Dark Sexy Knight (A Modern Fairytale) (24 page)

“Still . . .,” groused Colton, “if anyone could turn you straight, it’d be her.”

“Do the routine again,” shouted Morgan. “And this time, in character. Viking Knight showdown with Renaissance Knight. No bullshit, boys.”

Colton shrugged, winking at Verity again as he turned and rode Thor to the other side of the ring to go through the routine again.

Verity strolled along the ringside, peeking into the barn doors for Ryan, but she didn’t see him.

“Hey, Joe!” she said, finding him in the empty stall that had been refitted as a small office. “Know where Ry is?”

Joe looked up from the saddle on his desk.

“This
ain’t
a saddlery.”

“Sorry?” she said.

“They bring me these saddles like I can fix ’em. I can’t.”

“Oh . . .,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Sorry.”

He sighed. “I’ll have to send it out.”

“Ryan?” she asked again.

“Oh, yeah. Had him preparin’ a stall for a new horse comin’ in. I can . . .” Joe started to get up.

“I’ll find him,” she said, grinning cheerfully.

“Tell him he can take his break!” called Joe as she turned and left. “Shoulda taken it ten minutes ago!”

She turned to the left, walking past a barn door and then another.

“Don’t wanna, Artie.”

Verity stopped in her tracks, holding her breath, listening intently.

“You’ll do it if I fucking tell you to do it, you fucking retard.”

The voices were coming from behind her, but far enough away that if there’d been any other noise around her, she wouldn’t have heard them at all. She turned and entered the dark barn, her heart racing as she called, “Ryan? Ryan? Are you back here?”

She passed two stalls on her right, then entered a far interior ring that circled the backs of the stalls and connected them inside.

“Ryan?” she called again.

“Stooooop!” he moaned.

His voice was slightly muffled, coming from the left, and she turned and ran toward him, her breath coming in pants of fear as much as exertion. Still circling as quickly as she could, she stopped in her tracks to find her brother on his knees, Artie behind him with his knee wedged into Ryan’s back, and a steaming pile of horse shit about two inches from Ryan’s face.

“What?” she panted. “What
the fuck
are you doing?”

“Your brother’s about to have a snack, princess. But he can save some for you if you’re hungry.”

Artie reached forward and shoved Ryan’s head down just as Verity reached for the first thing she saw—a metal feed bucket—which she drew back and hit Artie with as hard as she could. Artie was knocked off-balance, and Verity ran to Ryan, pulling him up by the arms. His nose and forehead were covered with horse feces, and tears fell down his face.

“Ew! Ew! Ver’ty. I got poop on my face! It’s poop!”

“Don’t worry about that!” She swallowed, battling feelings of anger and sadness, sheer horror and revulsion. “You go run and get Joe! RUN! NOW!”

Ryan scampered off, and Verity turned toward Artie, who had finally risen to his feet, blood running from his temple as he stared down at her with menace.

Her eyes blazed with fury. “My brother’s getting help. I’ll have you arrested for harassment.”

“Your brother’s a retard, and it’ll be his word against mine, you dumb cunt.”

Seizing her by the hair, he pushed her up against a wall, his front to her back, leaning close to lick her ear. “You’re spreading it for Lane. Why not for me?”

Struggling against the wall, she reached back to hit or punch him, but he thrust forward, imprisoning her against the stable wall with his body.

“Joe’s coming,” she whimpered.

“It’ll take the retard a minute or two to find him. We’ve got time.”

Hot tears of fear and fury burned her eyes, and she tried to kick him, but he yanked her hair and bit her ear. Hard. “Stop!”

“I thought you’d like it rough,” he said in a dirty voice.

“Please,” she begged, hating the tears that were falling, hating her weak plea for mercy when he was an animal, a sadist, possibly a closet rapist. “Just let me go.”

His hand reached around for her breast, and he squeezed it roughly, painfully, through her costume. “Mmm. Nice. Now I know why Lane—Ahhhh!”

Suddenly, her hair was free, and the hand that was touching her breast was gone. She braced herself against the wall, managing to turn around in time to see Colton pick up Artie by the hair and slam his head against a stall door. Artie fell, limp, to the ground, blood spilling from a gash on his forehead, but Colton picked him up by the hair again and slammed his fist into Artie’s face—
once, twice, three times
—causing a sharp cracking sound and an explosion of blood from his nose. Artie didn’t make a sound. He was already unconscious from the first two blows.

“Colton!” she gasped. “Colton, stop!”

But Colton was like a demon, an avenging angel, reaching for Artie’s body again. She had to do something before Colton killed him.

“COLTON!” she screamed as loud as she could. “NO!”

He jolted suddenly, staggering backward and shifting his head to look at her. His eyes were dark and feral as they searched her person wildly. After a too-long moment, he took a sharp gasp of breath and dropped Artie’s body to the ground like a sack of feed just as Joe and Ryan came rushing into the barn.

Verity leaned back against the wall of the barn, slumping, sobbing, as Colton stepped over Artie’s body and reached for her with bloody hands. She fell into his arms, letting him hold her against his body as she wept. For Ryan. For herself. And, as she peeked at Artie’s lifeless body, for Colton.

***

When the police asked what had happened, Colt could barely answer them. He remembered Ryan running out to the practice ring, his face smeared with horse shit, yelling something about Verity and Artie and “big trouble.”

No, Colt didn’t remember leaping from Thor’s back. Yes, he remembered seeing Artie’s body pressed against the stable wall. He saw her dress sticking out and knew that Verity was trapped between Artie and the wall. And then? Nothing. He remembered nothing until Verity screamed his name, and suddenly he was holding her in his arms.

The police officers also talked to Ryan, whose face still had remnants of shit on it, and Verity, whose ear had a bite mark and whose right breast had bruising in the shape of fingers when she pulled the bodice of her costume to the side.

“Can’t totally figure out what happened here today,” said Officer Marks to Colton as he was leaving, “but you’d best not plan to go anywhere, son. Lucky for you that boy’s still breathing. You’re not looking at homicide here, but you’re likely looking at battery.”

Colt’s eyes widened in indignation.
“Battery? He
assaulted my girlfriend and her brother!”

“And they are welcome to file suit against.” He flipped through his notepad. “Arthur Kingston. But I suspect Arthur also has a pretty sturdy case against you. You broke his nose and his arm, his head’s bleeding, and I’m guessing he’s down a few ribs too.”

“His hands were on my—”

“Save it,” said the officer, taking a deep breath. “Listen, I get it, but, well, you don’t have a right to go around beating people up for looking funny at your girlfriend.”

“
Looking funny?
Come on! She has bruises!”

“Son,” said Officer Marks, putting his hand on his holster and taking a step in Colt’s direction, “if you can’t keep yourself together, I’ll have to cuff you and take you down to the station.”

Verity placed her hand on Colt’s arm and squeezed gently.

“No, sir,” he said, clenching his jaw as he took a step back. “I’ll, uh, I’ll cool down.”

Officer Marks nodded. “We’ll be in touch.”

Lynette looked on in disapproval as the officer trudged back through the practice ring and headed out through the employee hallway. Artie had already been taken to the hospital by ambulance.

“You’re fired, Colton,” she said calmly, then pursed her lips and turned to Verity. “Why don’t you and your brother take a week off? Let all this cool down.”

“But Ryan and I didn’t—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” said Lynette, her eyes narrowing. “You two had trouble written all over you from the very beginning. I should never have hired you. Don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Take a week at half pay. Best I can do.”

“And after that?”

“Come see me next Monday.” She glanced at Ryan, giving him a sour look. “
Alone.
We’ll talk about what’s best for . . . everyone.”

“You mean you’ll fire
us
too.”

“I don’t know what I mean!” shrieked Lynette. “My Head Knight was just rolled out of here on a stretcher. Another knight beat him so badly, he was unconscious. The police are involved. You and your brother were in the middle of it. That said, your brother’s an ADA employee. So I’m sorry if I don’t have all the answers, but I don’t know what’s going to happen yet. All I know is that I need you two
out of here
while I figure it out! Now, forgive me while I go get a copy of the goddamned police report!”

Lynette turned and stomped toward the exit to follow Officer Marks to his car and get a copy of the police report for HR.

Verity looked up at Colton, huge tears in her eyes. “We just lost our jobs. All three of us.”

“Shhhh,” he said, pulling her close. “You don’t know that yet. We’ll, uh . . . Let’s just get you home.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the stable exit, where Joe and Ryan were waiting.

“Colton,” said Joe, his eyes troubled, “I know you did right. That Artie was a bad seed.”

Ryan’s face had finally been washed, but there was still dried shit in his hair, and it made Colt flinch with fury as he slid his eyes from Joe to Ryan and back again.
Bad seed?
He could think of a few more-appropriate descriptions for Artie.

“Yeah. Thanks, Joe.”

“I’ll do all I can for you, son.”

Colt looked at him in confusion. “But you weren’t even there. You didn’t see anything.”

Joe nodded. “That’s true, but I still might be able to help.”

“Sure, Joe. Thanks,” he said, appreciating Joe’s kindness but fully aware that this was going to come down to Artie’s word against theirs, and Artie looked far worse than any of them. He turned to Ryan and said, “Let’s go, Ryan. We’re going home.”

It was a quiet ride.

When they pulled into the driveway, Officer Marks and his partner were waiting to arrest Colt.

Artie had woken up in the hospital.

Colt was going to jail.

The arraignment came swiftly.

Just forty-eight hours after Colt was arrested he was walked into the Superior Court of Fulton County and immediately spied Verity’s worried, tired face for the first time in two days. Her eyes were ringed and bloodshot, her skin sallow, her hair flat. And he realized, in a moment of searing self-hatred, that she looked a little bit like his mother used to. Tired and worn. Frightened and sad. It made his heart clench with powerful feelings of disgust to know that his actions had caused her to look like that. And that she should have to see him like this—in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs—brought on a wave of shame so profound, he could barely stand to look at her, so he turned away quickly.

He sat down in one of two chairs at a table facing the judge’s bench, and his public defender, Leslie Belden, sat down beside him. He’d met Leslie only once, yesterday, when she came by to inform him of the arraignment date and details, and to tell him that she felt it was best to enter a plea of no contest, which meant that he didn’t admit wrongdoing, nor would he dispute the charges leveled against him. He didn’t know what this meant in terms of consequences, but he had tried to prepare himself for the worst. The
very worst
, which included losing the person he had come to love more than anyone else in the world.

Colt now sat quietly, waiting for the judge and prosecutor to arrive, the heat of shame warming his neck to bright red because he could feel Verity’s eyes on him from four rows behind. His stupid heart, however, still felt tethered to hers, and it leaped with joyfulness to be so close to her again. It still hadn’t accepted the reality that this was likely the last time he’d be this close to her again. Over the past two days, he’d decided, with his head, not his heart, that the only decent thing to do would be to let her go.

This wasn’t the first time Colt had been arrested, of course, so being photographed, fingerprinted, and booked on Monday evening wasn’t a new experience. Nor was the county jumpsuit and the hospitality of a Fulton County holding cell. None of that had even fazed him, really. The nightmare of it all was that his worst fears had come to fruition. He’d jeopardized Melody’s care and his guardianship of her. He’d lost his job. If he went to jail, he’d lose his house.

But more than his job, Mel, Aunt Jane, or anything else, he’d thought of Verity Gwynn while he lay on his back for two long days, trying not to inhale the stale odors of urine and bleach that permeated his cell. From the first moment he saw her, he somehow knew she’d be a weakness for him. He’d told himself to stay away. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t fall for her. He’d worried, after making love to her, that he’d inevitably fuck things up. Because not much in Colton Lane’s life had been constant, but his temper, rolling around inside him like thunder, couldn’t be controlled, wouldn’t be stopped.

He’d told her over and over again that she deserved better, and now she had to see, had to know—
this
is what he meant. Him in shackles. Her wearing her sorrow. He wasn’t able to control his fury when it came to her. Melody was in a good place, a kind place, where people treated her with respect, so Colt didn’t have to worry too much about her. She was safe, so he was safe. But Verity and Ryan lived in the real world, and as long as there were evil, malicious fucking monsters there, he’d fight them off, he’d protect what was his, and it was only a matter of time until he was put away for good. And then what? Then he’d abandon not only his cousin, but his sweet woman and her brother as well. And that? Fuck that. That would be breaking every promise he’d ever made to her. Every promise he’d ever made to himself too.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the courtroom door opening behind him, but he kept his eyes facing front. He expected a battered Artie to walk down the aisle and pause beside him with a shit-eating grin—Leslie had warned him yesterday that Artie would most likely make an appearance, if able, because the rawness of his injuries would strengthen the battery case—but the gate to Colt’s left opened, and a balding man in a pin-striped suit walked forward, sitting in one of two chairs at the table to Colt and Leslie’s left.

“Where’s Artie?” Colt asked his lawyer, keeping his cuffed hands in his lap.

“I . . . I’m not sure,” whispered Leslie Belden, looking as confused as Colt felt.

Just as she leaned away from him, a door to the left of the judge’s bench opened, and a black-robed woman in her late fifties walked into the courtroom.

The bailiff who followed her stood just in front of her bench and said, “All rise. This court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Samantha Ellis Stanton presiding.”

Judge Stanton took her seat, giving Colt a hard look before shifting her eyes to the prosecutor.

“Mr. DeWalt,” she said, “I understand there’s been a hiccup in this case?”

The prosecutor in the pinstripe suit stood up. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Proceed,” she said, opening a manila folder on her desk and jotting down a note.

“Your Honor, Arthur Kingston has dropped all charges against the defendant, Colton Lane.”

The courtroom erupted into a hushed cacophony of shocked gasps and whispers, and Colt’s breath caught, his eyes widening with tentative hope over this unexpected hail Mary. 

“A Mr. Joseph Sterns, the Stable Manager at
The Legend of Camelot,
has come forward with some compelling video evidence showing that Mr. Gwynn was systematically harassed by Mr. Kingston during his employment with
The Legend of Camelot
. It further shows the assault of Miss Gwynn on Monday afternoon and Mr. Lane’s subsequent actions to defend her,” said Mr. DeWalt. “In light of these developments, Mr. Kingston has decided not to press charges against Mr. Lane.”

Leslie Belden stood up quickly. “Approach, your Honor?”

The judge nodded and Colt watched as the two lawyers stepped up to the judge’s bench and had a short meeting, whispering back and forth to one another. Finally Leslie Belden turned around and returned to Colt with a huge smile on her face.

“Apparently Joe Sterns placed video cameras around the stables of the property and managed to catch several instances of harassment on film,” she said as she sat back down beside him. “I haven’t seen the footage yet, but the prosecutor said it’s very damning and the state is presently determining whether or not the footage is admissible for a harassment case against Mr. Kingston.”

“Thank God,” muttered Colton, breathing a sigh of relief. Artie deserved whatever he had coming.

His heart, however, still felt like lead. This unexpected reprieve didn’t change his feelings about breaking things off with Verity. It ached to think of losing her, but when he thought of her face behind him—swollen from crying, frightened, sad and tired—he knew he couldn’t change his mind. He couldn’t make her live this life. More importantly, he couldn’t
let
her live this life. If he truly loved her, he needed to let her go before it was too late—before history repeated itself and they met the same fate as his parents. Before Colt’s inability to control his rage dragged her down to a fate that ruined, or—God forbid, as in the case of his mother—
ended
, her life.

“Mr. DeWalt, I saw pictures of Mr. Kingston’s injuries, and I have reviewed Mr. Lane’s record. I will be disappointed if Mr. Lane isn’t held accountable for his actions in some manner befitting the circumstances.”

“The state isn’t asking for a dismissal, Your Honor.”

Colt sat up straighter.
Wait. What?

“But Artie dropped the charges,” Colt whispered to Leslie Belden, who held up her hand, her eyes telling him to be silent.

The judge looked up at the prosecutor with interest and nodded. “Very good. Continue.”

“Mr. Kingston refuses to level charges, ma’am, but we don’t condone vigilante justice in Georgia, and I don’t believe that Mr. Lane’s actions should be overlooked.” He cleared his throat meaningfully, darting a glance at Colt before looking up at the judge again. “Especially because Mr. Lane has a dependent. A Miss Melody Spindler.”

The judge looked hesitant for a moment. “Miss Spindler is . . .”

“Mr. Lane’s cousin, Your Honor. She has Down syndrome and lives in a group home called, uh—” He looked down at the table, shuffling some paper. “Uh, yes. Bonnie’s Place. Northeast of the city. Mr. Lane is her guardian.”

Colt took a deep breath and held it as his stomach flipped over. He’d been so close to walking away from all of this, and now . . .
No. No. Please, no.

“I know of Bonnie’s Place.” She looked at Colt, her eyebrows furrowed, her face more conflicted than it had been a few minutes ago.

“The state is concerned about Mr. Lane’s temper,” the prosecutor continued. “As the sole guardian of a developmentally disabled family member, we feel that some intervention may be prudent at this time, in light of Mr. Lane’s actions toward Mr. Kingston.”

“I see. What is your recommendation?”

“For the safety of Miss Spindler, we believe that Mr. Lane should undergo ninety days of mandatory anger management therapy in an approved residential treatment center, with the revocation of his guardian status over his cousin, Melody Spindler, during that time. Mr. Lane’s guardianship of said dependent will be reinstated only after successful completion of a court-approved program.”

No! You can’t take Mel away from me!

The judge made some notes on the papers, nodding her head, before looking up at Colt. “Mr. Lane, please rise.”

Colt stood up, his legs wobbly as he began to understand what was happening.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
They were going to take Mel away from him. Aunt Jane’s face flashed in his mind and he winced with shame and fury.

“You are the guardian of your cousin?”

He gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And how long have you maintained this guardianship?”

“Six years, ma’am. Since the death of my aunt Jane, Melody’s mother.”

“I see.” She gave Colt a rueful smile. “No small feat to care for a special-needs person.”

“I’m her only family. Caring for Mel is my responsibility, Your Honor.”

“And yet you’ve gotten yourself into quite a mess with your fists, Mr. Lane.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You appeared in this courtroom once before.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But you were acquitted because your actions were in defense of your cousin.”

“Yes, ma’am. I would never, ever hurt Mel.”

“I don’t think you can make that promise, Mr. Lane. You may have been acquitted, but we both know you used too much force in that scenario, as you did on Monday afternoon, with Mr. Kingston. It concerns me that this behavior of yours spans a decade, and surely there have been other, undocumented incidents.”

Colt flashed back to the motel parking lot, then dropped the judge’s eyes, looking down at the table, hating her, hating himself much more because she was right.

Judge Stanton’s voice was compassionate when she spoke again. “To be fair, from what I can gather, Mr. Kingston was trouble. He was harassing Mr. Gwynn regularly. The videotape supplied by Mr. Gwynn’s coworker, Mr. Sterns, verifies the harassment.”

Colt looked up at her again, a spark of hope helping him meet her eyes.
Please don’t take Mel away. Please.

“But you clearly have an anger problem, Mr. Lane. A rage problem, even. Pulling Mr. Kingston away from Miss Gwynn and calling the police would have been sufficient. Breaking his arm, nose, and—” She paused, shaking her head and sighing. “—three ribs, is excessive.”

“Ma’am,” he started, “please don’t do this. My cousin won’t understand why I’m not—”

“Please don’t speak unless spoken to, Mr. Lane. I’m sorry, but I agree with Mr. DeWalt. You would benefit from anger management therapy. That said, you’ve willingly cared for your cousin for six years without incident, which I choose to regard as a mark of good character. I think ninety days is excessive. I think sixty days in a court-approved, residential program would be sufficient. The guardianship of your cousin will be transferred to the state for a term of sixty days. Pending the completion of your program, your guardianship of Melody Spindler will be reinstated.”

“Please, ma’am, I’m begging y—”

“I’ve made my decision, Mr. Lane,” she said, raising the gavel and letting it fall. “Court dismissed.”

Colt clenched his eyes shut, his fingers curling into fists under the table as Leslie Belden whispered, “Charges dropped. A little therapy stint. Lucky you,” near his ear.

Lucky me? Are you fucking crazy, lady? Lucky me?

He had no idea what would become of Melody during his “treatment.” Would she have a social worker? Would that person be male or female? Would he or she treat her kindly? Thank God she was at Bonnie’s Place, where a CM would be on-site looking after her. Would Mel understand why Colton wasn’t coming to see her? Would they explain to her that he would be back, or would she believe that he had abandoned her?
Jesus Christ. Lucky?

“Colton.”

Verity’s voice cut through the murmur and hum of the courtroom, the sweetest voice God ever created. His jaw tightened, and he clamped his eyes shut.
You just lost Mel, and you can barely take care of yourself. You are useless to her. Let her go. Do it. Just do it.