Those silent promises are fast becoming my favorites. As much as I'm learning to adore Kessler as a person, his body is capable of delivering the most delirious kind of sin. I look forward to sinning nightly, repenting daily in his arms, and worshiping at his temple every chance I get.
Music blares over the sound system so it's hard for me to hear Harper when she tells me someone needs to run to the back for a case of pale ale. I don't know what that is yet, so I shake my head in confusion. I think she's about to school me, but she just nods in understanding. This is all new to me.
After dumping a mixed drink into a glass, she wipes her hands and scribbles something on a piece of paper. “Eric!” she yells, pointing to Layla's Keeper.
Feeling a little more useless by the second, I nod and hop off the stool, headed to the floor to deliver her message, keeping my guard up so I don't accidentally bump into any of the hundred people currently dancing their way to oblivion.
“Here,” I say, slapping the note to the sticky table.
Eric scans Harper's words before saluting me. “Got it,” he says, before heading into the back.
“Everything okay?” Kessler yells.
I nod. There's no way I'm screaming in his face just to be heard.
Dark eyes rake up and down my body, appreciating the dress that's now my favorite, and I know just by that single glance that he's remembering our little tryst in the changing room.
“You look beautiful.” Even though I can't hear him, I know exactly what he's saying.
“Thank you,” I mouth.
He winks, and I'm just about to lean in and steal a taste of the lips I've quickly become addicted to when the sound of shattering glass rips my attention away.
My heart pounds to the beat of the music—a new song has started, and it's quieter than the last but just as intense—as I scan the crowd, only to find my mentor standing stiff as a board, staring down at a man in a booth, both of them completely disregarding the broken beer bottle at her feet.
Sensing danger, I grab Kessler's hand and take off without thinking, bumping into what feels like a million bodies, getting harped at by every person I shove aside. Layla seems fine, but when I lay a hand on her shoulder, she flinches. That's new. She's never done that before.
“Layla?”
She ignores me.
“Get out.” Her wide, terrified eyes are glued to the patron as she points a finger to the door. “Now!”
Kessler maneuvers around to her front, putting a wall of muscle between her and the man who has clearly done something wrong. “Is there a problem here?” he asks.
“Yes,” Layla nods. “He needs to leave. Get him out of here!”
Tears line her fake lashes, threatening to spill over, and the very sight guts me. This isn't normal. This isn't the woman who taught me how to survive as a Blacklighter. She has the power and the strength to throw this lanky man out on his ass, but she's not using it.
“C'mon, man, let's go.” Kessler reaches for the man's arm, but he slaps his hand away.
“I was just asking the waitress here if she's seen this man come in.” He slides a glossy photograph across the table before taking a pull from a drink someone else must have given him. “But she won't even look at his face.”
I look down at the picture and stifle a gasp.
I know him. He was a prospective Keeper. The fifth man I was supposed to fight in the cage the night of my initiation. He was the man Kessler replaced.
Josh.
The man I killed.
“Come on, sweetheart, help me out,” he directs at Layla as she stares him down, both hands clutching a tray, turning her knuckles white. She holds it against her chest like a shield. “Layla, I need you to tell me if you've seen—”
She doesn't answer. Instead, she drops the tray and marches off, head bowed as she disappears.
I turn to Kessler. “Can you take care of this?”
“Yeah,” he nods, jerking his chin to where my friend just disappeared to. “Go.”
Something's not right. I can feel it in my gut. Normally, my instinct on matters of emotion are skewed, but not this time. I know Layla, and there's only one thing that could possibly have her this riled. If my hunch is right, she shouldn't be alone.
After checking both bathrooms and the kitchen, I finally find her in the supply closet, and my heart—the one I wasn't sure I had until recently—breaks for her. Closing the door behind us, I kneel on the ground next to a woman I barely recognize. Her hands shake as they hold her knees to her chest, clawing at the exposed skin of her leg, scraping back layers of skin as she trembles.
“Layla,” I whisper, reaching out a tentative hand.
I know what it's like to not want to be touched, so I grip the shelf digging into her back instead.
“Talk to me. What's going on?”
“I thought I was better,” she whispers, rocking her entire balled-up body back and forth in the cramped space. “But after everything...he just walks in and sits down...and I'm just as powerless as I was before.” A sob rips up her throat, causing a sharp-edged pain to blossom in my own chest. This must be what sympathy feels like...
“One look and I'm back under the kitchen table, hiding, begging him to leave me be.”
Her hand shoots out, grabbing a bottle of amber liquid off the shelf. In a flash, it's busting open against the wall, shards of glass and a bitter stench pooling at our feet. But I ignore it because Layla is falling against me, right into my open arms, weeping as she buries her face in my chest.
I don't know what to do. I've never consoled someone before. No one has ever looked to me for compassion. I'm not that person.
But for Layla, I try.
Wrapping my arms around her head, I bow over her. It's an awkward embrace, but when I begin stroking a hand over her hair, the action feels right.
“It's okay,” I whisper. “You're okay. He can't hurt you here. I promise.”
Before she has a chance to reply, the door wrenches open, spilling bright light over our intertwined bodies.
“What the hell?” Eric exclaims, falling to his knees beside us. “What happened?”
I pass her off to her Keeper and his hands are everywhere, sliding over her prone body as he searches for a physical reason for her distress, but he won't find one. Her pain is internal. It's not something a few stitches can fix.
The man out there...he's the reason Layla is here. He's the one who hurt her.
“Talk to me, baby,” Eric whispers, on the verge of tears himself. “What's wrong?”
“He's here,” she wails against his broad chest, now soaked in tears.
“Who's here?”
“Griffin.”
At that one word—that one name—everything inside of Eric locks up. His muscles, his expression, his breath. The man turns to stone.
“He was done! You said he was done!” she continues, clawing at Eric's shirt like she's on the edge of a cliff and he's the only one that can pull her back to safety.
Eric plants a rigid kiss to the top of her head. “I doubt he was here to see you.” When he drags his eyes away from the woman he's vowed to protect, they land on me with a menacing glare. “Go find Kessler.” His order is a low growl, dripping with disdain. “Make sure his visitor is escorted off the property.”
Swallowing down the feeling that something is very, very wrong, I leave them alone and follow my instincts all the way outside, getting blasted in the face by muggy Missouri air when I step out into the parking lot.
There are cars parked for as far as the eye can see, but it's not my eyes that instantly pick up on a disturbance—it's my ears. Close to the edge of the lot, someone—or rather two someone's—are in a heated debate. My feet are as quiet as they are in the ring as I inch closer, slinking through the shadows until their figures come into view.
What I see makes zero sense.
Kessler is standing toe-to-toe with the man. Griffin, Layla called him. Both guys are clearly riled, but my Kee
per has a few inches on him, so it doesn't look entirely fair. The only clue that this will be a fair fight if it comes to blows is the hatred I see in Griffin's eyes.
“They're not doing shit!” Kessler exclaims, waving a hand toward the bar.
Griffin shakes his head. “You're such a naive bastard, you know that? What, now that you've got that fucking atrocity burned into your neck, you're just done? Screw the plan! Screw taking these bastards down! Right? Kessler's getting his dick wet so he's bailing! That's really great, Kess. Just real fucking great!”
“That's not what—”
“I hope you enjoy prison,” he says, jabbing a finger into Kessler's chest. “Because when you go back in, I'm gonna make damn sure you never go before the parole board. You got me?”
“Are you finished?” Kessler says evenly. “Can I speak now?”
“No! Because you are fucking useless!” Griffin screams so loud spit flies out, landing on Kessler's shirt. “Jesus! I can't believe I thought I could trust you!” He pulls a flask out of his hip pocket and takes a deep pull.
Meanwhile, in the shadows, my heart breaks. Little jagged pieces fall into my stomach, ripping away at tissue and membranes. I may be inexperienced, but I'm not stupid. I know exactly what's going on here—what's been going on for days—and I can barely stomach the thought. Not because my family could potentially be outed, but because for the first time in my life, I thought I'd connected with another person. I thought I found someone who cared.
And I was wrong.
Kessler props both hands on his hips. “Why don't we have this conversation again later, when you're not wasted.”
Griffin's laugh is so loud, I flinch. “Oh! That's fucking rich coming from you! Here, lemme go run back in for a bottle of Absinthe. Maybe I can kill a few people on my drive home!”
Kessler visibly bristles, his hands slowly curling into fists. I think he's about to strike, but he doesn't. He just stands there, listening to this drunk oaf cackle.
Griffin's laughter finally dies off, and when it does, he tilts his head to the side, examining Kessler like one might inspect a rancid steak. “Actually, you know what? Maybe this is for the best.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
The way Griffin smiles makes me feel dirty—like there are a thousand cockroaches skittering over my bare skin. He's trouble.
“It means there's been a change in plans. If you can't manage to get even a single scrap of information to help me bring this whore house down then I'll find another way.”
“Griffin...”
He slices a hand through the air. “Nothing to concern yourself with. You're fired, Kess. Carry on with your shitty existence.”
Kessler opens his mouth to answer but immediately snaps it shut when another man joins them at the edge of the lot. The newcomer dangles a beer between two fingers, assessing the scene.
“Everything alright, boys?”
The second he speaks, I recognize him and so does Kessler. It's Preppy. The guy Kess laid out on the night of my first official fight.
Much like that night, the guy is wearing another polo shirt—this one a dark color—with pleated khakis and stupid looking loafers.
“Everything's fine,” Kessler says through clenched teeth. “Mind your business, Preppy.”
“Seems like it is my business,” Preppy says, lifting a hand to point at Griffin. “Seeing as how you're pissing off my partner.”
Kessler shakes his head, a sardonic laugh breaking through the air. “Wow. Just—wow. Why the fuck am I not surprised?”
“Let him go, Griff,” Preppy suggests. “He's no help. Especially now that he's outed himself.”
Griffin looks momentarily confused, but then his dickhead partner points his beer bottle across the parking lot...straight at me...right to where I'm standing just outside the glow of a street light.
Kessler slowly turns, and when his eyes land on me, his entire demeanor changes.
I don't move. I don't retreat. I stay planted where I am, waiting to see what he'll do. So much depends on the next few minutes that I hold my breath, praying for any answer that isn't the one I know in my heart to be true. That he deceived me. That he lied to me. That he forced his way into my world intending to blow everything apart.
He doesn't look away when I shake my head, and I have to give him props for that.
Griffin saunters up behind him, slapping a hand to his shoulder as he laughs at this unexpected turn of events. “Don't worry, Brother. When you inevitably end up dead in a ditch somewhere, I'll try my damnedest not to say I told you so.”
I don't move an inch as the two assholes get into a low-sitting sports car and drive off, and neither does Kessler. Standing three car lengths away, we stare at one another, at a loss for words.
The panic in my Keeper's eyes is easy to see, even in the darkness.
He's panicking because he's guilty.
He's guilty because he did something wrong.
He lied.
To me.
His Blacklighter.
My Keeper betrayed me.
I swallow down every single emotion trying to strangle me and cross my arms. The action feels right. Necessary. Because for the first time since he showed up here in my mother's office, I feel like I have to protect myself from him. There are so many unanswered questions floating between us, but I latch onto the one that has me reeling the most.
“Brother?”
Kessler opens his mouth to answer, then snaps it shut. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he steps back, as if meaning to walk away from me. From this. From the truth.
“We'll talk about it later.”
“Excuse me?” I growl. Anger overshadows heartbreak, and I go with it. Closing the distance between us, I shove my hands into his chest so hard he stumbles back. “I want to talk about it now!”
The muscle in Kessler's jaw tics as he looks around. “Okay. Fine.” He takes hold of my wrist, pulling me toward the main house, but I pull free from his grip, reminding him with a single look who the hell he's dealing with.
“I can walk on my own, thank you very much.”
I march ahead of him, so angry I feel like I'm shaking apart at the seams. Bypassing the elevator and taking the steps two at a time—because I can't stand the idea of being in a confined space with him without a means of escape—I jog all the way to our room, thinking about all the ways he could have lied to me.
The gentle care he showed me in the shower after my initiation.
The way he pressed his forehead to mine and made it easier to breathe.
All the times he kissed me.
Held me.
Reassured me.
I lowered my walls so quickly. I trusted him so easily—so completely—only to land right here on my ass, remembering why I've kept so many people at a distance.
This is why.
Because if you care about someone, you give them power over you. And nine times out of ten, they'll abuse that power or use it to either hurt you or control you.
You think I would have learned my lesson by now, but no. I trusted him. I gave him everything. I opened myself up with the comfort of knowing he would never, ever hurt me.
But he did.
I flip the lights on in the room, every damn one of them, hoping to illuminate all the shadows, all the secrecy, wanting to know exactly what kind of beast I'm dealing with. There's only room for one monster in Farewell, and if he's betrayed me the way I think he has, I'm ready to renounce my Keeper once and for all.
Standing in the dead center of the room, I take in a deep breath, steel my nerves, then turn to face him.
“He sent you here?”
Kessler nods, his face a blank mask. “Yes.”
“To do what, exactly? Spy on us?”
“Yes.”
“So...this was all an act? You got close to me so you could weasel in and find a way to shut us down?”
Finally, the mask slips, and I see a flash of hurt on Kessler
's face.
Serves him right.
“No, Mercury,” he says, stepping forward. He swallows hard and stops moving when I take a step back. “It wasn't an act. Not all of it. I know you're pissed, and I'm sorry I lied, but—”
“Are you?” I snap, sneering at the man I thought I could trust. “Are you genuinely sorry, or are you just sorry you got caught?”
I'm horrified—absolutely fucking horrified—to feel tears push through my lashes. I have to turn away. I will not and can not grant him this. It would cost me severely, and I've already paid too much. Now that he's opened the Pandora's Box inside me, I'm starting to feel...and it hurts. Goddamnit, it hurts.
“I was never going to give him anything,” he says quietly.
I roll my eyes.
Liar.
“Even before Blair warned me not to—”
I lift a hand, silencing him, and what's left of my heart disintegrates.
“Hold on.”
Blood on fire, head pounding, I turn to look him straight in the eyes. I could break his fucking neck right now, and no one could stop me.
“Blair?” I grind out. “My mother knew? She knew why you were here? She knew you were working for that evil, abusive jackass?”
His throat rolls with a nervous swallow. “Yes.”
Before I can stop myself, I rear one arm back and punch him. Knuckles bash against jawbone, snapping his head to the side, and it gives me great joy to hear something snap. He didn't bother defending himself. He may be evil, but at least he's smart enough not to engage.
One solitary tear rolls over my cheek when I sag in defeat. “Why?”
I don't know what I'm asking, exactly, but that doesn't matter. Whatever version of that question he chooses to answer will suffice. I just need answers.
Kessler fall to his knees in front of me, and I'm so thrown, so surprised, I don't retreat when he presses his forehead into my belly. Long arms wrap around my hips, hugging my body to his treacherous face.
It's a clear sign of submission, and I hate him for it.
“When did you decide?” I ask, pressing my hands against my eyes to keep any more tears from escaping. “When did you decide to come here and ruin my life?”
The Monster of Farewell (Blacklighters Book 1) Page 23
