Page 7 of Making the King

She stays quiet for the trip, sitting mostly tense for the first half, but then relaxing back into the seat for the second half, putting her window down and letting her fingers dance in the wind as she dangles her hand out the window.

The more time that passes, the more I settle back to my old thoughts about wanting to help her, instead of slapping her for being such an ungrateful bitch. I need to remind myself that she’s out of the loop with the details of that day. That she has been in survival mode for years and isn’t going to trust anyone anytime soon.

As I slow the truck to suit the speed for inner Santa Cruz, Cara sits taller in her seat, looking out at our surroundings. I have no idea where she’s originally from. Definitely California since we were tracking the movements of her father across the state for a while before the auction even took place. Though I get the feeling by how curious she is, that she isn’t from Santa Cruz.

I look around, trying to see it through her eyes, and if she didn’t know where she was, she does now by the Santa Cruz Warriors banner outside their office.

“Have you ever been to Santa Cruz before?” I ask, my words instantly making her stiffen.

“No.”

“The beaches are nice. The wharf is cool. Some good places to eat. There’s a deck that the sea lions lounge around on. The summer tourists love that.”

I can see in my periphery, Cara turning from the window to look at me.

“Are we going to go for strolls on the beach, hand in hand, before going to the wharf where you’ll hand feed me and look longingly into my eyes?” She makes a gagging noise before continuing. “If you think I’m going to be your well-behaved wife and bend to your will, then you better think again.”

I know I shouldn’t say it. I know it’ll just make things worse. But I can’t stop the words from falling from my lips.

“Oh, you’ll be bending to my will alright.”

“Un-fucking-likely!” she yells, and I shoot her a smirk.

“We’ll see.”

“You won’t live long enough to try.” She threatens and I chuckle.

“Again. We’ll see.”

“Ugh. You’re impossible.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and sinking back into the seat.

I can’t argue about that. I am being impossible, just to annoy her.

On the other side of town, I scan the front entrance of the adult entertainment club, Dirty Diamonds, as we approach, noticing it’s quiet out on the street.

The club is open but doesn’t get busy until night when most members have finished their nine to five, which gives us time to focus on the real business we do.

“That place there,” I point as I slow the truck, “That’s where you will work.”

Her eyes scan the place before her head whips in my direction.

“I’m not fucking stripping for anyone!” Her declaration is loud in the cabin, and I smirk as we idle past the club.

“You won’t be stripping there,” I tell her, catching her mortified expression.

“I won’t be a whore either!” she yells again and I nod.

“Good thing that’s not a fucking brothel then.”

“Then… what will I be doing there?”

I speed up now that we’re past the club, turning the corner to take the street toward the waterfront, and my little beach shack.

“The books,” I say, noticing her glance back out the windows as the buildings turn to houses.

“The books? Like, bookkeeping?” she asks, turning back to me, and I nod. “But I don’t know anything about bookkeeping.”

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

---