by Kat Kenyon
The only time I feel warm is when he kisses me.
When he says yes, he loves me.
I feel a spark in the part of me that feels broken.
Is broken.
I open my eyes and try to feel, something.
I keep waiting for connections to come back on line.
I can see them.
When he’s touching me, I know they’re there, but they’re just out of reach.
I knew I wasn’t safe.
I knew he’d come for me.
I deserve this.
Maybe it’s better to be a broken machine.
To be continued….
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Continue reading for a preview of
Lies & Devotion
A glimpse of unedited Lies & Devotion,
Book 3 in The Blood and Iron Warriors
Chapter One
Rayne Mathews
“They’re here,” calls from the living room. The sound of my feet pounding on the tread fills the second bedroom of the apartment.
I can feel the sweat running down my spine, and I’m finally feeling a fraction of my run. Closing my eyes against the prospect of stopping, I struggle to breathe, and not from the work out, but from the idea of seeing anyone.
“Okay,” I say, forcing myself to step off. Because this is what I do now.
I run. I sweat until I can’t move.
I dance when I’m alone, where no one can see.
I don’t want to stay awake, so I run my body to exhaustion as much as I can so I can fall asleep. At least I try. It doesn’t work.
And I’m not tired enough now to make a dent.
When I glance up, Tyler’s leaning against the jamb watching me. His arms are folded over each other against his chest, his hip resting against the frame, head tilted toward me. His casual pose belies the stress he’s under, and even under the soft neutral smile he gives me, the worry he carries with him shows through.
I quickly wipe down the treadmill and walk towards him.
“Let me take a quick shower,” I say, trying to return his smile. It doesn’t feel like a simple contraction of muscle; it feels like my skin is being torn apart. A smile is supposed to represent joy, or provide reassurance, but I don’t have the ability to give either. The bruises and damage that still remain on my face and body scream the lie, and yet I try. He deserves something from me.
“Don’t rush. I let them know already.”
Inhaling the nasty mop of hair on my head, he drops a quick kiss on my head. It’s short, a whisper of his lips, but I press up into it. His soft touches are the only thing that allow me to feel something, anything, beyond pain.
I nod at him, and let my fingers drift for a split second across his waist as I pass, letting him know I appreciate him taking care of things before heading toward our room and the large bathroom.
Tyler’s silent as he follows behind me, walking past me when I stop in the bedroom, and going into the bathroom. The bathtub faucet starts running, and the sound of cabinets opening and closing lets me know he’s taking care of me again.
He sticks with me every day, though I don’t know how, keeping me from collapsing into an unmoving heap. He makes sure I eat, take my medication, and get out of bed. Not that he ever forces me, instead he’s able to slide the moment of life in between my bouts of death.
Giving Tyler’s arm a quick squeeze as he steps out of the bathroom, and hands me a towel, I head to the lip of the bathtub. The smell of the lavender bubbles he put in begins to fill the room.
The water’s warm, with only four inches of water in it. It looks more substantial with the bubbles, but even that is almost too much to handle. Focusing on the feel of my muscles and the miles I put in, I play little movies in my head to distract myself. From how the water feels like it’ll drown me. From how it feels like the dirt soaks further into my skin.
Fictional movies that are as silly as possible are the only safe space in my head.
The sound of people coming in drifts through two closed doors, letting me know our friends have arrived for the first time. I know they’ve been asking for me, but--
I don’t want to face anyone. Tyler’s the only one I want to see.
I try to focus my brain away from my racing heart, I dip under the water quick, nearly exploding out of my skin when the water covers me.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Pouring a ton of shampoo into my palm, I use the act of digging it into my scalp to redirect myself.
Being around people makes me feel like I’m dying. My heart races, skin gets clammy, and I can’t get enough air. The people in the living room care about me. I know they do, but I don’t want to see them.
I’m a terrible fucking friend. Nothing is their fault, and yet I’m stuck.
Anyone who comes too close makes me lose grip on my thin thread of control. It doesn’t matter how well-meaning they are.
Tyler’s the only one who can come close without me spinning out, and he’s made sure no one gets close. After a journalist snuck onto the beach house we were at, the original guards were replaced, and he moved us to this apartment.
The new security company is run by two former Marines who have taken personal responsibility of my physical safety and the ongoing hunt for Gabe. They’ve made sure at least two people on me personally at all times, with extra for the building, and for Tyler.
They’re my Shadows. Peter Pan had a shadow that ran away from him, but mine stick to me no matter what, protecting my body like Tyler protects my mind and sanity.
The first set of men made me nervous, but for some reason, the Shadows don’t. Neil and Sam are the owners, and they didn’t scare me too much. They and the other men let me know where they’ll be, which keeps me from jumping at shadows, then stand just outside my peripheral, guarding, but not invading my space.
Laughter comes from the bedroom as Tyler comes in. It sounds good. Really good actually.
I haven’t heard Tyler laugh in a while, or at least that’s what it feels like. I hear him get something from our room and then go back out to our friends.
I wish I could go out and join them, but I’m not there yet. I know if I do it’ll be awkward. No one knows what to say to me anymore. Hell, I don’t know how to be around me anymore.
Closing my eyes to my friends, I imagine my bodyguards trying to catch Peter Pan, and failing as the boy who never grows up, flies away. The idea of the big, tough guys being outrun by a kid is better than the one my body believes when I get wet.
I’m drowning. Abandoned to die.
I struggle to finish my hair, and barely drag myself out of the tub, heart pounding. My energy drains in the effort to get from the bathroom into the bedroom. There’s a struggle to get my lungs to work, and it feels like it takes forever.
When Tyler comes into our room twenty minutes later, I’m on the foot of the bed. I haven’t moved and I’m still not dressed. My brain says the closet is a mile away and I dread facing our friends.
I don’t want to fight for strained smiles, when breathing is sometimes so hard. What was natural now takes everything I have to do. Everything from sleeping to breathing is already too damn much.
I’m not ready to force something that isn’t
there.
“You aren’t ready?” His voice is light, and it’s spoken more as statement than a question, and it makes me cringe to see him trying so hard to make things okay for me.
“Tyler--”
“Baby, you don’t have to do shit.” He sits beside me on the mattress, fingers barely stroking my skin.
My voice is hoarse when I try to talk. “I know you want--”
His eyes soften even as he cuts me off. “Rayne, you don’t have to do anything for me. I’m okay.”
He means it. He’s militantly protective of me, and I know he’ll do anything for me, but it’s not okay. He won’t ask anything of me. He takes care of everything and takes nothing from me. He just gives, just accepts, just holds me. And I let him.
He’s struggling and I feel horrible keeping him away from our friends, but I nod and close my eyes, letting him put me to bed.
I miss my friends. I miss my life. I miss me.
I miss me.
Chapter Two
Tyler Blackman
I watch the elevator close on Mike, listening to the guys laugh and joke with one another. It was good to see everyone and I’m not sorry they came, even if she stayed in our room. It gets her used to having them around again.
What makes me feel like shit, is that she isn’t ready.
Not because she should be, but because I can’t fix it. I won’t push her. She’ll get there when she gets there. And if she doesn’t, I’ll still be here.
I don’t shut the apartment door, instead, I look for Sam at the end of the hallway.
He’s one of the Shadows, as Rayne calls them. He speaks into the mic in his ear, making sure everyone’s gone before nodding to me.
Neil Dean and Sam Cruz own the security company we’re using. They’ve taken our case personally, and for the first time in a couple years, both owners are regularly on duty as guards. In addition to two scary Marines, they make sure there’s a few of people on us both day and night. We never see them most of the extras, but they’re rotated regularly to make sure everyone is well rested and able to take care of things.
Neil and Sam are regularly around, and after the last security team allowed a journalist to get onto the beach house’s property, it’s important that people we trust are the people taking care of her.
She started calling them her Shadows the day they showed up. Granddad fired the first company, and within an hour, Neil and Sam were in the house introducing themselves.
I don’t know why she accepted the two of them, but she did. She didn’t fight the immediate move to this apartment, or the rules they put on both of us. She called them shadows and they told her it was a good description of what they’d be.
I know there’s something more to the nickname besides the idea that they’re always there, but I’m not sure what. When I get it, maybe I’ll know how to help her better.
Sam gives me a tip of the head, letting me know we’re clear for the night, and I close and lock the door.
I put her to bed two hours ago, but if she’s on schedule, she’s either back on the treadmill again or staring at the wall trying not to. She tries to work herself into a coma every day. It doesn’t work well, but she does it again and again.
Closing my eyes, my forehead falls to the door. Breathing in as much calm as I can, I turn and take a step. And another step. Each step is one step closer to her body, but I don’t know how to get closer to her heart, which is all I want to do. If I had answers, no matter how hard the solution, I’d do it for her. But, I’ve got nothing, except that I love her, and I’ll do anything to protect her. To help her. Be anything she needs.
Another step with no clue.
The door to our bedroom is open, the light from the crystal light next to her casting a soft glow with splashes of color that seem to decorate the room. And curled up in bed, looking small and vulnerable is my girl.
Her long blond hair is still wet from her bath. Delicate white skin that’s too pale, blue veins making a subtle map on her neck and hands, too obvious. There’s a twitch in the corner of her eye, and I don’t know if I should be happy or sad she’s trying to sleep.
Even in her sleep, she’s tortured, brows drawn, lips tight. Her hands grip the blanket like it can protect her. She was tiny before, and right now, it’s worse, and she feels it in a way she didn’t before.
She whimpers, and I know if she wakes up, she won’t go back to sleep. Whipping off my shirt, I close the bedroom door, heading to her side of the bed, where her back is hunched over in her sleep. My sweats hit the floor, and turn off her light, sliding in bed with her.
This is the one thing I know to do. It’s the same thing she has wanted from me for every day since I carried her in the rain.
When my skin brushes her, she startles, but I whisper. Every soft word of love and protection I can think of comes out as I wrap my arms around her, I folding her into the security of my body. At the sound of my voice she calms, relaxing ever so slightly. The hands that gripped the blanket release and her lungs inhale deeply.
A slight stutter tells me she woke up a moment before she twists her body to face me, lashes fluttering open to looks at me. Beautiful blue eyes stare into mine and the clear recognition that she’s not alone smooths out her stress. Eyelids shuttering again, her hand rises to my chest, flexing on my pec for a moment before slipping around me as she presses her face and body into mine.
This is what we do. She feels lost and I give her a place to brace herself. That’s my job, and knowing I can do that for her gives me purpose.
Wrapping my arms around her, I kiss the top of her head, wishing a night of sleep for her. When her breathing starts to even out again, I’m thrilled. Then, she coils herself around me and I freeze.
No matter how much I tell my body it shouldn’t, it wants her, and she’s pressing against me. It isn’t happening, and I can’t imagine even suggesting it, so, I counting in my head, willing my body to get with the program.
It’s all about how she rests tonight.
One night at a time.
I hope she sleeps in peace.
I hope she sleeps.
• • • •
“Well, we can try to get through this shit and head to campus around ten.” Rayne smiles a little as she waves at the math homework on the table.
It’s been another week and she wanted to do more than sit in the apartment. The fact we’re both back in some of our classes is a big deal. She’s only attending her dance classes and our stats class for now, but she’s catching up on the rest online. The dance classes are helping her vent some of the ugly in her head. When she doesn’t push too hard. Not that she hesitates to push her body to her hard, but coming back full time to the rest of her classes isn’t something she’s up to yet. And it isn’t something the school is arguing with.
They’re scared to fight with us.
She’s still got bruises and that is on them.
These small victories are big for both of us. She feels like she has some control, and I’m able to be with her without her feeling like I’m babysitting her. I didn’t want her going back until Gabe is caught, but she’s trying to gain some semblance of what she had before. I could never take that away from her. She’s lost enough.
Her body’s still broken in a lot of ways. Her skin is mottled as it heals, the bone deep bruises not healing like you’d think, ribs are still cracked, the cuts on her back from the alley’s broken glass are still mending, and the finger he broke isn’t going be okay for several weeks.
She’s so fucking strong.
She’s running even though it brings tears to her eyes and she can’t laugh. Technically, she shouldn’t be doing any of it. Not dancing, not running, but she just won’t listen. Every follow-up doctor appointment, and every shot they give her to make sure she doesn’t get sick from what that fuck did, sends her right back to physical absolution. She welcomes the pain, as if she relishes abusing herself.
It pisses me off.
So,
I celebrate even tiny smiles. Every brief ray of sunshine that touches her enough to break through and lightens her, I cling to and try to magnify.
“Baby, whatever you want.” I lean back in the dining room chair and grin at her, encouraging the almost positive attitude she’s had since we woke up. “I have class and some game film I have to watch. Coach says he has a stack of stuff for me to review and I know I can watch it here, but I need to pick it up.”
“Sounds good. Who’s with us?” She grabs the paper we’ve been messing with, and hands me mine, staring at her’s for a moment before she shoves it in a folder and slips it in her backpack.
“Neil’s on point today.”
She gives me a quick nod and breathes out, “Okay.” Her voice is stronger than it’s been in a while. “As long as a Shadow is with us when you go to Dixon.”
“Always.” I give the back of her hand a soft stroke. She flips her hand over and squeezes mine. I’m glad she’s better because I don’t know how she’ll take what I have to say next. “But baby, we’re going to need to add a team member to the group. Neil wants to make sure you have round the clock coverage and his team needs more breaks.”
Her eyes darken before she sighs. “I know.”
This means meeting new people, new men, dangerous ones at that, and it’s been enough to set her off up till now. She’s accepted the team we have, but for the last week or so, Legion Security and Investigation has realized the job is going to take a lot longer than expected, which means they need more people. They’re running her security, mine, and they’re manhunting.
I see the stress start to rise, her chest quickening, the slight hiss coming from her as she tries to calm down. And I get it. It’s hard enough for her with people she knows, but new people force her to open up her surroundings to someone who could hurt her.
“Baby, Neil already said you can review them. You pick ‘em, but we need more men,” I say.
Her nose wrinkles. And I still think that shit is adorable, even in the middle of this hell.
