Decker

by Summers, Eden

  Her eyes are the deepest blue, the outer edges melting into green. And those lips, those dark tempting lips, are ten times more beautiful as they tremble.

  “Sebastian…”

  I slide my hand to her throat, my fingertips grazing her carotid, her heavy swallow pressing into my palm. “Mmm?”

  “Tell me what you think my uncle was doing.”

  I let a lazy smirk take over. “I don’t think, Keira. I know.”

  “Then tell me,” she whispers.

  “Okay. I’ll play along.” I’m enjoying this part of the game. The revenge. The torture. It’s the justice I’ve been craving for years. “Your uncle was breaking in sex slaves.”

  17

  Keira

  “No.” I push to my feet, only to be dragged back down by the ties binding my arms to the seat. “You’re lying.”

  “Is that guilt I see in your eyes?” He clucks his tongue. “Silly me. I’d convinced myself you knew nothing about the human trafficking.”

  “What you see in my eyes is disgust. For you.” I’ve hated my uncle for years. Despised him. But I won’t believe he’s capable of this. I refuse. “You’re digging for evidence. And it’s not going to work. You won’t turn me against my family. Especially not with far-fetched stories.”

  “You want proof?” He remains on the table, the sides of his feet pressing tight against my thighs. “Should I show you the names of the girls in this state who’ve gone missing over the last few years and how the Torian name can be linked to more than a third of them?”

  My heart stops. “All. Lies.”

  “I can tell you exactly how it happens. I know every move that’s made.” He leans closer. “Your uncle claims to be a bigshot movie producer, or the owner of a modeling agency, or whatever else his victim needs to reach their dreams. He fawns over his targets, making them feel special as he promises them the world. He takes them to fancy restaurants, buys them expensive clothes, then clinches the deal with an overseas trip which is supposed to mark the start of their career. That’s when your daddy takes over.”

  My father?

  My stomach revolts, twisting and turning.

  My dad started a modeling agency years ago. It was a hobby, a ‘bit of fun on the side,’ he’d told me. I’d even designed his website with images he’d contracted from an overseas photographer. “I don’t believe you.”

  He shrugs. “It’s a little late to claim that when I’m already convinced you’re involved.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “You’re wrong. About all of us.”

  “The case is closed on your dad and uncle, pumpkin. There’s no question about it.”

  “Then why haven’t they been arrested?” I raise a brow, trying to convince myself of their innocence.

  He frowns at me as if I’m stupid. “Maybe because dear ol’ dad has been hiding out in another country. And Uncle Dick is practically a part of the produce section.”

  “No, no, no.” I keep shaking my head. “Why are you doing this? Is it for money? Is that what the authorities are giving you?”

  “I didn’t snitch for greed. I did it for me. For the pleasure of your demise. There’s no game show prize waiting for me at the end of this. Only the thrill of seeing you all rot in prison like you deserve.”

  My heart clenches, the erratic beats painful. I don’t understand. I don’t want to.

  “Come on, Keira. It’s bad enough that you say you’re not involved, but to pretend you didn’t know, or your family is incapable, is an insult.” He gives me a condescending smile. “It’s not like you guys have ever been on the right side of the law.”

  “If I knew, I would never let that happen. Me, of all people, would never ever, let that happen.”

  “You, of all people?” His words drip with condescension.

  “Yes. Me, of all people.”

  “Oh.” He rolls his eyes. “Because of your traumatic sexual past, right?”

  My eyes blaze in fury. I hadn’t lied about my history despite his theory of this being a game.

  I’d wanted to tell him more. So much more. All my secrets had been his to own. But I’d needed to test him first. I had no choice in sharing the story about my father’s death. It was the quickest way to see if he was loyal. Honest. I knew a revelation as monumental as the mighty Luther Torian’s passing would either be spread in an instant, or held tight because of our connection.

  I didn’t want to delay my feelings for him.

  I didn’t want to draw out the trial.

  I had to prove I was right about Sebastian, and I didn’t care how that happened as long as it happened quickly.

  But it turns out Cole had been right all along.

  My brother’s suspicions were on point, and now I can only assume the damage caused if Sebastian has circulated the lie.

  I blink through the anger burning in my eyes, and a heated trail slides down my cheek. He watches the path of the lone tear, seeming mesmerized, until I swipe it away with my shoulder.

  “That’s fucking brilliant,” he whispers in awe. “You’re a seductress and the most flawless actress all rolled into one.”

  “Stop it.” I scream and tug at my bindings.

  “Are you crying because you think it will fool me? Or is it because you know you’re going to get locked up for a very, very long time?” He leans close, getting in my face. “Don’t worry. You’re one of the pretty ones. I’m sure you’ll make a good little bitch.”

  I hold his gaze, ignoring the blur in my vision as I force myself not to blink. “I had no clue.” I lean forward, showing him I’m not scared. I’m not daunted. “I only lied to you about my father because I was falling for you. Because I cared about you. You’re the one who betrayed me.”

  I don’t recognize him anymore. I don’t even recognize my own voice.

  My vision continues to blur, but it’s not just from building tears. It’s from the manic hysteria I’m trying to hold in. My heart beats wildly. My chest is so heavy I can barely breathe.

  I become lost down a rabbit hole of mental anguish. My demons haunt me. My history crucifies me.

  I hyperventilate, my throat punishingly tight. My face is on fire. My heart, my lungs, my everything pounds and squeezes hard enough to kill me. I can’t think past the horror. I can’t see through the images my mind conjures of all those tortured women.

  “Keira.” He scowls, his face growing shadowed, the edges of my vision darkening. “Keira.” He shakes me, pushing back a small part of the overwhelming tide of emotion. “Cut the crap. I’m not falling for your shit.”

  My throat clogs with revulsion. “How many—” I croak. “How many women?”

  “Who knows. It’s a lucrative business. Your father knows how to cover his tracks.” His expression hardens. “It could be hundreds. Maybe thousands.”

  Bile rushes into my mouth, and I swallow to bite back the need to purge. I know what it’s like to be physically manipulated, for my body to be used. I know, and it fills me with blinding…everything. Sorrow. Fury. Fear.

  “They always make sure those women leave the country of their own free will. Happy and fucking eager to please. And they actually follow through with the photo shoots. But not until after they’ve lived it up with booze, sex, and drugs. Lots of pictures are taken of that, too. And always uploaded to social media. That’s how the corrupt cops in foreign countries can tell the families back home that the women went off the rails due to addiction or poor decisions.”

  I suck in lungfuls of breath, trying to push through the pummeling nausea. “I’m going to be sick.”

  He scoffs. “Do you think I care?”

  His sterility makes my anguish ten times worse. I’m not the person he thinks I am. I’m not that type of monster.

  I try to stand again, only to fall back in place under the restricting ties. Heat consumes my throat and mouth. I crane my neck to the side and tilt my face away. I lean as far as my bindings allow and retch the toxic sludge in heaving waves.


  “Jesus Christ.” Sebastian shoves from the table.

  I continue to vomit the contents of my stomach. Tears follow, streaking my cheeks, staining my soul. I don’t stop until my belly is empty. Then I wipe my mouth on my shoulder and hang my head as I sob.

  “Quit it,” he growls.

  “I didn’t know.” My lips tremble as I turn my face toward him. “I swear.”

  He glares at me. There’s a wealth of hatred in those eyes, but maybe there’s the slightest bit of doubt, too.

  He wants to believe me. I know he does.

  “Please, Sebastian. You have to trust me. I never—”

  He slams a palm down on the table. “Trust you? Are you kidding? I can barely bring myself to look at you.”

  “You lied to me, too,” I say in a rush. “But I’m not the enemy here.”

  “You’re not the victim either,” he snarls through gritted teeth.

  He pushes away from the table and storms to the kitchen. He stands there for a moment, clutching the counter, silent and still.

  I want to say something, anything to break him out of this anger, only the words form in disjointed sentences. I can’t think straight, not with the nuclear explosion of reality devastating my mind and the heartache taking over my chest.

  “You know me.” I swallow to ease the taste of bile. “I know you.” I heave out a breath. I frown through the overwhelming confusion. If only I could focus so everything would make sense. “Sebastian, please explain all this to me. I don’t under—”

  “Shut up.”

  I balk at his continued vehemence. “I don’t know the real you, do I?” The realization comes with an icy cold chill.

  The harsh reality I thought I’d been living in wasn’t reality at all. That existence was the fairytale. That life, full of deception and betrayal, was nothing in comparison to the truth.

  He yanks open the duffle, his movements filled with livid rage as he pulls out a utility knife.

  Oh, God.

  He swings back around, lifting the blade while he walks toward me.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Please, Sebastian, don’t do this. I promise I can prove I’m not involved. Just give me a chance.”

  “How?”

  How? Jesus. I don’t know. “Let me call Cole. Let me call Layla. Or my father.”

  “What the fuck is a phone call going to do?” He keeps approaching, not stopping until he’s in my face. His livid rage steals away the gentle man I thought I knew.

  He grabs my upper arm, drawing it high, making my wrist ache as it pulls against the plastic binding.

  He’s going to stab me.

  Kill me.

  I thought at a time like this I’d fight like hell. All I want to do is get on my knees and beg. Not only for my life. I want to plead for forgiveness for not recognizing my family’s sins. I need to pray for absolution.

  I should’ve known.

  I should’ve paid more attention.

  “I don’t know how to make you believe me. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make this right.”

  He lowers the blade to my wrist as horror fills my veins. I can’t watch the metal penetrate. I refuse to witness the start of my own death. So I stare at him instead. I focus on his dark eyes, the deep pull of his brows, those tight lips that still seem entirely beautiful despite the tight line they’re now clamped in.

  He’s going to slice my wrists. I’m going to bleed out.

  “You’re not this man, Sebastian. I know you’re not. And you should know I don’t deserve this. I shouldn’t be punished for the crimes of someone else.”

  He narrows his gaze on me, his lip curled in a snarl. “The only thing I know is that I’m fucking sick of you playing the victim.”

  He starts wiggling the blade, and I hold my breath, waiting for the pain to breach my panic.

  “All those women your family stole are the victims.” The knife stops moving, and my arm falls free. “My fucking sister is the victim.”

  I hear static after those defining words—my fucking sister.

  I don’t pay attention as he releases my other arm. I don’t feel fear or hysteria or disgust. I’m hollow. Empty.

  That’s why he’s doing this? His sister is the reason he became a traitor to the most dangerous family in the state?

  I stare up at him, a million questions waiting on immovable lips. I can’t speak. I barely breathe.

  He flings my other arm away and turns, heading back to the kitchen. He snatches the duffle, his gun, and his can of beer before stalking to the back door.

  “Don’t bother running,” he snarls. “If I have to chase you again, I won’t be as kind when I catch you.” He grabs the door handle and pulls it wide. “Clean up your fucking mess.”

  18

  Decker

  I sit on the back deck, the beer can now warm in my hand after hours spent staring at the setting sun. I can’t go back inside, and it’s not only because my brother’s house is now filled with the smell of vomit.

  I can’t stand to look at her. I can’t keep questioning the facts just because of her pleading blue-eyed gaze. So I’ll continue to hide out here, drowning in doubt.

  I’m not worried she’ll run. I’m too fucking drained to give a shit. But even if she does, we’re miles from civilization. More than a day’s trek to salvation if she has hopes of escaping.

  All the external doors are locked except for the one a few feet to my right. She’s caged. Unless she decides to climb through a window, which I have no doubt she will. In that case, I’ll hear her and have another chance for retribution once I chase her down.

  I think that’s the only thought keeping me upright—the possibility of sprinting after her, scaring her, punishing her.

  There’s no sound out here. Not even the whimsical chirp of a bird. There’s only the breeze rustling through the dried grass and the heavy beat of my pulse echoing in my ears.

  I never should’ve told her about my sister. I hate her having insight into that part of my life. But those words had burst free, demanding to be heard. After all this time, I wanted someone to know the truth.

  My life changed the moment I realized Penny had been taken.

  Now there’s no hiding the darkness shadowing me, or the crimes I’ve committed to get here.

  I’m not the man I once was. That happy-go-lucky fucker is gone. The naive sack of shit who lived a simple life is dead and buried. And I guess the guy I became soon will be too, but that shit won’t be a metaphor.

  My days are numbered. The finish line to failure is fast advancing, and I have no clue how to stop its approach.

  I raise my beer and take a long pull. I don’t know where to go from here. I’m not sure there’s a way out, or if I’d even take it if there is. I’ve spent years seeking answers. Striving for revenge. I no longer know how to live any other way.

  Footsteps approach from inside, and I lower my drink to listen. Her figure cuts through the yellow light beaming through the glass panes of the door. Her presence tickles the back of my fucking neck.

  Don’t come out here.

  Don’t you fucking dare.

  The door opens and she slowly steps outside, walking to the railing to look out over the vast expanse of vacant land as she clings to the cuffs of her cardigan.

  She remains quiet, her silence eating up the night until it feels like I’ve been staring at her for hours.

  “How long?” she whispers.

  I take another mouthful of beer and drag my gaze from her slender body. I hate the attraction that lingers when I look at her. I fucking loathe it after everything she’s done.

  She turns to face me, her face blotchy with the remnants of crocodile tears.

  I won’t be fooled. Not again.

  “How long have you been trying to take down my family?”

  “Why?” I glare. “What cunning plan have you concocted to use against me?”

  “I want to help.”

  “Help?” I scoff. “Go back inside. Yo
u’re wasting your breath talking to me.”

  She lowers her gaze, playing a meek, apologetic role that doesn’t suit her. Not anymore.

  “Then why tell me? Why am I here?”

  I can’t answer that. I honestly don’t know.

  Originally, I feared for Hunter and Sarah’s safety. At least that’s what I told myself, even though I know better than anyone that those two can look after themselves.

  I guess I’d wanted to prove Hunter wrong.

  I knew he believed Keira had set me up. But, Jesus, I’d hoped like hell he’d been smoking crack, too.

  The whole drive here I hated on her, despising every fucking breath, while also wishing she’d do or say something to prove Hunt wrong. That somehow he’d been mistaken. That I hadn’t been fooled into falling for her.

  “I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know.” I take another chug of beer to drown my pity party.

  She leans back against the railing, her hands resting behind her ass. Calm. Subdued. “What do you plan on doing with me?”

  “Whatever I like,” I grate. “And the more you annoy me, the worse the options get. So leave me the fuck alone.”

  Her chin hitches. “You won’t kill me, Sebastian. I know you won’t. You’ve said it yourself, you’re not like my brother, and I know that wasn’t a lie.”

  “Do you?” I’m not entirely sure she’s right. If given the chance, I’d kill her father. I’d kill her uncle as well. And despite her claims of Cole’s innocence regarding women trafficking, I’m pretty sure I could fuck him up without feeling an ounce of guilt, too.

  I could massacre her entire family and dance a fucking jig in their blood. I wouldn’t care how I had to do it. With my bare hands. Up close or from a distance. With a knife or a bullet or a fucking frying pan.

  I’m at the point where I’d pay good money to look deep into the eyes of those motherfuckers while I revel in their pleas for mercy.

  “Are you seriously that confident I wouldn’t bury you out here if I had proof of your involvement?”

  “But you don’t,” she murmurs. “And you never will, because I’m not involved. Neither are Layla or Cole, and I’d bet my life on it.”