“A debutante ball, where do you think?”
Effie heard the agitation in her mom’s voice.
“Mom, I have to go on a work trip for a conference. It’s really sudden, I just found out today. Can you take care of Yaya? We’re… we’re out of thyme. And maybe oregano.”
“Effie, seriously? Now isn’t a good time. You don’t live with Thorne yet, you know. You live here. With us. Where you have responsibilities.”
What the hell else are you doing besides locking yourself up in the house all day and watching television?
“I’m sorry, but this is really important for my career—”
“You’re a glorified pet groomer, Effie. What kind of emergency could it be?” Effie heard the slam of the phone on the other end. Sometimes she thought her mom kept a landline just for that purpose.
“Screw it,” she said. She started up her car and tried to decide where to go.
It was getting dark and the roads back to her place would be at a crawl for rush hour by now. She would need someplace to go that was outside of town. She thought about renting a hotel, but the idea of spending a lot of cash when the future was so uncertain unnerved her. She went through a few ideas and discarded a few places, and then hit on a possible answer.
The Smith family cabin.
King had taken her countless times in high school to his family’s little local getaway in the hills. She’d lost her virginity there.
Effie rustled through the glove box, and hoped against hope that the little spare key box contained the cabin key. She grabbed the keys, and almost sighed with relief when she saw it.
A big golden key, labeled “Cabin”, hung on a little pine tree keyring.
She pulled out of the parking lot, her destination set in stone.
By the time she pulled into the gravel lot, it was dark. But walking into the familiar cabin with its soaring cathedral ceilings, she was instantly comforted by the warmth. Effie lit a fire and dug through the wine reserve for a rich dessert wine. Something that would get her drunk and still nuzzle her with sugar.
She curled up next to the fire and wrapped herself in a heavy wool Pendleton blanket. Just as she got comfortable though, the image of Thorne fucking some strange woman came into Effie’s brain and wouldn’t leave.
All right, she told herself begrudgingly. You can cry a little. Just for a few minutes.
She started to think about how entangled she and Thorne were, about how much she had allowed herself to rely on him for… well, everything. Sorting it out would be next to impossible.
And that wasn’t even taking into account their upcoming nuptials. Only last week, they’d put a deposit down on a venue for the reception.
Jesus, what a mess!
By the time she’d finished half the bottle, she was all cried out. Exhausted, she fell asleep as the light from the flames flicked across her swollen face.
2
King
King groaned and rolled over in bed. The coolness of the silk sheets did nothing to ease the pain. He winced as he felt the bruises blossom, fresh and new, across his ribs. As he pushed himself up, the numbness sleep offered wore off completely.
King stood in front of the mirror, framed in thick wood to complement the family cabin, and examined his ribs. In some areas, they almost completely covered some of his ink and turned his tattoos into shadowy figures.
As he ran his hands across the ripples of his stomach, he felt a touch of pleasure blend with the pain.
“That’s the price you pay,” he told his reflection.
The gray eyes in the mirror stared back at him. Effie used to tell him, “the skies are angry today,” when she’d gaze up at him. He hated that, how she could read him to easily.
King looked at himself in the mirror for another minute, then headed to the bathroom. The floor boards creaked under his bare feet like the wail of faraway ghosts.
He turned on the faucet above the bathtub, intending to give himself a quick shower. As he waited for it to heat up, though, he couldn’t stop thinking of the past.
When King had left the mob bosses in L.A. he’d worked for the past few years, he knew there would be a tax. He just hadn’t known when to expect payment to come due. But as soon as he’d seen the thugs in the parking deck, he’d known.
He’d once worn a suit that was just like the ones they wore.
“King Smith?” one had asked.
King hadn’t replied. He’d simply turned to take whatever they had for him.
The first hit was always the hardest. The one who’s asked his name was young, barely eighteen, and inches shorter than King but built like a bull. As soon as he felt the solid knuckles against his jaw, copper filled his mouth.
“The hell is wrong with him?” he’d heard one of the others ask as his knees hit the pavement.
He couldn’t tell the difference between fists and kicks, they were all over him. A swarm of furious punches and digs. It had felt like his entire head had filled with blood, and the sound of a rib cracking was like the snap of a twig.
But King had refused to fight back. It would have only made it worse. Even through the swollen slit of his eyes, he could see that young one pause when they were done.
King knew that look. The kid was wondering if he should get in one last good kick, like the villains always did in the movies. The money shot that would dislocate King’s jaw or shattered his nose.
He wasn’t sure if he remembered this quite right or if he just wished he’d done it—but he thought he’d lifted his head just enough to give the kid a good shot. But in the end, the young man walked away with the rest of the crew.
King shuddered in the bathroom as he stripped his clothes off and slipped into the steaming shower. It was cold as hell outside, as a sort of final fuck you for his return to his hometown. There was supposed to be some serious snow outside tonight.
Which was why he’d chosen to head to the cabin in the first place. That, and it was the only property he technically owned. Even if Thorne or his parents found out that he was here, there wasn’t shit they could do about it.
He lathered himself up instead of getting angry about Thorne, and what a thieving, conniving piece of work his little brother was. Getting away from Thorne and their politician father was the best thing King could have done. Even if it had cost him some things.
Like Effie, he thought.
He grimaced. He scrambled to think of something
