he starts again.

“I either lie like last time or I’d have to tell the truth.

Tell someone about what he did to me. He knows I couldn’t do that.

He fucking knows that. No one can fucking know what happened to me. ”

A sob catches in his throat, his arm shaking from the pressure he’s putting on it.

“Well, fuck that.” He lets out a mirthless laugh.

“I’m not doing it again. Or any other time.

Because no matter what he says, this won’t be the last time it happens.

He will always find desperate people. People who will think that he’s such a nice, understanding boss when he tells them, ‘Oh, of course you can bring your son to work with you. I can even watch him.’ It’ll always fucking happen.

” He lets out a deep breath and straightens. “But not anymore.”

I take another step toward him. “Grant. I need you to give me the gun, baby.”