But she’d never shared what all had happened.
She spoke over the large knot in her throat as tears threatened, something so rare in Kit’s life that she was more liable to be struck by lightning than let an actual tear fall. “I can’t, Autumn.” She pulled in a deep breath, bit her bottom lip to feel the pain, and stood abruptly.
Before giving into the urge to just walk briskly—or hell, run—away, she hugged each of her sisters in turn.
They’d gone off script.
Kit usually got her guard up before Autumn cornered her.
She hoped this wasn’t a permanent change in their Sunday dinner theater.
Of course, they were sisters, and she couldn’t leave without them saying something.
“We’re here when you need us, Summer,” Spring said while Autumn just nodded sagely. Winter watched her steadily, so much wisdom and grace written into the pale, youthful face of the youngest Markham. “We love you more than anything, little sister. You’re not alone.”
Kit said nothing, not even to comment on the use of her given name for a second time in the same night. She just looked down at her eight-year-old boots that showed such little wear, pinched her nose, and nodded before looking back over at her sisters, tilting her chin in goodbye and walking toward her Harley. Her bike sat, lonely and waiting to take her to her freedom, and her first breath of relief came just at the sight of chrome and metal.
Her boots landed on the footrests and Kit started her bike, feeling the steadying rumble and letting go of all her anxiety as she switched the gears and took the winding roads to her second floor apartment in town. Her mom had been the one to discover the large studio above the art shop she’d worked at for years. Most studio apartments were dinky, and although she didn’t mind sparse space, Kit preferred open floor plans and four secure walls.
She parked her midnight black Harley, its navy blue and chrome accents hidden in the darkness as the sun finally sunk below the skyline.
She didn’t travel with much, only her keys, which she normally snuck in a coat pocket or her bra, and a wallet—ID and cash inside—attached by a chain to her black cutoffs.
Her legs felt the chill of a summer night and she ran up the back, metal fire escape and unlocked the outer door to her apartment. There was a small entryway which led inside. A good place for storage, and where she left her boots at the end of the day and stored some odd knickknacks and boxes of memories. One box had been hidden beneath the others, a green camo box Lee had gotten her when she’d turned eighteen. She’d put so much of Lee in that box, and had never had the heart to throw it away. Still, she touched it now, just briefly, as she walked past it, throwing off her boots and opening the storm door to her studio.
The studio had high ceilings for a second floor apartment, close to twelve feet. The walls were cedar board painted in white, and the storm door led straight into the living room with dark wood floors and two white cushioned futons with dark wood frames. The tattered, large reading chair was almost the size of a loveseat and below it sat the bear hide carpet Eagle had given her after earning second the year before. To the right of the dining area, nestled in the far corner of the room, was a winding dark wood staircase leading to a hidden queen-sized bed she’d designed to fit just perfectly in the loft space she’d built with Lee, Hammond, Spring, and her dad’s help.
Home.
And honestly, one of the few places that felt as safe as houses these days.
Below the loft bedroom was a walk-in closet, and Kit smiled as she made her way to said closet to shake off the day’s dust.
After throwing on a black hoodie and a pair of leggings, she walked past the door that led to the back deck and which overlooked her small town, heading to the bathroom across from her walk-in closet. The dark wood and the multitude of mirrors and white accents made the bathroom feel like a place of light rather than of dank space devoid of windows.
She stopped her inspection of the room to stare at her reflection in the vanity mirror, surprised to find the earlier swell of emotion and the ride hadn’t made her more pale. Instead, her features were as they always were, light, slightly bronzed by the summer sun although she always had this light silvery bronze tone to her skin that glowed in a way Kit didn’t, but that Summer had.
She sometimes hated the fresh exterior she presented.
She’d started fixing that at twenty-two when she’d gotten her first tattoo right there in her hometown during her first leave after her captivity. She was up to twenty-three tattoos now. Whereas it had started as a rebellion against the shiny version of herself, now it was just another form of refuge from the darkness in her soul. A release of those pieces in herself, a fuck you to anyone who looked at her soft face, its high fine cheekbones, and thought, innocent.
She took a moment to pull her blonde hair tighter into the ponytail she usually wore to keep her curly bleach blonde hair away from her face, then brushed her teeth focusing on each swipe and attempting to settle her nerves.
There were other things that calmed her better than the Zen shit the therapy group she attended tried to push on her.
If a person walked through the storm door of the apartment, the majority of the apartment rooms were on the right, but on the left was the kitchen, a place not many would think would be Kit’s sanctuary, but it was...one of her few sanctuaries. And one of the only places, other than the local tattoo parlor where she’d met Eagle, and on a bike, that truly calmed her.
She wasn’t a cook by any stretch of the imagination, but oh Jesus, did she love to bake. And at 9:30 pm on a summer night was just the perfect time for her to create something sweet.
And so, she baked some rosette-shaped strawberry treats, ate six out of the twelve and went through her mail.
She sat with her coffee cup in hand, not worrying that the caffeine would keep her up. Caffeine didn’t keep nightmares away, and Kit’s nightmares dragged her to bed no matter how hard she kicked and screamed. Every night. For ten years.
Her hands started shaking as she saw the folded letter, and everything in her came to a sudden halt as her mind heated and tingled in fear, her gut churned in anger, and her whole body broke out in shivers.
She dropped the coffee and the letter on the floor, but quickly grabbed some paper towels and cleaned the letter off gently. The mug had broken to pieces and she felt the slice against her palm, a slice that seemed to wake her from her stupor, and she clung to the anger churning in her gut even as the haziness seemed to intrude.
Every movement was robotic, stunted, half-assed, incomplete, meaningless.
She didn’t know if she cleaned up the entire mess, but she must not have, because as she spoke in rushed tones to the man on the other side of the phone, her foot felt cold.
She lifted it and blood rained steadily from the wound, but she didn’t clean the wound.
She did nothing but drop the phone at her side and wait.
Wait as her foot continued to bleed.
Wait as her hand once more started bleeding as well.
Wait as she heard the click of her locks.
Wait as the storm door slammed shut and two sets of feet made their way to her.
Then she lifted her bloody hand and the note covered in coffee and red, and she didn’t even need to see the faces of Hammond and Lee Devereux.
She knew their faces.
She knew their faces because even still bleeding, Hammond didn’t head to the kitchen for her first aid kit.
He sat next to her, his head between his knees, breathing so heavily...and yet the sound was comforting.
Still…it was second nature for Hammond to take care of other’s wounds.
Instead, though, it was Lee who came back with the kit, stitching up cuts and scrapes as she looked over at Hammond, but not really.
She was somewhere else.
A place the Fates constantly seemed to return her to.
Nightmares.
Chunks of time.
Days.
Months.
Years.
She’d been the Fates’ bitch for a long time, and it seemed she was their bitch once again.
She’d dared the blackmailers to come after them, but until earlier, when Autumn had cornered her, she hadn’t truly realized that she might not be able to protect their secret. She’d thought she could take these sonofabitches on, come out the victor.
But the blackmailers hadn’t gone easy on her.
He or she or they...hadn’t started with, ‘We know what you did’.
Instead, the Fates had done what they’d done with Kit Markham and Hammond Devereux for ten years—completely fucked them over.
We know what you did with your baby, and your price is $50,000, Hammond Devereux and Summer Markham. Deliver the funds into the third trash can from the right in the old town square at 3 pm this Friday.
The baby.
The one piece of proof that had solidified all that had unfolded in their thirty hours of captivity.
Kit jumped up just as Lee finished and barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up.
It was perhaps Fate fucking her over again that behind her stood the strong and comforting form of Lee Devereux, a man who’d hate her even more once he knew the whole truth.
Family ties and family lies
Lee heard the shower running from his spot near the bathroom. He breathed deeply and leaned against the wall, attempting to settle his nerves, but his mind was running through a million scenarios, through a million moments, through the ten years of tension he’d not been given any choice in.
He read the note again and flexed the hand opposite the one that held the incriminating letter. He hadn’t looked at Hammond since reading it. There was something so desolate in his brother, as though the man’s body and spirit had been re-broken in that moment. And so he just couldn’t look at his train wreck of a brother because Lee, who’d have wanted to have it out with him, couldn’t risk kicking a dog when he was down.
When he took one more deep breath, though, Lee finally glanced over at Hammond. His brother’s posture remained the same: seated on the ground as he’d been since Kit had handed him the blackmailer’s words and breathing heavily, as though trying to take in all the oxygen from the room and still not breathing in enough of the vital element. And Lee knew this was a dog who was not only down, but so far out of the game. If he had the patience not to beat him to a pulp, he’d be rushing his brother to a hospital.
What. The. Fuck.
That was the phrase that had been repeating the entire time the shower was running, and also since it had turned off as he’d listened to the rustling of clothes and the tap turning on and off.
The door creaked open, and Lee didn’t think it was possible, but Kit’s eyes looked even more sunken in than they had before her shower.
Even in the state she’d been in before her shower, black hoodie covered in flour and tight black leggings, a terrified yet confused and angry expression plastered to her pretty face, he’d still been unable to keep the sight of her body from affecting him. And fuck all, but that pissed him off even more.
She lifted her chin and stepped forward, her black tank, shorts, and black leggings like a shield as she walked toward Hammond. She stopped abruptly, and Lee almost ran into her shaking form.
He gave her a little nudge and she bolted forward, kneeling next to Hammond and pulling him into her. His brother accepted her coddling, which, goddamnit, just made Lee more furious.
His rage came out as a command. “Tell me.”
Hammond’s pleading gaze met Lee’s as he stood, bringing Kit with him and standing protectively in front of her. “Lee, please—”
“No,” Lee interrupted furiously. They’d had enough time to say something. He had every right, then and now, to know that they’d… He tried to tamp down his anger, but Jesus holy fuck! He’d known something had happened to Kit and maybe even to Hammond, but a baby! “One of you better fucking talk”—he took a calming breath and then met Hammond’s gaze— “because I’ve got to fucking say, Ham, I’m not feeling very charitable right now. I’m this fucking close”—he took a threatening step in their direction— “to beating you like the dog you are.”
“Lee—”
Kit’s angry admonishment was cut off by Hammond.
“Lee, it isn’t what you think—”
“Just fucking tell me!” Lee yelled, and he could feel the anger moving swiftly through his body now, so much anger, a whole decade of anger catapulting him forward as his fist laid into Hammond—who never fought back, who always took Lee’s beatings like he deserved the punishment. “Fuck,” Lee spat as he backed away from them both, and started pacing.
Kit wasn’t a crier, not like when she’d been Summer, but her anger had taken over the small amount of hazy confusion he’d seen on her face since he and Hammond had barged in earlier. So not a crier, but her anger seemed to match his own in that moment.
‘That’s enough, Lee,” she said, the voice of their second now filling the room.
“It’s not enough, Summer.”
He spoke her given name like a swear and had the brief pleasure of watching her cringe before her expression became fierce and her own right hook hit him square in the jaw, pushing him back a step.
He’d never hit a woman, but his natural instincts caused him to take a fighting stance just as his brother pulled Kit back behind him. Fuck…his brother...his goddamned brother…
Lee leaned forward, his head between his knees.
He didn’t see their faces, but he heard Kit say, “It’s okay, Hammond.” She seemed to be close to tears and that was just not Kit Markham. “It’s okay. You can’t protect me anymore. We need to tell them… Lee and Autumn and…” Her breaths increased as he heard her suck in a breath. “Everyone needs to know. We’re not letting those cowards win, Hammond.” The voice of their second was back, and Lee, despite his heart breaking, loved her all the more for her strength.
How could he still love her?
He knew the truth now, didn’t he? Knew their secret.
“That’s kind of the problem, Summer—” Hammond started to say.
“You haven’t called me Summer since that night, Hammond—”
Lee stood, his breaths and heart rate evening out, and he saw the shocked expression on Kit’s face.
“Can we get this lover’s moment over with before I fucking throw up too?” Lee stated vehemently, not at all lying as the bile rose just a bit.
Kit stepped forward and Hammond wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, threw Lee a dark look, and added cryptically, “You’re gonna be sorry for that statement, little brother.” Before Lee could argue that point, Hammond pulled Kit’s face up by her chin, kissed her forehead, and a single tear fell down Hammond’s exposed cheek. “What I was going to say, Kit, was that not protecting you was kind of the problem.” He shushed her protest and her face seemed to harden in a stubborn resolve. Had the situation not been what it was, he might have smiled at the stubborn young Summer he saw in that one look. “I didn’t protect you,” Hammond said, barely above a whisper.
And then, Lee wouldn’t have believed it had he not been there to witness it.
And still he wished he hadn’t witnessed it.
Because there was Summer, shedding the few tears she had left…in Hammond’s arms…giving her all to his brother as Lee’s own heart broke open.
But it wasn’t anger that spilled out.
Nor hate.
No, a pain like nothing he’d ever felt settled in Lee’s gut.
He’d tried to give her so much these past couple years.
Hell, even before then.
He’d continued writing her on his own tours and even when he’d returned and started working for Eagle at the bar and the bike shop, he’d thought they’d still had a chance.
He made his way to one of the couches and sat abruptly down, placing his head between his knees once more, feeling in that
moment all the despair he’d been holding back these past ten years.
Even in front of him now, she was still never going to be his again.
He wasn’t much of a crier. Unlike Hammond, who’d always been more comfortable with his emotions, Lee was used to and preferred keeping things close to the chest.
Maybe Hammond’s way of dealing with the fucked-up ways of the world was what Kit had needed at war.
Maybe that was why—
Kit’s hoarse, strained voice intruded on his thoughts. “You didn’t know this.” She cleared her throat and sat down next to him, her back straight and his hunched. He didn’t look at her, and from the corner of his eye he saw she looked forward at Hammond, who watched them both. “You didn’t know this. Only my sisters and Dad knew, but my first tour, I was placed in a unit in Afghanistan with my friend Rena from college ROTC, Casper, and Hammond…”
She paused, exhaled loudly and then she seemed to lose the little bit of the stubborn she had going for her as she too leaned forward and her head fell, her body now in a position similar to his own. In doing so, her knee went out a bit to touch his. He didn’t move. Not an inch.
He also didn’t speak. He just waited, waited for his world to end.
“I was always the last to rebel.” Her far off look of fear was tempered briefly by a small laugh, and because he’d decided to follow her story along with her, he gave a small smile in return that he didn’t think she’d see, but still he gave it. He was the giver, wasn’t he? Even now. Except, she was finally giving as well. Only in giving this information, it felt more like a taking, and he suddenly wondered at the wisdom of wishing she’d talk to him about what she’d been through. “And I loved the freedom of the desert. For such a conservative country, there are a lot of hidden parties—on base and off.
Well, Rena and I liked to party, dance for a few hours, have some drinks, and as you know, I inevitably went back to write you dirty letters—many of which made their way to you.” He met her smiling face, but the smile died as she looked away somewhere off in the distance. And Hammond finally sat as well. “We were reckless in our pursuit of everything that screamed, ‘yes, I’m alive!’ But that recklessness isn’t as forgivable when you’re a soldier at war.”
A Terrible Beauty (Fallen Eagles Book 1) Page 4