by Jo Raven
“…Amber?” Cassie mutters. “And Jesse Lee.”
I look from the one to the other. Amber’s eyes are wide. Jesse’s are narrow.
“Found another victim already?” Jesse asks, disgust dripping from his voice. “Did you at least ask first this time around?”
What the hell? I expect Cassie to laugh, or reply in kind. Because that’s how she is. She doesn’t give a fuck about what others think. Right?
But she bites her lip and looks away. It’s as if she won’t defend herself, that she’d rather take the beating.
“What did you do now, Cassie?” Jesse says, stepping inside the bathroom.
I block his way. “Back off, J. She didn’t force anything, okay? She’s with me.”
Jesse frowns. Cassie makes a tiny sound of protest.
Not to what Jesse said.
To what I said.
Belatedly, I realize that maybe her unwillingness to speak up may have to do with me. That she didn’t plan on being seen kissing me.
But that makes no sense. I mean, she asked me to come here with her. She held my hand in the crowd.
Fuck. Confusion is making my head spin. I stare at her, trying to figure this out, but lack of sleep and leftover headache from the flashback isn’t helping. Same old.
The ache in my chest, though, is new.
“Shane?” Now Seth shoves Jesse aside to get into my face, choosing the time to make an appearance. “What’s going on?”
Can’t a guy kiss his girl in peace? I wanna ask, but she’s not my girl. Her reaction was pretty clear. Don’t know what she’s doing with me, and I don’t know how long I can stand here with everyone staring on.
“We need to talk,” Seth says, and he’s right.
“Shane…” Cassie grabs at my arm. “Wait.”
I jerk my arm free and turn back to Seth. “Yeah, we need to talk.”
The pain in my chest is wrenching. Feels as if something’s breaking inside.
Goddammit, I was right the first time.
I should have fucking run.
***
“What’s going on?” Seth rounds up on me the moment we find a quiet corner of the house—a study room, from the looks of it, filled floor to ceiling with shelves stacked with books and papers. A large desk takes up one side, stacked with more papers, and a French door gives a view over the garden.
“You were late to the wedding,” I mutter, avoiding his question. Leaning against the wall, I fold my arms, not sure what to do with this newfound pain.
Though it somehow feels familiar. A sense of loss so deep and sharp it’s like a stab to the heart. The date inked in my chest burns. The date of her death. My mom’s death.
This isn’t the same, I tell myself. Cassie is fine.
She just isn’t mine.
Shouldn’t feel this way. She’s helped me. She’s been there for me. The fact she doesn’t want me as a boyfriend shouldn’t hurt.
You’re not a kid anymore. Get over it. Besides, you knew it all along. You’re not what Cassie needs. You never were.
“You listening to me, man?” Seth is scowling at me, running a hand through his short hair. “What was Jesse ranting about? What happened with Cassie? What did she do?”
“Why does everyone automatically assume she did something to me?” I match his expression. “I’m a big boy, Seffers. I don’t need a fucking nanny.”
“Whoa.” He lifts his hands, his brows arching. “Is this about her? Didn’t know you had feelings for Cassie.”
“I don’t.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure you should shut your fucking mouth.”
He’s glaring again, and I glare right back. “I’m trying to look out for you.”
“And how has that worked out for you so far, huh?”
The clue that I’ve fucked up once again comes from his face paling and a glitter coming to his eyes. “Son of a bitch.” He blinks at me, then turns around, giving me his back. “I tried, goddammit. Tried to save you from that hell. I failed you.”
Jesus fucking Christ, Shane. I open my mouth and close it again before I find something to say to that.
“And it was all my fault,” he goes on, his back rigid, his shoulders pulled in. “That you went to fucking prison with me. Because of my mom. My problems. You stayed with me, had my back when I was too beaten up to move. And I couldn’t help you.”
Fuck. Seth breaking apart isn’t what I came here to do. Never was.
“Shit, I’m not blaming you.” Not for this. Not when I let you down just as badly, if not worse. “Stop it.”
He rubs at his arm. “You don’t have to. I blame myself.”
“Dammit, Seffers.” This isn’t what I need right now—to remember the prison and everything that has led us here. Already my pulse is booming in my ears. “You didn’t have it much better.” He’s rubbing his arm again. “What have you got there?”
“What? Oh, Zane inked a dragon on me.” He turns, frowning down at his arm. “Said that we’re as fucked up as the Inked Brotherhood is, and that we deserve dragons. Whatever the hell that means.”
Bring on the dragons. Fucking hell. “He wants us in the Brotherhood?”
“Maybe. Listen man, I…” He starts to pace. “You don’t get it. I still wake up at night, yelling for help. I keep seeing the prison, hearing you scream. I can’t… My brain still hasn’t processed that you’re okay now.”
But I’m not. It’s getting worse, I need help—
“You were always a fighter, Shane.” He stops, shoves his hands into his pockets, glances outside the French door. “You never stopped fighting. I shouldn’t forget that.”
I growl at that and push off the wall, kick at the side of the desk. “Yeah, what the fuck ever.” I lay down, took it like a good bitch. Begged for them to stop the pain, to let me go. “Fucking bullshit.”
“Says the guy who put his abusers out of fucking commission more than once.”
I freeze in the act of drawing my leg back for another kick. “What?”
He’s looking at me, one damn brow raised. “You gave Christoph that scar under his eye. He never forgave you for that. I’m pretty damn sure he hurt you worse after that, but on the other hand… I’m also pretty damn sure knowing you did it to him kept you sane.”
Sane. Yeah, right.
And it makes no difference, because I can’t fucking remember any of this.
“That’s how you got your scar, too. You used to scratch at it at first, make it bleed, until the nurse had it taped so tightly you couldn’t anymore. I thought…” He gives his head a tiny shake. “Never mind what I thought.”
I look down at my hands, at my forearms beneath the rolled up sleeves. What scar? Lots of scars to pick from. Two stand out on my left arm—the thick one along the vein, and the smaller one crisscrossing it.
That one, the smaller one, reminds me of a snake, and a knife. A nightmare. I lift my hand, staring at it. “I can’t remember.”
Why can’t I remember? And why do I feel that this thin scar is more important that the ones that almost ended my life?
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I can’t remember how I got this scar.”
He approaches me in two swift strides. “The hell you say.” He searches my face, his a slightly distorted mirror, and grabs my shoulder. “You don’t remember? Your memory’s full of all the monsters and blood and goddamn pain, but you can’t remember fighting back?”
I jerk out of his hold. “Why do you sound so shocked? My mind’s fucking broken, man. Half the time I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.” I glance down at my scars, then tug the sleeve down, bend over.
Christ, I want Cassie with me. God, I wish I could wrap myself around her, bury my face in her sweet-smelling hair right now.
“Your mind’s not broken, cuz,” Seth says, watching me intently, leaning over me. “You’re strong. Stronger than I ever was. I’m only concerned when it comes to Cassie, because
…”
“Because?” I straighten, and he takes a step back. “Told you, I don’t need a nanny.”
His eyes harden. “Because she was crying, and because she told me not long ago that she’d do anything for you, but you know what? Suit yourself, cuz. Looks like you don’t need anybody’s help after all.”
Turning on his heel, he storms out of the room, and I’m left gaping at the spot where he’d stood a second ago.
***
By now, my head is throbbing like an open wound, my pulse kicking against the sides of my skull and behind my eyes. As I stagger back into the party, I’m not quite sure what I need—an Advil, a shot of Scotch, or to take an axe to my head until the fucking throbbing stops. Until everything fades and leaves me in peace.
Cassie was crying.
I see a table laden with bottles and glasses and head that way, since no Advil or axes seem to be readily available.
Why was she crying? Assuming that Seth didn’t make that up—but why would he?—then she was upset. By Jesse’s accusations? By my claim to be together? What the fuck was the issue?
And why does it make me wanna go find her, check she’s okay?
Cursing under my breath, I reach the table and ignore the guy pouring the drinks, grabbing the bottle of whatever it is from his hands and shove my way through the people. I don’t know where Cassie is, or Seth, or anyone for that matter, but I can’t stop myself from looking.
Unscrewing the cap of my trophy—brandy, as it turns out—I take a swig and briefly consider going out, finding a quiet corner in the garden to get drunk. I’d freeze my ass off, but if I get drunk enough, it shouldn’t matter.
Nothing will matter then, a seductive little voice says at the back of my mind. You’ll be free of your troubles. You’ll forget about Cassie and Seth, about going crazy and about losing your job.
Forget about needing help. Stop hoping and let yourself go. It’s easy.
I stop so suddenly I almost trip over my feet. Seth’s words echo in my ears. “You were always a fighter, you never stopped fighting.”
Dammit.
Taking another swig, I walk by the groups chatting here and there, letting the hair fall in my face, scowling just enough to keep anyone from talking to me—falling back into old habits as I check faces.
No Cassie. No Seth.
Where the fuck did they go? Why can’t I find them? Slowly the house closes in around me. The itch to get out is eating at me.
What should I tell them if I found them?
Seth, I need your help.
Fuck you. You said you don’t need a fucking nanny.
Cass, are you okay?
What do you care? You can’t even fix yourself.
Son of a bitch.
I come to a halt and seriously consider hiding in the garden or hitching a ride back to my apartment, when someone calls my name.
A girl’s voice, and as I turn, I see blond hair and a smile lifts my mouth. Cassie?
But it’s not her, and the crushing disappointment is just stupid.
“I don’t know you,” I say and am already turning away, searching the room one last time.
“But I know you,” the girl insists, sauntering over to me and tugging on the hem of my shirt.
Dammit.
“What do you want?” One of Dakota’s relatives, I decide, turning around and taking in the colorful outfit—black boots, striped leggings and a red mini dress, a rainbow necklace that seems to be made of wool wrapped around her neck.
“You like?” she asks, following my gaze and winking at me. “My roommate Amber made it. You know Amber. Jesse’s girl.”
I squint at her. Okay…
“Anyway, come on. Your reading is up next.”
“My what?” The brandy isn’t helping with the headache, and I really want out of here. Still wish I could find Cassie and Seth first, though.
“Reading. So come on.” She’s speaking slowly, as if to a two-year-old. “It’s time.”
She’s tugging on my arm, and I really don’t wanna punch her. I can’t be sure, but I don’t think it’d be acceptable at a wedding reception.
So instead I try to jerk my arm free.
Blondie turns out to be surprisingly strong. She doesn’t miss a beat when I twist my arm in my attempt to get out of this reading, whatever it means.
“It won’t be a minute,” she chirps, and continues her determined way toward a small table with two chairs. “Have a seat.”
Resigned, I sit and take a long swallow from the brandy. “Fine.”
“I’m Kayla, by the way.” She blows me a raspberry, and I stare at her. “Now give me your hand.”
“My hand.”
What the fuck?
“Here.” She reaches for it and pulls it on the table, turns it palm up. “Don’t you want to know your fortune?”
And here I was thinking I’m the only crazy person here. Somehow the realization isn’t as comforting as I thought it’d be.
“No, I don’t wanna know,” I snap and pull my hand away.
Or try to. She’s holding on to it like it’s her paycheck. “Oh come on, don’t be like Ocean. You’d think with that name and those dreamy eyes he’d be more open-minded.”
Despite everything, a snicker escapes me. “Yeah well, I doubt he chose the name, or the eyes.”
“He can choose his actions, though.”
“Maybe he doesn’t fucking believe in hocus-pocus.”
She tsks. “He doesn’t have to believe in that. Just in me.”
“Why should he?”
She’s tracing her fingertips over my palm, and it tickles. Shit, don’t know how I found myself in this position, and why I haven’t gotten up to go yet.
Seems to be typical of my life of late.
“Why should he what?” she asks.
“Believe in you.” I lean forward and slam the bottle down on the table.
“Because I can read his fortune.” She doesn’t flinch. “Why else?”
Damn. “You’re crazy or you’re drunk.”
“Or both, like you.”
My breath goes out of me. “What did you say?”
Her eyes, a warm coffee color, don’t lift from her examination of my palm. “You heard me. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
“What are you…?” I have to stop and draw a shaky breath. “How?”
“I observe people.” This time her eyes do flick up to my face. “Some people think reading one’s fortune is magic. Others think it’s tricks. But to me it’s intuition. Empathy. Clues in your expression, your gestures, the things you say or do. The things others say you do.”
“So you scam people, is that it?”
“Relax, pretty boy. I won’t foretell your wedding or your death, and I won’t ask for money.” She strokes my palm and looks down at it again. “Besides, you don’t need me to. You know who you want to have babies with, and you’ve died already once, so what difference would it make?”
I snatch my hand away, curl it into a fist and scramble to my feet. “The fuck.” I’m suddenly, irrationally scared of her. “Screw you.”
She can’t know these things. She’s making it all up—how? Empathy she said, intuition. Asking other people.
I turn to go. Someone must have told her. That’s it. Scamming.
But nobody knows these things but me.
“Shane.” She’s standing in front of me, short and a bit chubby, her blond hair a tousled mess. “I’m sorry if I upset you. Your life line was cut at one point, and as for love… I’ve seen how you look at Cassie. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not crazy, not even drunk.”
“Lots is wrong with me.” I realize I’m holding my arm, ghostly pain flickering down my nerves, and I don’t know why. “I need to find Seth. And Cassie. Can you help me find—”
“Take a deep breath.” She takes my hand in hers. “What’s the matter with your arm?”
I look down at the small red scar, cock my head to the side, try
ing to recall—and it’s there. The memory’s right there. The prison, the showers, water and blood everywhere, my bare feet slipping on the tiles, my hair in my face, blinding me.
Burning pain in my arm. I kick at the man, and he falls with a cry. I grab the blade from his hand and swing at his face. He twists and turns, punches me—my blade cuts his face, bisects his cheek, barely missing his eye.
An alarm blaring. Guards running inside with bats, blows raining down on me, a boot slamming into my hand, breaking bones.
Oh shit.
Not real. I’m okay. Cassie said so.
It doesn’t matter. She’s not here. And I need to escape.
So I do. Staggering blindly through the memory, pushing away anyone and anything that stands in my way, I go looking for a door and a way out.
Chapter Sixteen
Cassie
“Stop hiding,” Manon is saying, dragging me out of my corner and across the house. “It’s a party.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“Right.”
We walk past open doors leading into gigantic study rooms and sunrooms and whatever else you need huge, furnished, empty rooms for.
“What is this house?” I totter beside her on my high heels. “It’s like a palace.”
Pretending to care. Pretending I’m not thinking about Shane, that I don’t want to curl up back in my corner and cry my eyes out.
When Jesse said those things, I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole. I thought he’d forgiven me. But that isn’t what hurts most.
Shane. He looked so pissed off before he left, even when I begged him to wait. I bet he remembered what he sometimes seems to forget: that I kissed one of his friends, no, forced a kiss on him.
Now that I know what demons hide in Shane’s past, I know I couldn’t have done anything worse. In his eyes, I am the monster.
I thought he couldn’t care less when he saw me kiss Jesse last summer. But he has to hate me for it. I know why now.
And it’s breaking me apart—that my mistake has not only hurt Jesse and Amber, but also the boy I love and pushed him away from me.
So stupid, Cass. You are so stupid. Mom always said so.
But also horrible and selfish.
Guilty.
“Dakota has a lot of family,” Manon is saying, “lots of aunts, and many of them are single and rich.” She tugs me right into the crowd gathered around the dais in the ginormous living room. “Or widowed and rich, no idea. This little house belongs to her Aunt Georgia, dog lover and president of the local knitting club.”
