“She was crying with joy?” Being angry made this a hell of a lot easier. “And the slapping I heard? That was a conjugal high five?” Why was she talking? Listening? Letting him stay? “Leave, Tig.”
“She’s twenty-one.” His brows rose.
“Not fifteen. Or sixteen.” She shook her head. “Get off my bus.”
“Your bus?” He ran his hand along the oak paneling, stepping toward her. “You think you got this bus from your talent alone? It was me, sugar. Uncle Tig. Talking you up and selling the Three Kings like you were the best thing since sliced bread. I helped make you who you are today.”
He had no idea.
He shrugged. “Think of our time together as payment. Pretty sure I got the short end of the deal.”
“You think you had a right to do…what you did to me?” She shook her head, the roaring in her ears returning. “Get out.”
“You remember it how you want. I know you liked it.” He paused. “You begged me, remember? On your knees and begging. Is that what bothers you? That you wanted it so bad?”
“Because you said Emmy Lou was next.” She remembered every detail of that night. How he’d threatened Emmy Lou when she’d tried to resist. He was calm and rational about it. Like getting to Emmy Lou would be easy. And she believed him. He’d made her apologize, made her beg for his forgiveness. And she had. After, she’d gone to her parents to tell the whole awful truth. And her already broken world imploded. “You hurt me. Me. It wasn’t enough that you made my body feel dirty. You made me feel dirty, too. I wasn’t going to let you do a thing to my sister, you son of a bitch.” Stop talking. “Get off of my bus.”
“I think you couldn’t stand sharing me with someone else.” He smirked. “The truth can hurt. Thank me and move on. I taught you what it takes to get ahead. How to survive.” He was standing over her, stealing the air and crowding her. “Tell your story if you want. Tell them how I used your sweet, young body, taught you how to please a man, and you let me get away with it. You did that.” He sighed. “Go on and tell. And you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering who’s staying out of pity. You think Jace won’t always wonder? That he’ll stay because he cares? How can he leave you after this? He’s stuck—with damaged goods. You’d do that.” His eyes narrowed. “You destroy your family and their careers, go on. Emmy, you know how fragile she is. And Travis? Kid’s always been hotheaded. You gonna trigger that?” He was closer, breathing on her. “All that and truth? No one will believe you now. No one. Even if we both know it’s true.”
“Get out.” She was on the verge. “Get out, damn you.” Screaming now. “Get out!”
Tig put his hand over her mouth and she lost it.
Who hit who first, she didn’t know or care. His hands were on her and she had to get them off. Had to get away. He kept grabbing her, telling her to be quiet…but panic blinded her and she fought like a trapped animal, mindless in her panic. She was falling, her head slamming against the bus floor hard enough for her to see stars.
She blinked, confused as Tig Whitman went sailing through the air.
Sawyer was leaning over her, a little hazy around the edges—but there. “Krystal?” He leaned closer, too blurry to see now. “You okay? Did he hurt you?”
But she passed out before she could answer him.
* * *
It had only been a few nights since he’d moved into his own place, but he’d missed the chaos and energy the King family had. And the loyalty—strong and unwavering. He’d been disappointed that Krystal wasn’t with them, but he suspected she was where she needed to be.
Something about Becca troubled him. She seemed on edge—all the time. Like it wouldn’t take much to break her spirit. Maybe Krystal could help her with that. He’d never met anyone as strong and fearless as Krystal—unless it came to committing to a relationship. But he was working on that.
Hank’s phone started ringing the minute the cake arrived. “Talk about timing.” With a smile, he left to take the call. “Leave me something.”
“No promises.” Travis rubbed his hands together.
“Best meal ever.” Heather stared at the assortment of cake slices on the tray their waiter carried.
Jace was hoping there was a nice big steak in his future.
“Dessert first is never a bad idea,” Emmy said. “Don’t you dare touch the strawberry shortcake.” She wielded her fork with menace.
Jace chuckled. “Partial to strawberry shortcake?”
“Krystal’s favorite.” Travis shrugged. “You snooze, you lose.”
He needed to remember that. He was pretty sure his grandmother had a recipe she’d bragged about winning awards with. He’d have to check.
“Don’t be a jerk.” Emmy Lou frowned. “My favorite is carrot cake. Which I don’t have to defend because—”
“Carrot cake isn’t cake,” Travis finished. “Cake isn’t even part vegetable. Am I right? Cake is the antithesis of a vegetable.”
“Antithesis, huh?” Emmy giggled. “You’re working hard for your cake, aren’t you?”