Razed

by Shiloh Walker

  He repeated it dutifully, decided it suited her. Ani sounded just a little too ordinary for her. “So. I’m looking for my brother.”

  “Which one?” She braced her elbows on the counter. “You’ve got two of them in town. One lives here . . . the other is moving here.” She wiggled her eyebrows and added, “I keep hoping Trey will come out here and do one of those book cons. We have all sorts of writer things in the area.”

  “Yeah, my twin just loves those writer things.” Travis kept his face sober as he said it, even though on the inside he was worrying about his twin. Because he didn’t want to brood about that, he leaned on the counter and let himself study Ann—EYE—ees for another minute.

  She really did smell good enough to eat.

  His cock stirred, interest spreading through him, and he wondered if she might be up for dinner. Then dessert . . .

  She lifted a brow, a smile flirting with that way too sexy mouth, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking.

  Yeah, dinner was sounding very appealing. Except he was thinking maybe they could skip dinner and go right to dessert.

  But first . . . “Zach or Zane. Haven’t seen either of them much since the wedding. Work keeps me busy.”

  “You’ll have to settle for the mean one.” Anais nodded her head toward the back. “Zane is out with Keelie. Zach is in back in his office.”

  Travis squinted one eye at her. “Zach. Zach’s the mean one?” Hell. Zane was supposed to be the mean one. Zach was the laid back one.

  “Yeah.” She shrugged. “He’s in a mood, but I guess I can’t blame him. It’s been a lousy day. He’s in his office. You can go on back.”

  He studied her a moment longer, thought about lingering to get more info. He could. It was what he did best. But if he wanted to talk with his brother for a while, then try to talk her into dinner, he needed to get to it.

  Besides, if he didn’t get the information he needed from Zach, he’d go to the more reliable source. He’d ask Abby.

  He was almost to the hall when she stopped him. “If you’re in town long, maybe you and I could have dinner.”

  Shooting her a look over his shoulder, he lifted a brow.

  That slow, rolling burn kicked up a little hotter. That tug of interest wasn’t really a tug anymore. It had managed to tether itself around him, without him even realizing it, and he was being firmly drawn in.

  Yeah. Dinner was sounding like a very, very good plan.

  “Maybe we can do that, Miz Anais.” He lowered his gaze back to her mouth for a long moment and then turned back, heading on down the hall.

  * * *

  Keelie said the words in a flat monotone.

  Her face was blank, devoid of emotion.

  Her eyes were anything but.

  Zane remained where he was through sheer force of will.

  He didn’t think anything had ever been as hard as just standing there.

  He wanted to go to her, to reach out and touch her, cup her face in his hands as she fought to release whatever poison she’d carried inside her—and it was poison—but something inside him told him that would only make this harder.

  So he remained still, and silent.

  “She was a friend of mine.” Keelie continued to watch him and, now, her eyes all but challenged him.

  He continued to wait.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah.”

  She jerked her chin up, her eyes glinting. “Well?”

  “Well . . . I’m waiting to hear the rest of it.”

  “The rest . . .” A low, derisive laugh escaped her. “Just what else do you want to know?”

  “How about the entire story?” he suggested.

  “Oh, so you’re one of them. You like the sordid, dirty, disgusting details.” She flung it out like an accusation.

  “No.” Now he did move, unable to stay away any longer. She flinched and backed away. It was like a slap against his heart but he didn’t let it stop him as he caught her arms, pulled her up against him. Pressing his lips to her temple, he murmured, “I want to hear the story—I want you to tell me what happened.”

  She shuddered. He felt it wrack her body, from her head straight on down.

  He held her tighter and she shuddered again. “I already told you. I walked in . . . he was raping her.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  * * *

  More.

  There was more to it. Yes. There was more. So much that she still felt sick and dirty inside when she thought about it. Sometimes the dreams found her at night and she’d stumble into the shower and no amount of scrubbing could wash away that kind of filth.

  “Keelie.”

  At the soft, low murmur of his voice, she looked up.

  He’d moved toward her. She hadn’t even heard.

  Now, he stood so close, his shadow had merged with hers and without thinking about it, she reached out. Her hand tangled in his shirt. She felt the heat of him through it. The knot in her throat seemed to swell, trying to choke her.

  “I met Victoria—Toria—in art class. She hated being called Victoria. She was . . .” Keelie paused, her hand tightening until her knuckles stood out against her skin. “She was goth before people even knew what goth was, ya know? A regular Wednesday Addams. We had to sit together and at first, I just . . . I hated it. I’d been living with my mom for more than a year and she had me convinced that I was just this cardboard cut-out. I was like . . . you know that movie Mean Girls? The Plastics? That was me. I wasn’t really happy with it.” She licked her lips and looked away. “I didn’t want to lose everything. Again.”

  Zane cradled her face in his hands and pressed his lips to her brow.

  The gentleness of it infuriated her and she tried to twist away. “Don’t,” she said, her voice thick and harsh. “Don’t. I don’t want . . .”

  She couldn’t even finish the sentence.

  “I know.”

  Curling her hands around his wrists, she dug her nails into his skin, trying to ground herself, trying to find some way to keep going despite the misery and shame that choked her. “She . . . damn it. Toria hated me. She used to razz me, called me a rich bitch, made fun of me . . . we probably would have just kept going right like that all of high school except this new girl came into class.” Keelie uncurled her hands from Zane’s, and then forced herself to take a step away, then another. “I knew her. I’d met her through one of the homes I’d been in. Part of me felt like I should just ignore her . . . she wasn’t part of my world anymore, ya know? But Clara was always so nice. I was lucky with my foster parents for the most part. The one time I wasn’t lucky, Clara was the only one there for me. She was bigger, mean. She was always bigger than the other girls—she’d been held back twice and she kind of took on this big sister role with some of us. Me, included. Now she was at this school where most of the students were upper middle class or just plain loaded. There she was, wearing cheap clothes, she needed braces and, to be honest, she was a fashion mess. But I still liked her. She looked at me and it was like . . . I’d found my long lost sister. She saw me and grinned—but halfway to the table the teacher assigned to her, one of the students tripped her. I can’t even remember which one of us reacted first. Toria, Clara . . . or me.”

  Keelie rubbed the back of her neck, thinking of how she’d practically had to hold Clara back.

  The guy who’d tripped her had been one of the varsity ball players.

  He didn’t know it, but Keelie had saved him from complete and utter humiliation when she kept Clara from going after him.

  He’d turned away, laughing.

  And Toria had upended the pot of ink she’d been using for her calligraphy project onto his shirt. Oh, wow . . . Lucas, I am soooooo sorry. She’d blinked kohl-rimmed eyes at him. I was just so overcome by that display of masculinity—tripping a girl and making her fall. No wonder you’re such a popular guy.

  “Toria found us talking after school. I got up and left—Cl
ara was my friend, but Toria was . . . well. She was Toria.” If Keelie had just kept to that mindset, Toria wouldn’t have been hurt, either. “She started nagging me again the next day.”

  So you were a foster kid, huh? The state took me away from my dad once—Mom was traveling on business and somebody called CPS because they found out he was leaving me alone at night. Mom freaked. When did your dad die? Who do you live with now? Were you adopted . . .

  “I . . . I don’t even remember how it happened, but one day we started . . . talking. I told her about my dad. About being put with the first foster family . . . then being taking away. The group home. Then the family that almost adopted me, but had to move because the dad lost his job. Then the next family—I loved them. I was with them a long time. But then . . . then my mother showing up. By Christmas, we were talking all the time. By the end of that year, we were inseparable.” Keelie looked down at her hands, remembered the way they’d looked, smeared with Toria’s blood. “My mother hated her. Couldn’t stand her. My stepbrother, my half sisters . . . they were about the same. The weekend after school started back up, there was a party. Both Toria and I were invited. I didn’t know he’d be there. Toria didn’t want to go, but I liked parties. She didn’t like me going alone.”

  She curled a hand into a fist. “Toria was always smarter than I was.”

  Zane’s hand covered hers.

  The silence that fell between them hurt, like knives jabbing into her skin, into her heart with every slow thud.

  I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to . . .

  The urge to clamp her mouth shut, to take everything back, to hide and lock herself away was almost overwhelming. Because she knew if she stopped now, she’d never move forward, so she forced herself to keep going.

  “They had booze there. I didn’t know. It was in the punch and I had one glass, then another . . . Toria tried to tell me, but I ignored her. There was this guy and he was flirting with me. I don’t remember much.” Her thoughts were a blurred rush and her heart sped up, lurching somewhere up in her throat as she recounted what she could of the night. Toria had tried to help. She could remember her own laughter and then, just grey. Nothing but grey, until she was on her hands and knees, somebody half shouting. The smell of vomit. Her shirt was half off and she was on the floor, on her knees.

  Then Toria.

  Come on, sweetie. We need to get out of here.

  She’d stumbled down a hall with her friend and then the darkness faded in and out, tugging her under. When the world stopped pulling its disappearing act, she’d been on her back, in a bed, staring up at the sloped ceiling overhead.

  She’d been terrified—and her terror about waking, alone in a strange place, all stemmed from that night. Some part of her was still afraid she’d find herself there, all over again.

  The house had been quiet.

  “Toria wasn’t anywhere around. I got up to find her, confused. I was in a room up on the fourth floor—it was a big house,” she murmured, her voice thick.

  * * *

  She looked so lost, Zane thought. He wanted to lock her against him, promise that nothing would ever happen to her, that nobody would ever hurt her, or shake her world again.

  But the pain in her now was an old one. How could he fix that?

  Sliding his hands up to rest on her shoulders, he just waited. What else could he do?

  “I heard the noise on the third floor, started to run. My legs didn’t want to work. My throat felt funny. I tried to speak and couldn’t. I found the door—heard her scream and I grabbed the vase from the table just inside the room. He hadn’t shut the door. Two other guys were watching. Laughing. One held her down, the other had a camera. I smashed the vase down on my brother’s head.”

  She stopped, lapsed into silence.

  Her hands clenched into fists, empty ones that tightened then relaxed. “The guy with the camera took off running. The one holding her tried to hit me but . . .” She stopped again and looked up. “I spent too many years in foster homes. I had too many foster brothers—they either taught me how to fight or gave me a good reason to learn how. I broke his nose. Price was groaning and moving around but I didn’t wait. I helped her get up and we started out of the house. I took her home. I didn’t know what else to do.” Ugly, bitter laughter rang through the open space. “I should have taken her to the hospital. We called the cops, but they talked her out of going to the hospital. I didn’t even realize how bad that was until it was too late.”

  Rage started to throb, pulse, beat inside him, a harsh tattoo that had him ready to pummel something. “The cops didn’t want her going to the hospital?” he asked softly.

  “No.” She tipped her head back, stared at him with stark eyes. “My mother had married into a politician’s family, you see. The all-American boy, his well-off family. The good ol’ boy network clicked in fast. Real fast. I didn’t even realize what was going on until later, when the sheriff came to talk to me. It actually should have been turned over to the sheriff’s department anyway. It happened outside the county, but Toria had been staying with her dad that weekend. Her mom found out. If I’d called her from the beginning . . .”

  A knot settled in her throat, the ache in her chest so hot and heavy. “A lot of if onlys in my life. Anyway, the sheriff was the one who tried to handle the investigation. They came to talk to me.”

  Now, Sheriff Deluca, you understand how it is, surely . . . Her mother’s cool, calm voice.

  You know how this sort of thing can happen. Boys will be boys. It just got out of control. Her stepfather, while Price watched from the side, his face downcast, his entire body language that of a boy who was being so thoroughly wronged.

  And the sheriff, how he’d watched her. He’d known. She knew it, even now. Katie, can you tell me what happened?

  “What happened?” Zane asked.

  “My stepfather paid them off. He convinced them all to be quiet.” Keelie’s voice was scathing and hot. “Paid Toria’s dad and when her mother showed up at the sheriff’s office, he was there waiting. How could anybody take her seriously when her father had accepted money? He’d be happy to help make the inconvenience go away.”

  Nausea roiled, twisted inside her gut, and she stumbled away, her legs stiff, her eyes burning and her hands trembling.

  Inconvenience.

  She found the bathroom—it was the first door down the narrow hall and she stumbled inside, hitting the light and bracing herself over the sink. I won’t be sick. I won’t be sick. She didn’t deserve that luxury. She knew she didn’t.

  It was a release she wanted so desperately, but one she wouldn’t allow herself.

  Her hands trembled and she curled her fingers around the edge of the sink. A shadow fell behind her and she stiffened, slowly dragging her gaze up to meet Zane’s in the mirror.

  The pity in his eyes dug ugly furrows into her heart. Years of instincts had her lashing out. She curled her lip at him as she stared at him in the reflection. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t need your fucking pity. It’s not like I was the one who ended up leaving school because it was too hard to face people.”

  Zane moved in closer instead of backing off.

  She tensed. She didn’t want this—his compassion, that quiet strength. But he didn’t turn away, even when she turned around and gave him her darkest, dirtiest look.

  “If you want to pretend you’re pissed off at me, go ahead.” He cupped her face in his hands.

  The gentleness of his voice grabbed her by the throat. And then he leaned in, pressed his lips to her temple. Her heart trembled, almost shattered. Planting her hands against his chest, she fought to hold herself back. The sight of Toria’s face, the bruises, the marks on her skin. And the battered look on her face the last time she’d seen her . . .

  “Why would I be pissed at you? You weren’t there. It was a long time ago.” She kept her voice flat and even managed to work up a shrug. “It’s over. It’s done. I
lost my best friend over it and she—”

  Her voice caught, stuttered, then tripped.

  There was too much guilt, too much pain, and too much sorrow. In that moment, it all ripped out of her.

  * * *

  Narrowing his eyes, Zach studied the twin standing in the doorway.

  Then he lifted a brow and dropped back into the chair behind his desk. “Well, well. It’s like old home week. All we need is Seb and Trey. What are you doing here, you son of a bitch?”

  A sly smile lit Travis’s face, but all he did was move inside and drop into the leather chair next to the desk. Zach waited a minute, but when Travis stayed quiet, he went back to scanning the spreadsheets on the monitor in front of him. Spreadsheets. They were the bane of his existence. That, and taxes. And inventory.

  Maybe Travis being here was like a harbinger.

  The accountant. Taxes. Spreadsheets.

  It was a trifecta of evil.

  After the silence lingered another five minutes, Zach finished up one task. Since he really didn’t want to start another, he saved the file and shifted his attention to his brother. “So, you want to tell me why you’re here?”

  “You don’t even sound happy to see me.”

  Zach snorted. “I already took care of the Man, where ya been bit, right? But I know you. If you’re in town, it’s for a reason. I’d like to know what the reason is.”

  “You are so suspicious.” Travis heaved out a sigh.

  “No. I just know you.”

  Travis shrugged and then slumped farther down in the chair. “Look, I’m just taking some time off from work before I head off to Europe for a while, okay? Might be there for a while.” Then his eyes started to gleam. “The pretty lady out front says you’re mean. Are you being mean, Zach?”

  Zach scowled and grabbed the file in front of him. “Don’t flirt with Anais, Travis. I need my employees not fluttering about with broken hearts.”

  “But she’s awful damn cute.” Travis just continued to smile. Head cocked, he asked, “What’s the deal? You’re pissed. She’s worked up over something—somehow I don’t think that’s normal for her.”