Irresistible Knight (9 page)

“Self to the clinic. Everything okay?”

“Just peachy, Dad.”

“You made your mother worry, son. Where's the cut?”

“Arthur, how about inviting him in, giving him time to clean up and we'll grill him later. I want to hear the whole story also. Are you in pain, darling?”

“No, Mom. Tristan did a good job fixing my owwie.” He smiled at his parents.

“Okay. Go do what your mother said, son, and come in the kitchen when you're fresh and clean.”

“Who's home?”

“Your sister. Gawain will be here soon. You saw him at the store. Percival, Tristan, and Julie are on their way.”

“Good. My throwing arm has been rusty. Time to beat the boys. I'll be down right away.”

“Not right away, darling. Take a nap. Rest. Take your time. You look like you need one. Oh, Teta and Cinnamon are in the kitchen.”

“I think I might nap after all.”

“Oh, honey. She's a sweetheart.”

“She's a cool gun-toting woman, Mom. But not that sweet.”

“But you'll beat everyone who gives her a hard time,” Arthur commented.

“Hmm ... I think it's the other way around.”

“Bors Knight. The right Knight I want to see.”

Bors turned around. Teta wore her signature
Grandma jeans
with the waistline almost up to her midriff. Her blouse, tucked inside her pants, showed the rolls on her sides. She carried her handbag under her armpits. Bors couldn't think of how to describe her. “Ah, Teta. The right woman I long to see.”

“Shut your mouth, boy. Good lord, you look worse than a dead duck stuck in the swamp.”

Bors decided not to ask about how the duck ended up in the swamp. “Love the hairstyle. It's becoming. Not that I didn't like the beehive, mind you.” The purple short curls framed her moon-shaped face.

“Time to change. Purple, I think, is eye-catching. By the way, thanks for
Small Fry.
” Teta patted her chest. “I'll use this instead of my big boy if I have to. Save me some bullets.”

“Good.” Bors looked at his parents. They gave him the I-told-you-so look. They told him that Teta would never give up her gun. But he thought if he gave her the smallest, but powerful stun gun that could go through thin shirts and sweaters, she would. “Looks like you're going somewhere.”

“Yup. The boys at the OISC are waiting. They're going to show me how to shoot clays with a rifle.
I'll
show them how to shoot. Thanks for the membership. I knew you were good for something. I'm off. Cinnamon's in the kitchen.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Cinnamon the golden retriever belonged to Julie. But Teta loved the dog and cared for him.

Teta waved her hand out the window as she drove off, leaving a trail of black smoke from her exhaust pipe.

“The membership at the Sportsmen Club is great for her. She needs firearm instructions and safety training,” Katherine said, waving back at Teta. “Did you show her how to use the stun gun, dear?”

“Gave her the instructions.”

“Oh, lord.”

Bors thought about Teejay. She used the expression a lot also. He grinned at his parents, then quickly made his way toward the stairs. His parents kept all of the Knight kids’ rooms the way they had left them. Always clean when he came home, nevertheless the same. And he loved it. They could come back anytime and they'd have a place in this house, no matter what. As he took the steps two at a time, his eyes wandered on the pictures on the wall. It was like going back in time when he and his brothers and sister were little: his first grade picture, riding his first BMX, Tristan when he was in the hospital, Kirsten smiling, showing her missing two front teeth.

When he made it to the landing, he lingered and looked at the most recent picture. The whole family was out in the yard, happy. Especially Tristan. It was the day his brother proposed to Julie. Tristan, unshaven and with dark rings around his eyes looked like hell, but the mark of joy was written all over his face.

Someday, if he were to bring a woman here, he wanted his whole family to be around. Only his high school sweetheart had made it into this house a couple times. No one else. But this afternoon, he offered to bring Teejay here. The crazy, irritating woman he met only today. The one who had the gall to call him a troll. The one who freaking gave him a boner in the middle of the day.

He was still gawking at the pictures when Kirsten's bedroom door opened. His sister immediately covered her mouth and nose.

“Hey, princess. Still searching for your prince?”

“Yousningk.”

“What's that? I stink?” In one swift move, he lowered his head and wrapped his arms around Kirsten's waist, tackling her. Kirsten ended up on his shoulder, screaming.

“Let me go, you pig!”

He went back downstairs where he deposited her on the couch. “What have you been eating? Air? You weigh nothing.”

“You're mean. I just showered and now I smell like...” She sniffed her blouse. “Yeww! Garbage! I'll get you for this, Bors.”

“Keep trying, brat.”

“Julie told me you stink. I thought, so what, you always stink. But not this bad. Man, you really raised the bar this time. Not only that you have a bad BO, you also—Mom!”

Bors didn't give Kirsten a chance to escape. He hugged her again, raised his arm and, laughing, smothered Kirsten with his armpit.

“Bors, darling. Stop it. Be a good boy and shower.”

As soon as Bors let go of Kirsten, she punched him on the arm, narrowly missing his newly stitched cut. Bors hissed from the pain.

Kirsten's eyes grew big. “Oh, no! I'm sorry. Let me see.”

“I'm fine, princess.”

“No you're not.”

“Shut it. Mom.”

Kirsten got the message, then nodded. “Sorry, Bors.” With a repentant face, she gave Bors a hug.

“Okay. Let me go. I don't want your cooties.” Pinching Kirsten's nose playfully, he went back upstairs.

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Chapter Five

Ungrateful girl. Why can't she be an obedient daughter?

Sitting on his leather recliner by the fireplace, Jean held his long-stemmed wine glass with his right hand and the cell phone on the other. So his daughter went as far as Orcas Island to escape him. What did she think she'd accomplish by running away from him.

He gave her everything, but it wasn't enough. What the fuck else did she want?

Just like him, Taylor had a mind of her own. Stubborn to the core. Unlike her mother: weak, a drunk, and a fucking whore. Trisha Monte Carlo, former Miss Italy, had been nothing when they'd met. A young woman aspiring to become a model, he had helped her find her footing in the modeling business. Trisha took the rest of the steps on her own.

With her stunning beauty, it had not taken her long before she got what she had wanted. Still ... a crown had not been enough for the bitch. She also wanted young men in her bed. When she became pregnant, he sent her back to Italy where she had their daughter. A spitting image of her. A beauty and a pain in the neck, but the only one he loved in the world.

Taylor was already twelve when he asked Trisha to bring her to the US. The moment he laid his eyes on her, he knew she'd be his world. He provided for them. But after three years, greedy bitch Trisha wanted more. Of course, he didn't give it to her. Marriage wasn't on his list of things to accomplish. Trisha had become unreasonable and turned her attention to alcohol. He tried to get rid of her, but she refused to go back to Italy.

She became a full-blown cocaine addict and alcoholic, so he tried to cut his ties with her. The bitch became enraged and swore she'd contact the local television news station, King 5, to reveal his secret. They argued out in the balcony so Taylor wouldn't hear. He threatened to take Taylor away from her. That was when she became belligerent and shouted her counter-threat, that she'd kill herself if he did. He didn't buy her shit. It was too late when he realized the bitch wasn't bluffing. Before he could react, she had leaned forward and down she went.

Taylor, at fifteen, witnessed her mother going off the balcony, with him standing there, arms outstretched. That was all she saw. He tried telling her the whole story, but Taylor shut him out. She thought about what happened and kept it to herself. Not once had she talked about it. Her silence served as pinpricks on his skin. He wanted Taylor to be the daughter any father craved, but she remained withdrawn. The only time she would talk to him was when she gave him her opinion, when he wanted her to keep quiet.

Jean often times wondered if he should have just let Taylor and Trisha stay in Italy. But then, he wouldn't have Taylor to keep his morning bright. He regretted the night Taylor last saw her mother. High on drugs and screaming like the fucking lunatic she was. Would she still be the same outspoken, defiant daughter, expressing her disapproval about his business and everything he told her if that horrible night hadn't happened?

Possibly.

Taylor expressed her disdain about his friends so many times that he knew she would leave the protective nest he created for her. He knew she was just waiting for the right time to escape. It was the reason why he practically kept her under lock and key. All these years, he tried his best to keep his daughter close to him—not only to keep her mouth from flapping, but to protect her from the cruelty of the real world. He didn't want her to turn into Trisha. A wielder of beauty and a whore. He cocooned and protected her the only way he knew how—inside his home.

He'd been surrounded with filth. But with Taylor around, he knew not all was dirty. Taylor was his symbol of cleanliness, of purity. Was she a pain in the ass? Yes. But she was his beacon of light.

Now, she'd escaped. For what, to tell the police about his business or her interpretation of her mother's drunken suicide? Good luck on that. Finding a politician, a man in uniform, or anyone in service who had not been inside his home would be worse than finding a cab to fly to the moon.

So this was how she'd repay his generosity. Running away.

We shall see how long you'll last out there, Taylor. Without money, where will you go? You have nothing but your beauty. You'll come back to me. To your daddy.

For now, he'd keep the tail on her. If she started talking, she wouldn't be able to see American soil again.

* * * *

Tapping the phone on her palm, Taylor considered her next move. She'd reread the judge's number over and over, wondering if Linda exaggerated her accounting about Arthur. She said Arthur Knight had given her this card personally when she came to him for help. Linda assured her Judge Knight wouldn't mind her calling his personal cell number.

Where was the harm in trying, she thought. Taylor checked the time on her cell phone. Almost eight.
What's the cut off time? Nine-thirty? I think it is. Yeah, I can still call the judge.

Taking a deep breath, she dialed the number and listened to the soft ringing sound while her heart pounded against her ribs. What would she tell him? First, she would introduce herself, then request a meeting. If he asked what for ... Lordy, should she tell him the truth right away? No, she shouldn't ask him to help her make a deal with Jean over the phone.

Resolve waning, she pressed the end button. She should at least think about the best way to do this. A deal like freedom in exchange for her silence should be discussed in person, not over the cell phone. If Linda was right about this judge, she didn't want to lose her chance to get his help if she started blubbering like an idiot on the phone.

Taylor was still thinking about the right approach when her cell rang. She looked at the number again. Shocked, she stared at the caller's number.
Lord, the judge is calling me back.

Heart in her throat, she answered the phone. “This is Taylor.”

* * * *

Feeling fresh and free of odorous garbage, Bors joined his parents, Kirsten, and Gawain outside for shortbread cookies and coffee. Dinner at the Knight household was often followed by homemade dessert and coffee while sharing the events of the day. Tonight though, except for Percival who cocooned himself in his room and Tristan who decided to snuggle with Julie early, everyone was keen on finding out everything about Bors. Especially about Teejay.

“Paige told me you bought Teejay some three dollar slippers. No wonder she didn't want to ride with you. You're a freakin’ cheapskate.”

“She has a sore ankle, dolt. Dan said she should wear slippers.”

“I saw her go into the pawnshop.”

“What?”

“Yup. Oh, Mom. I invited Teejay for—”

Kirsten threw a piece of cookie at Gawain's face the same time Bors kicked his shin.

“Oww! The fuck.”

“Quarter, stinkbug.”

“You two provoked me.”

“Because you're stupid.”

“I was just ... oh, well.”

If his parents noticed, they didn't say anything. One of the many good things about his parents, they never pried or intervened unless necessary. The Knights respected each other's privacy, opinion and his parents knew not to snoop.

“Did you say this Teejay is a beauty, Gawain?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, Dad. She looks like a doll kept in her original packaging. Smooth and heavenly looking. Just beautiful. And she likes me.”

“How did you know that?”

Gawain looked at Bors. “She didn't call me a troll, bro.”

Gawain and Kirsten teased him relentlessly. They only agreed to stop tormenting him when he gave up his share of the cookies. When his siblings left the circle, the topic of conversation changed. It was only then that he was able to talk to his father about Jean's special woman.

“I can think of only two reasons why Jean is intent on finding Taylor Monte Carlo. He's in love with her or she knows too much. Ask yourself, son. Why is she so well protected? Jean is a very influential man. To cross him would be comparable to asking for a death penalty, and yet she ran away. Which raises another question. Why would she run away? Afraid of Jean, or does she have a secret lover, protector somewhere? Maybe she's a real beauty like Helen of Troy so Jean doesn't want to lose her.”

“Or Taylor's a fag. I couldn't find any record that Jean had been involved with a woman. The man's got a clean background.”