“Please, Oliver, please, he said one last time, maybe he meant it. Maybe he’ll go away after this.”

King stared at his mother and ran a hand down his face. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhausted that only accumulates from years of worry and lost sleep. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I felt so out of place. I shouldn’t have been listening to the exchange, but I couldn’t take it back now. I’d heard everything, and what I’d heard had frightened me. I felt cold, colder than I’d ever been.

He’ll never leave us alone. Not until one of us is dead or in prison.

A moment passed before King pulled his phone from his pocket and began scrolling through his contacts. Rising to his full height, he turned, and that’s when he saw me. The startled look in his eyes told me he’d completely forgotten I was there. I’d never felt so uncomfortable in my entire life. King’s gaze was hard, and it was only after a long few moments that it began to soften.

“Alexis….”

“I should go.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Don’t go. I have an important phone call to make. Could you take Mum up to her room? It’s on the second floor, the third door on the right. Then come find me and we’ll talk.”

I nodded, and he walked past me, lifting his phone to his ear. Elaine’s reddened eyes found mine, and she seemed ashamed that I was seeing her like this. I hated that she felt that way, because she had absolutely nothing to be ashamed about. Going to her, I gently slid an arm around her waist and helped her up to a standing position. She was weak and I had to take most of her weight, but it was nothing. She was waifish, insubstantial, and it made her seem that much more vulnerable.

She didn’t say anything as I led her to her room, but when I pulled her sheets back and helped her into bed, there was gratefulness in her gaze.

“Talk to him. Make him see sense,” she urged me, and I wasn’t sure what she was asking of me.

I gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before murmuring softly, “Get some sleep, Elaine. Oliver and I will be just downstairs if you need us.”

Leaving her room and going back down, I found King in the library. The drinks cabinet was open, and half a bottle of Southern Comfort sat on the desk. His eyes rose to meet mine.

“Want one?”

Normally I’d decline, but the situation called for a drink, so I nodded and took the seat next to him. He poured, and I watched. Then he handed me the glass, and I knocked it back. The room was quiet for a long few minutes, and I wasn’t sure why, but I felt the urge to hug him, to bridge the monumental gap that seemed to linger between us. I threw my arms around his shoulders, and he stiffened.

I didn’t let go.

He resisted my embrace for so long that I was sure I’d have to give up eventually, but then he softened. It all happened at once. His body melted into mine as his arms went around my waist and pulled me close. He clutched me so tightly I felt the air rush from my lungs. It was in that moment that I knew I’d given him just what he needed.

He didn’t need words or sex or platitudes. He just needed a hug. Human comfort.

His hands tangled in my hair, and mine laced around his neck. “I’m here to help. Whatever you need,” I whispered, and his body sagged.

I didn’t expect him to speak, didn’t really expect anything at all other than for him to accept my hug, which was why hearing his voice startled me.

“Yesterday you asked me who Bruce was,” he said, speaking into my neck. “He’s my father.”

I grew still, and King pulled away a little to meet my eyes. “He’s also been blackmailing me almost my entire life.”

My brow furrowed as I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

King let out a long breath, picked up his glass, and knocked the entire contents back in one go. “My mother has been playing piano since she could walk. Her family were wealthy, and when they saw she had a natural talent, they invested a lot in her career. Once she hit her mid-teens, she began to get attention, and soon she was performing with orchestras, travelling around the world.”

I stared at him, absorbing his words. King poured more liquid into his glass.

“She was playing at the Royal Albert Hall on a night when my father was in attendance. He saw her on stage and decided he wanted her. She was just seventeen, but Bruce Mitchell was a man who got what he wanted. He was a lot older and very rich, but he was also dangerous, which was probably what attracted Mum — the danger, the excitement. They were from different worlds, still are, and Bruce is not a good man. He’s a criminal, a very powerful one. All of the most despicable things you can think of, my father has most likely had a hand in them.”

“Oliver, I….”

“Hush. Just let me speak. I’ve never told anyone this before.” He paused to meet my gaze, tilting his head. “I trust you, Alexis. That doesn’t make me a fool, does it?”

I frowned. “Of course not. Anything you tell me will never leave this room.”

He took a swig of his drink and breathed out. “Anyway, long story short, Mum had a brief affair with Bruce and fell pregnant with me. Her career really took off after that and she became very famous for a number of years, while Bruce sort of drifted into the background. Then, just after I turned eighteen, Mum started having trouble with a stalker. It was a scary time for both of us. We’d come home to find the house had been broken into, the valuables left untouched but personal items of my mother’s stolen. He’d write creepy, obsessive letters, and Mum had to set the police on the case. Months passed, and Mum started to go out in public less and less. She was frightened of running into her stalker, and a lot of what he’d written in his letters indicated he wasn’t of sound mind. And then, one night during the summer before I was to start university, I came home and found my mother beaten up and restrained, a man readying himself to rape her. I lost the plot, went crazy, and beat the living daylights out of him. I couldn’t stop.” King’s voice choked up, and I saw his eyes fill with emotion as he remembered. I was so absorbed in his story, so horrified by it, that I’d almost stopped breathing for a moment. I took his hand in mine, squeezed it tight.