Twisted Secrets

by Ace Gray

  The man holding me laughed loudly as he pressed in closer, kissing at my collarbone. He lifted his lips to whisper, “They shouldn’t have kept you alive if they didn’t want to share.”

  The bit of me the MacCowan’s had been chipping away at was about to disappear. Just like that first night, hopelessness swept over me as thoroughly as stars blanketing the night sky. No one was coming for me. No one would hear me scream. Unless I cried out for Brye.

  Fuck him.

  One man’s fingers crept around the curve of my ass, pressing toward the most intimate parts of me. His mouth found my breast and closed around it, his teeth sharp into my nipple. Finally I found a blood-curdling scream. And I twisted my knee to shove at his chest.

  “I love it when they struggle,” he said then lapped at my skin.

  “I love it when they scream.”

  The man across the room shut off his torch and held the gray metal up. I knew from all the years watching my mother, gray meant hot enough to burn. They were going to brand me. Primal fear obliterated me. I screamed again, pleas dripping from my lips in its wake.

  “Wha…wha…what are you going to do with that?” I cried.

  “Hurt you,” he answered as he slid his hands between his friend and my sex.

  He rubbed me twice then pulled on my flailing thigh. The man handling me stepped aside and opened my legs farther. Both of them stared down at me and I’d never felt so stripped in my life.

  “Should we claim her for the family?” One asked over top of my no, no, no.

  “Should we just destroy her clit?”

  Stop! Please. Please. Please.

  “Not until I fuck her. Maybe her ass so it bleeds when my hips hit against it.”

  “Please,” I whispered, the words barely breaking through my tears.

  A single snarl preceded the loss of one set of hands on my body, leaving me to swing and crash into the man with the brand.

  “I’ll teach you to fuck with my girl.” Brye’s honey fueled rage was too welcome for my own good.

  He’d come. This time I hadn’t called, but he’d come anyway.

  I fought against the man that was left, wild as a bull in the rodeo but I still saw as Brye started swinging. He’d shaken the wilt of his body from earlier and the way his shirtless muscles moved was fast, efficient and brutal. There was power coiled in him that unleashed thunderclaps as he leveled the man. I froze as he bent down, lifted him, bloody face and all, and cold-cocked him. His body went limp and the deep recesses of my mind wondered if I’d seen somebody else die.

  The man holding me dropped me while Brye was still hunched over the knocked out thug. The world started moving in slow motion as the hot poker extended toward Brye with a merciless thug still attached. Brye’s massive back expanded with his deep seething breaths, making his tattooed wings flutter and his barely healed wounds pucker. The man lifted the poker above his skull poised to crash on Brye and fear for him as pure as if it were me, pummeled into me.

  “BRYE!”

  He spun in time to dodge the killing blow, but he wasn’t fast enough to miss the scorch of the metal. The brand hit his sculpted chest and dug in with a sickening hiss. The smell of burning flesh turned my stomach and I heaved adding my own throw up to the filth covering my body.

  The fire was burning his chest, but figurative steam poured from his ears. He stayed steady as he reached for the burning metal and pulled. Dark red, welted skin bubbled on his chest—and probably across his palm—but he didn’t flinch. Not until he wrenched the poker free of my attacker’s hand and swung.

  This time it was like the world sped up as he struck the man with the poker once, twice, three times, each to the temple. Blood spattered onto my skin from the way the man’s face split on the second blow. Then as quickly as Brye’s counterattack began, it was over. And I knew a dead body laid at my feet.

  “Shit,” Brye swore as the brand clanged to the floor. “Fucking shit.” He spun in a circle, a wild, vicious animal wearing perfect gray sweatpants, swearing up a storm.

  My mouth hung open as I tried to comprehend what had just happened. Brye had killed for me. Without thinking twice. Turns out I didn’t give a damn about watching a villain die. What really bothered me was Brye swearing. He sounded hurt. Furious and hurt.

  “Are you,” he sucked in a deep, clenched breath mid-sentence. “Okay?”

  I almost snapped at him, but I stilled my tongue.

  “I am, thanks to you,” I answered softly.

  “They shouldn’t have put their hands on you.” He rubbed his hands over his face down then up and across his buzzed head.

  I didn’t know what to say. None of this should be happening came to mind, but I bit my tongue.

  “They should know not to touch what’s mine.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Come on, Filly. You know what you are to me. You know what you mean despite being a Ryan. And you can be fucking pissed about it, you can be fucking pissed at me, but you know. I think you have for a while.”

  “And just what do you think I know?”

  “You are hope and love and light personified. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted but nothing I’m allowed to have.”

  “Who said shit about what you’re allowed?” A defensiveness crept into my voice.

  “Me!” he snapped wildly before he pulled back and blew out a deep breath and sagged into the same chair his father had greeted me from. “I killed her.” Brye’s voice broke as he cut me off. “He drug the knife across her throat, but it was me who killed her.”

  I gasped then watched him for a moment. His body shook, but he blew out a deep breath, both our worlds hinged on what he’d say next.

  “Her name was Rosalyn and she had long dark hair and shimmering green eyes.” His head dropped back into his hands. “She accepted this life, accepted me. She sat at that table, she did the things that my father asked, but feeling is weakness, and I felt so much for her,” he breathed in deep, his voice faltering again.

  “I’m so sorry, Brye,” I murmured because I was.

  “I shut my heart off after her. I had to. I know what I am and I know what my life will cost the woman that I love. I won’t allow that to happen again. I won’t allow that to happen to you.” He let out one singular mirthless laugh. “The worst part is I was fine being black. Fine being guarded. But I could fight you about as much as I could fight my own heartbeat. One more morning, one more date, seemed so harmless.” A single tear shone against his cheek. “And we still ended up here. I still signed the death warrant.”

  “Will you please let me down?” I asked quietly as I brushed past all the emotion that his words churned up.

  He nodded as he stood and crossed the small space to me. The swollen, angry wound marring his chest drew my attention. It seeped and oozed where it had all but destroyed his skin, turning it into a warped family crest. He winced as he reached up for the shackles and I recalled the other bruises he’d earned on my account.

  He’d taken blow after blow for me. From me.

  “I thought about myself for one second. One. Fucking. Second…” he didn’t finish his sentence and just like that, the sensitive artist was back and tugging on my heartstrings. I wasn’t ready to forgive him, and I didn’t know if I could ever love him, but when he slowly lowered my arms, rubbing on my wrists as he moved them, despite the pain it caused him, I felt compelled to hug the broken boy in front of me.

  I hadn’t meant to tell Filly about Rosalyn. Hell, I hadn’t meant to speak to her at all, but I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her either.

  When Filly’s cry cut through my fitful sleep, I didn’t wonder what was happening or why Emmett had abandoned his post, I just hurdled through the house to get to her. My heart thundered in my ears and clawed at my rib cage. I worked out daily, fought and ran here in my home and out on the streets, but nothing could prepare me for thinking it was happening again.

  Mercifully the drugs had worn off enough.

 
I hadn’t seen them much lately, but all too familiar blood-red stains on stark white snow spotted my vision. Rosalyn’s gargled screams whipping on ice cold winter air replaced Filly’s and threatened to deafen me. For a split second the darkness held the memory of my father cradling Rosalyn’s bloodied body as he walked across the ice of the lake, the stab wound in her neck leaving a trail of too-dark blood for me to follow.

  “Thank you for saving me,” Filly whispered as she pulled back from the most innocent, tender hug I’d ever received and hid herself from me.

  Hurt colored her eyes when she pulled back and I couldn’t swallow completely as I nodded one curt nod.

  “I’d really rather not get kneed in the balls again, but I’d like you to come upstairs.”

  She nodded easily as she clung to herself. I glanced around wishing there was something to cover her or that she’d let me carry her but I deserved the fuck off she’d throw my way. Her whisper quite tiptoes behind me were the only satisfaction I’d get out of tonight.

  As soon as we walked into my room, she padded past me and into the bathroom. The rush of my shower filled the silence I feared would stretch forever between us and I sighed as I pictured the water cascading on her body.

  I’d seen her naked so many times because of these sick games but the idea of her inviting me into her space and sharing something intimate, being vulnerable like I just had been, made my dick twitch even though I told myself, dream on. I reached to adjust myself only for the bubbled up burn on my chest to scream a reminder of its presence.

  I tried to check it in the bedroom mirror, but the lighting blew. Walking into the bathroom seemed a further invasion of her space, but I couldn’t help it.

  The angry welt should have drawn all my attention, but even the pain couldn’t pull my full attention from the shape of her, opaque behind the glass. When I realized she was shaving—and with my razor—I smiled in spite of everything. I sat staring until the water shut off. Gracelessly, I spun toward the mirror, hoping to hide my gawk but she eyed me as she stepped out with an arched eyebrow.

  “If you get me a t-shirt, I’ll look at that for you.” She jerked her chin toward my brand.

  My head bobbed on its own and I turned to grab one of my shirts as if she commanded me. The way it would brush her thighs made me smile a tight, refined smile.

  “Here.” I held out the fabric, my eyes darting between the towel that hugged her breasts and the shirt that would cover them up.

  She pulled it over her head and I was transfixed by the small dots that bloomed beneath water droplets from her hair, revealing her skin. When her delicate fingers touched my chest, I jumped. She looked up from under her long eyelashes and evaluated my face. Keeping hers pinched, she returned to her inspection. I winced.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.” I sucked in a sharp breath when she stretched the burn. “Sort of,” I corrected.

  Her hands fell away. “What should I clean it with?”

  “Under the sink.” I gestured to the first aid kit that came in far too handy.

  She methodically opened it and studied the items inside. When she found the burn salve, she twisted, resting on the counter and focused on my chest. I puffed up beneath her touch even if it cracked the wound and made me want to punch something.

  “Will you tell me about her?” she asked, her entire focus on where she gently dabbed gel onto my skin.

  “I don’t really want to.”

  “I didn’t ask if you wanted to, I asked if you would.”

  I blew out a deep breath. If anyone in this world deserved to hear, it was Filly. Everything that had happened between us had done so in the shadow of that night and those actions. But reliving them wasn’t something I ever wanted to do. The flashes were enough to keep the walls up and give me nightmares, but a full retelling…?

  “My dad sent me to prep school. I still don’t know if he wanted to give me the shit he didn’t have or if he just wanted to legitimize his money. I hated it and I got into more trouble than you can imagine.” I smirked and found that her small smile matched. “But it gave me Rosalyn.” I tried to remember the details of her face, but they had faded with time. “She liked the bad boy, the sex, the drugs…all of it. I guess this shit was more fun that garden parties and charity galas.” I scoffed.

  Filly listened, silent as she covered the brand on my chest.

  “Her father started doing business with mine. He was a lawyer that needed favors. We obliged until he double-crossed us. Bodies were conveniently being found when it mattered most for his legal cases. Bodies we’d put in the ground at his request.”

  I noticed Filly flinch, but now that it was coming out, I couldn’t stop it.

  “My father ripped her from my bed when Emmett found out.”

  “Found out what exactly?”

  “That he was building a case against us. He was going to prosecute.”

  She sucked in a deep breath.

  “What did you do?”

  “I let him take her. Hang her down there. I let him whip her and I filmed the video we sent to her father.”

  Filly turned and heaved over the sink behind her and I paused until she wordlessly turned back with a graceless wipe of her chin.

  “When her father told us she should burn in hell with the rest of us, I broke.” My eyes found the far corner of the bathroom and lingered there. Or rather somewhere else entirely that I was trying to find in memory. “I went to him anyway. I made a deal to save her. To have him save her.”

  “And?” Filly was barely breathing.

  “My father killed her when he found out what I’d done.”

  The blood red splotches were back. Vivid on the snow. Seared on my heart.

  “He stabbed her in the side of her neck and made a trail of bloody breadcrumbs for me to follow. We were way out on Lake Michigan when I caught up. She tried to run when he set her down, but she’d been bleeding for…God…I don’t know how long. I told him I’d do anything, anything, to save her. His only answer was ‘grow the fuck up,’” I mimicked his barely-there accent and utterly blatant hate. “I remember his self-satisfied smirk when I begged. I remember thinking he was done. He’d done enough for one day. But he unloaded a round at her feet and the ice exploded all around her with a soul deafening sound. She cried out as her body slid straight down into the lake.”

  Filly gasped and covered her mouth as her eyes went wide. I missed her touch, even on my wounded chest, more than I cared to admit.

  “I tried to get to her, but she was weak and wearing heavy wool and winter boots. I had to choose her or me. Most days I think I chose wrong.”

  “Brye,” she breathed my name.

  “I hate that you’re looking at me with pity in your eyes.” I turned from her and slunk into the bedroom.

  “I hate that I pity you,” she replied as she followed me and leaned, arms crossed against the doorframe. “But understanding does something to my insides.”

  “It shouldn’t.” I pinched my face and clenched my jaw as I turned from her. I felt her keep her eyes glued to me.

  “I told you that chaos was sorrowful. Depressing in its inconsistency. You’re never grounded, you’re never you.” Her gaze burned, and I could picture her eyes bright even as they narrowed and watched my every flinch, my every breath. “I wonder what kind of peace you’d know if you were.”

  Her words spliced my chest worse than the brand did. Filly saw me. Through everything, the wild brush strokes, the deep dark colors. Through the murder and the mayhem, she saw me. All of me.

  I shifted a little, trying the shield those uncomfortable truths from coming out to play, looking at her from only the corner of my eye.

  “Do you want something to eat? I know you didn’t eat at dinner.”

  “That wasn’t dinner, that was fucking disgusting.”

  “Fine, are you hungry? I know you didn’t eat at fucking disgusting.”

  She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her smirk pul
led up. “Sure.”

  I looked around for Emmett on my way to the kitchen but didn’t see him. He was supposed to be down here. Watching her. When I thought about what might have happened to her if I’d been sound asleep bile rose in my throat. I managed to make it to the sink before I heaved and acid burned my throat.

  When my knees felt sturdy again, I straightened up and found her dinner, me a bottle of wine—not drugged. I warmed up the spaghetti and grabbed two glasses as I shifted the hot bowl from hand to hand as I went back to my room. From the doorframe, I saw she was studying Van Gogh, Old Man in Sorrow and when I made a soft sound, she twisted just enough to study me the same, as if the art and I were equally intriguing.

  I kind of got off on it.

  “Thank you.” She took the bowl and found her comfortable spot nestled into the big leather chair in the corner. I poured wine, handed her a glass and sat on my bed opposite to her spot in the room where I was able to study her.

  I expected Rosalyn’s memory to weigh on me, but it was Filly that filled me up—her sympathy and her smile, thinking I was worthy of either. I realized something as she looked at me from our respective spots. I wanted to love her—with every fiber of my being—but I needed to protect her more. I’d been using her name to justify my actions. Rosalyn’s too.

  But Filly was different. What she meant was more, what I’d have to sacrifice was too. But the bottom line was simple—there was no world without her in it. And I was going to keep Filly Ryan in this world.

  Forgiveness is a funny thing. Consciously I wasn’t forgiving him. Ever. A sad story and pretty words weren’t enough to make up for all that had happened to me. But the broken boy that was so much more tragic than I knew, who fought against me for a reason, who was rescuing me the only way he knew how, eased the anger inside me all the same. Conscious decisions had no place in my heart.

  Old Man in Sorrow hung on his wall and I knew it was because the piece was him and he was it. The brush strokes told his story and I wanted nothing more than to rewrite it.