A mean shiver prickles up my spine like the legs of a thousand spiders. His eyes widen into mine, his face blanches out for a moment before his lips curl with slight satisfaction.
“Welcome back.” His shoulders retract. He’s identical to how I remember with that I’ve-got-you-under-my-thumb look on his conceited face. His body is shrouded in a suit and tie, and it begs the question what the hell do these people do, dressed to the nines, on a Sunday afternoon? God knows they’d burn down a church with their presence simply by pulling into the parking lot.
“Demi is here to collect a few things.” Nora’s lips tighten into a perfect line. Her voice is tense. It makes me want to snatch both Caleb and Gavin by the sleeves and drag them out of here. What the hell was I thinking coming here with my lawyer? I should have brought riot police. “Why don’t you escort her upstairs while I entertain the guests? I’m sure they can fill me in on a detail or two of the missing years.” She raises a stenciled brow. “Your room is still intact.” She folds her arms across her chest as if she scored a point in this game we’re playing. With dozens of rooms to spare, it shouldn’t surprise me that she willfully didn’t box up my things. Curious though.
Something in me loosens. She’s falling for it. Caleb has opened his mouth, and she’s crawled right inside, only she’s no string of pearls, Nora is no treasure. She’s laden with barbed hooks and venom that can sink into your existence and kill you before you ever notice the sting. I could imagine the smile she’d have as we bled out at her feet. She probably gains a decade of her life for every person she slaughters. I wonder how many years she got for my father? No, she didn’t kill him directly—that would be me—but she was killing him softly. It was just a matter of time.
Gavin leans in, warming me with his body. “I’m not leaving your side.” He openly glares at Josh. Gavin has felony-waiting-to-happen written all over his face. And if he starts in on a massacre, I might just help. Again, riot police would have been nice.
“No, I’ve got this.” I brush past them and take the stairs two by two. I hit the second level, and it’s as if the house just gave me a heartfelt hug—the prodigal daughter has returned with no father to greet her. Tears come unstoppable as I pass Daddy’s picture on the wall. It’s a partial acrylic that Nora had arranged to have done right after the wedding, five feet wide, seven feet tall. Here he is—larger than life in every way. My eyes stroke over him lovingly. I have his nose, his broad forehead.
“Daddy,” I whisper, touching his hand.
Footsteps stomp up the stairwell, too rough to be Gavin’s, and Caleb is a man on a mission. He’s not leaving Nora’s side. That only leaves one contender, and him I’d like to avoid.
I shuffle off to the far room at the end—my bedroom. My hand falls over the antique brass knob like it has a thousand times before. My mother had them imported from Paris. She had her brood of eight in mind when building this palace. She hand selected each knob herself, lending the home a personal touch. Her fingerprints are everywhere. My mother grafted her soul over this home before I tore my way out of her womb and took away the rest of the family she wanted to build with my father—the very breath in her lungs.
I open the door slow as a dream. A slight musty smell catches me by surprise. Nora is meticulous. She has a staff of twenty who dust this place from top to bottom twice a week, but it still holds a dank smell better suited for a basement than the room of my youth. The curtain is open wide, and the dull afternoon light pours in exposing the very room in which my father once tucked me in at night. My desk, my bed with its gingham canopy, the matching bedding—it’s all still the same. The bed is made neat. The excess of my closet that I left vomiting out onto the floor has been cleaned up and put away. My desk is still cluttered with notebooks and mugs full of pens and colored pencils from the art class I was taking my first semester at Mitchell University. But, for some reason, Nora has kept my room, my things intact like a shrine. It’s something a grieving parent would do after losing a beloved child. I’m anything but beloved by Nora. It makes no sense.
A strong hand lands on my shoulder as Josh embraces me from behind. He buries his nose in my neck a moment before pulling away.
“Damn.” He groans. “You look good.”
I twist out of his grasp, and my eyes snag on the wedding ring planted on his left hand.
“And you look married.” God, I feel sorry for his wife, and I don’t even know her. I’d like to think they deserve each other. Better yet, she’s using him for his money just like his mother did my father. “Don’t think about touching me again.” My heart tries to kick its way out of my chest as I stalk off to the closet. It’s all still there—every last stitch present and accounted for. I pluck a purse off the floor, my mother’s old Louis Vuitton bag. For so long I wished I had taken it with me that day. It’s huge, yet smaller than a briefcase, bigger than a tote. The zipper jumps as I pull it back and flatten the inside with my hands.
“So who are those knuckleheads you dragged in?” he whispers, following me to my desk as I pull open the drawer and start fingering random things to fill my mother’s purse with. God—Caleb never told me how much time he’d need alone with my stepmonster. It could be hours, weeks. Just being up here with Josh is making my skin crawl. His breath rakes over my neck and my stomach does a flip. If he so much as steps any closer I’m going to jump to the ceiling.
I rack my brain trying to remember if Caleb wanted me to out him as my attorney?
“They’re my boyfriends.” I turn to face him, needling him with hatred. “One for show and one is my private reserve. You of all people know how that works.” I let out a breath as I make my way to my jewelry box—my mother’s jewelry box—teak inlaid with bronze—no bigger than a lunch box. My father bought it for her on their honeymoon in Bali. They smoked exotic pipes, and she wore long batik scarves as a dress. He said they raced across the shoreline on foot every afternoon, and the winner would pick where they went to lunch. They made sandcastles and memories, and now the only sandcastles they get to build are made of clouds because their only child turned into a brute that demoted them to the belly of the earth. They’re not making any more memories, and it’s all my damn fault.
“Two boyfriends, huh?” Josh leans against the bedpost, amused. His hairline has receded just a touch. There are more laugh lines around his eyes, which doesn’t surprise me, Josh is always laughing at the world. He’s still striking—still capable of luring undiscerning cheerleaders straight to bed. And I’m sure he does despite the wedding ring. “I’ve missed you.” The back of his hand touches my cheek, and I’m quick to bat him away.
I laugh in his face. “I never meant anything to you.”
A sick part of me wants to hear that I did, that what happened wasn’t as horrid as reality paints it to be, but I know the truth. Sometimes life forces you to take off the blinders, and, for me, this is that moment. Josh is just another beast who took advantage of a young, grieving girl. I was nothing to him then, just like I’m nothing to him now.
“Dem”—he digs his fingers into my hips, and I try to pry him off—“how could you leave me?” He brings my head to his and grazes his teeth over my cheek.
“Let go.” I claw my way out of his grasp.
“Get the fuck back here.” He speeds it out so fast it sounds like one long word. Josh lands me flat on my back over the familiar bed, and, for a moment, the weight of his body over mine makes the last three years dissolve like a mirage. Gavin, Loveless, they were just a wishful ocean in the desert of pain that Winter Haven had become. “You think you can get away with that shit?” The veins bulge from the sides of his neck as he tries to rake off my jeans.
“Josh, no!” I buck and kick, but he’s on me now, pinning my wrists with just one hand. “Stop!” I scream right into his mouth.
A guttural laugh escapes him as his hand snakes down between my thighs. He bypasses my panties and plunges a finger deep inside me.
“That’s it, Demi. That’s
what I miss.” His head arches back. His eyes close as he soaks in the sensation. “You miss it too, don’t you?”
“Fuck you!” I roar it in his face. I claw, punch, bite and hit as my nails fill with his skin.
In a flash I’m reminded of Kennedy telling me how Warren attacked Reese—how Ace swooped in to save her. Maybe that’s my problem, I’m always waiting for someone to swoop in and save the day. Not anymore.
My father. My mother. It’s so unfair that I’ve killed all the wrong people. I think it’s time to rectify that. My rage boils over, and I loosen my hands, digging my fingers into his throat before he can react. His eyes spring open, and I bring my knee up so hard I hear a satisfying pop as I meet with his balls. His eyes spring wide like dinner plates as I roll him onto the floor. I don’t put much thought into what I’m about to do. In a fury I stomp down over the back of his neck. All those nights I cried out in pain—all those days I fooled myself into believing I meant something to him, they come tumbling back as fuel for this blind rage. I pick up the chair to my vanity and bring the legs down hard and solid onto his head. I want to crush it like a melon. I want to hear the soft thud as I crack his skull to pieces. My muscles shake as I plunge it into him, over and over. A strangled cry escapes me as I thrash him with the tiny stool until his body stops twitching.
“Shit!” Gavin bursts in and pries the seat from my hands. He tosses it to the other side of the room with a crash. I get one more swift kick to the pervert, square in the face—feel his hard skull as it flattens into my shoe.
Josh doesn’t move. Blood trickles from his nose, and my body goes numb.
“I killed him.” The sound of my panting eats up the silence.
It looks like I finally got it right.
Gavin
I’ve never hated myself more than I do now. When Demi said she was going up alone I thought I’d give it five minutes tops.
Shit. I pull her in, and she loses it. Demi buries her face in my chest, wetting the front of my shirt with her tears.
Josh lies motionless on the floor, his hair clotted with blood.
This fucker knew one of us was coming up after Demi. He knew he had seconds to do what his twisted mind decided on as soon as he laid eyes on her. You could see the lust enliven him the moment he saw Demi.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her hair. “Let’s get out of here.”
I lead her downstairs, back into the living room just in time to catch a glimpse of a patrol car speeding toward the house.
So much for hauling ass.
It’s in that moment I know what I need to do.
Caleb stands. His face looks bleak as if he just racked up a body count himself.
“Nora felt she needed to contact the authorities.”
Wish I could say I was surprised.
“Why is that?” I ask as Demi pulls back her shoulders with a new resolve. Demi has balls, tough as steel.
Nora steps forward until she’s an arms length from Demi.
“Should you tell them Demitria? Or should I?”
Demi arches her neck as if bracing for the storm.
The old battleax looks from me to Caleb. “Demi, as you know her, is a prolific storyteller. I’m not sure what version of the truth she’s fed you, but I’m fairly certain it wasn’t the right one.”
“And which one is that?” Caleb asks with a resolute boredom as the police give a brisk knock at the door.
Nora lifts her chin. Her slit eyes settle over the woman I love.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this.” She bleeds a quiet smile that recants her sugarcoated words. “Demitria spent the last six months of her time here incarcerated under the care of a top notch psychiatrist. One night, I found her unresponsive, and she was rushed to the hospital. As they were transferring her—she managed to escape.”
What the hell is she talking about?
I glance to Demi for some hint of this not being true, but she looks pale, frightened.
“Demitria isn’t well. She’s never recovered from her father’s death. It drove her to the brink of insanity.” Nora rides her judgmental gaze over Demi. “She’s prone to doing all sorts of erratic things that can put her in harm’s way. She’s a danger to herself and others.”
Reeva’s house bounces through my mind, then Josh lying twisted and bloodied on the floor.
“So, you see”—Nora pauses as the police are escorted into the room by a housekeeper—“as she was in my care when she left, it’s my responsibility to have her recommitted.” She looks to Demi. “I’ll have the finest doctors evaluate you. Your father would want nothing less. We’ll get you settled on your medication, and you’ll be right as rain. Don’t worry”—her features contort to a whole new level of wickedness—“you’ll stay right here at Winter Haven.” She strokes Demi’s hair, but Demi doesn’t move. Demi has turned to stone in this woman’s presence. “Josh?” Nora calls toward the stairs. “Joshua, come quickly, I’ll need you to help escort Demitria back to Dr. Lundgreen.”
I clear my throat. “Josh isn’t coming down.” Then add without missing a beat, “I killed him.”
“What the fuck?” Caleb says it calm and cool like only an attorney can. His eyes hold a look of amusement, but he’s shaking his head as if I’ve just stuffed my own leg in a wood chipper, and I did.
“You read the police report. You tell me.”
We’re seated in a dingy dining hall of the downtown Brody Police Department. They threw my ass in a holding cell with about fifteen drunks and two men who looked like they could stab my eyes out with their fingernails. It’s been four hours since they dragged Demi out of Winter Haven, the police had me spread eagle with a nightstick to my back, my hands in temporary restraints. All I could do was watch her leave. It gutted me from my balls to my heart. I can’t think of it without my chest aching.
“You’re right.” He leans in hard. “I’m aware of the police report. I memorized it like a fucking novena. Now you tell me why you’re covering for her.”
I glance up from the table. My blood runs cold, and, for a second I think I might pass out. If it weren’t for Demi, I’d want to black out permanently.
“Did she confess?”
He knocks his fist over the table. “You just did it for her.”
“You’re good. Now get out of my face and go find Demi wherever the hell they locked her up. Talk to her. Figure out what’s real and what’s fantasy.”
He takes a deep breath. “I did.” His features reconfigure until he looks sorry for me—sorry for Demi and himself included. “It all mapped out just the way the old coot drafted it. Demi was under the care of a topnotch psychiatrist. Her stepmother went as far as having a safe room built into the attic in the event Demi needed to be put in seclusion, and evidently it happened routinely. It wasn’t just for the last six months she spent at Winter Haven. The incarcerations began shortly after her father died.”
My stomach bottoms out. I know for a fact it felt like I was about to lose my mind after my parents died. My gut wrenches at what Demi must have gone through. The guilt she hauled around was enough to drive anyone mad. Add to that an asshole who thinks taking advantage of her is a great idea, and you have a recipe for disaster.
“Locking her up at Winter Haven? That can’t be legal.” It’s all I can say. Why didn’t Demi tell me any of this? But then again up until a day ago I still thought her name was Emmy.
“Nora had the state sanction it as a designated inpatient psychiatric facility.”
“That for sure doesn’t sound legal.”
“Lot’s of things are legal when you throw enough money at them and the campaign funds of the congressmen in your district. Tit for tat. This was easy.” He bounces his knuckles off the Formica. “Gavin, your girlfriend downed nineteen barbiturates just two months before she managed to escape. That’s no joke. She had a death wish and wasn’t afraid to make it happen.”
“She didn’t die.” But I understand her need to. I’ve been down that dark
road. Losing the people you love is painful. And all Demi was left with was Nora and her need to control her—not to mention Josh and his urge to rape her nightly. My heart breaks for Demi all over again. I close my eyes and feel her. I can feel Demi wrapping her arms around me, and right now that’s the only thing I want in this world—her right here with me.
“So what happens next?”
He shakes his head. “You forgot to ask about the body you left upstairs with a fractured skull.” There’s a glint of pride and disgust in his eyes, and for the first time I see a hint of Warren in him.
“He died. The end. The fires of hell are happy. Are we through?”
“No, we’re not through. He’s alive. He was knocked unconscious. He has a nasty concussion, but he’ll come around.” His brows rise. “You sure you’re ready to perjure yourself in front of a judge and jury? Because, if you are, that guarantees you a stay at the Hardknocks Hilton. A pretty boy like you gets special treatment at a place like that. If that’s the road you take, I’ll gift you a case of KY Jelly.” He rests his chin on his fist. “You’ll need it.”
I wince at the idea. “I can’t let Demi take the fall.”
“Her jeans were undone when she came downstairs. She looked like she just stepped in front of a train. He assaulted her. Stick with the truth. It’s a much neater ball of yarn to untangle.”
“What about jail?”
“No prison for her. Him maybe.” He hops to his feet. “I’ll let you marinate in this shithole until I can find someone who wants to put up bail.”
“What’s bail set at?”
“Twenty thousand dollars.”
“My lucky number.”
“No worries. Just make the right choice by the time I get back.”
“Forget about me. Get to Demi!” I shout as he walks down the hall.
“On my way there right now.”
An officer shows up and tosses me back in the think tank.
I lie on the hard, cold bench bolted to the wall and wonder how the hell everything went so wrong.