by Nashoda Rose
“Gemma?” Anstice asked.
“The woman Kilter loved over a century ago,” Keir replied. “She was there when his brother, Ulrich, kidnapped him then had him tortured.”
I continued, “He’s trying to protect Rayne where he thinks he failed Gemma. What he refuses to listen to is that he owes nothing to Gemma.”
Jedrik looked at me. “Rest is harsh.”
I kept my expression neutral. “He shouldn’t have attacked us. He knew the consequences.” I ran my finger over my Ink when I felt the burning of its eyes on my skin. “Rayne cannot repair if he tries to do it for her. She needs time to heal.”
“He’s cold as ice,” Anstice remarked, her hand on Kilter’s head.
“That’s normal, love,” Keir said.
Anstice was new to the Scars and had never encountered a Scar put into Rest. Kilter’s body would shut down until I removed him from Rest.
“Kilter will remain in Rest for six months,” I said.
Anstice gasped. “Six months? That’s so long. He was afraid for her—”
I cut her off. “He went against me. That’s unacceptable and against our laws.”
I tensed when I smelled Delara approaching the house. The front door opened and closed, and then I heard her quiet footsteps on the stone foyer tiles that led into the living room.
I peered over my shoulder and nodded to her. “Delara.”
She avoided looking at me, but she had that stubborn glint in her eyes. “She’s leaving.”
I sighed. We couldn’t allow that to happen. “She cannot leave. Go after her.”
Delara raised her chin and met my eyes. “I’m not taking her to a rehab center. It may be the right approach for some, but Rayne isn’t like others. Kilter is right. It’s the wrong environment for her.”
I looked at Kilter on the floor and then to Keir who had his eyes on me, waiting to see how I’d react to Delara’s disobedience no doubt. I didn’t. “Take her to the gallery. She can stay with you.”
“Huh?” Delara’s brows lowered with confusion.
“I’ll find a therapist who specializes in eating disorders. Rayne can live with you and go to therapy daily.” Kilter’s argument had merit, and I was willing to compromise, especially since Rayne was already on the run, meaning she’d overheard us and more than likely wouldn’t stay in rehab anyway.
“And if she refuses?” Jedrik asked.
“We will deal with that if it comes to that,” I said, but she wouldn’t. Not when she had no money and no place to go. She was one of us, whether she wanted to accept that or not. “We need to find out what they were doing in the compound.”
“You think she’ll tell us? I mean, she’s pretty messed up right now,” Jedrik said as he kicked a book aside.
“Ryker was too drugged to recall what was done to him there,” I said. “Once Rayne is strong, she will be able to tell us more. But we know she was vital to her husband.”
Keir frowned. “Vital how?”
I walked over to Kilter and glanced down at him. “With her malnourishment, her body has been functioning on very little. It’s in survival mode. Meaning her abilities have diminished and we haven’t been able to detect them. But Genevieve sensed them when she touched her.” I raised my head and looked at each of them. “Rayne is a Scar.”
I slid one leg through the slate in the gate next to the stone pillar, then my upper body. I winced as the iron pressed into me as I squished to fit. I managed to get halfway through when a hand latched onto my arm and yanked me the rest of the way.
Before I could scream, my back was locked up against a hard chest and a palm covered my mouth.
I screamed anyway, but it came out muffled and pathetic. I kicked back at my captor, but hit nothing but air.
“Rayne, stop.”
I froze while I violently sucked air in and out of my nose. Roarke?
“I’m going to remove my hand. No screaming.”
Roarke?
I nodded and he removed his hand.
He turned me around in his arms, hands settling on my hips. “Thank fuck, you’re okay. Jesus, I came back to the compound and everything was destroyed.”
Roarke was as tall as Kilter and just as muscular, but while Kilter had the look of a Highland Scot, Roarke was more of the handsome English gentleman.
His defined features were strained and tired. There were dark lines under his almond-shaped eyes and the corners of his mouth drew down.
“Roarke, what are you doing here?”
“Come.” He tugged me away from the gate and into the shadows of an oak tree and pressed me up against the tree trunk. He leaned into me, one arm stretched over my head, palm on the trunk, the other at my hip. “I thought… fuck, I thought you were dead.” His hand moved from my hip to my face and he cupped my cheek.
I shifted my head to the side to avoid his touch and his arm lowered.
He sighed. “Ben told me what happened and—”
I gasped, stomach churning. “Ben’s alive?”
“Was. He was burned pretty badly from the blast and had a stab wound, but he was breathing and conscious when I found him. I finished him off, didn’t want to chance that piece of crap living.” Roarke killed Ben? I didn’t understand. They had worked together. Well, somewhat together. “Anton is dead, Rayne. I saw his body. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“Yeah,” I said, lowering my eyes from his. I tried to block out the emotions Roarke being here brought with him, but they crashed into me like hail.
“I tracked the Scars here, but the place has been locked down tight. I only saw you once in the garden with one of the Scars.”
“Kilter.” An ache hit my chest and I looked toward the gate. Had they hurt him? Should I go back? Would Roarke let me?
“Are you running away from them? Did they hurt you?”
I shook my head, strands of hair falling in front of my face. “No. They were nice.” Roarke had always been kind to me, but he never helped me get out of there. He was a reminder of what my husband made us do. A reminder of the pain.
“Come with me,” Roarke said.
Why had he watched Anton use me like that? Why didn’t he stop what was happening? He was a Grit and was powerful enough.
The gate squeaked and we both tensed and turned.
“Fuck,” he muttered. He pushed back from the tree and stepped in front of me, blocking me with his body.
I shifted right and moved to stand beside him. His arm shot out in front of me. Roarke may have been kind to me, but he was also deadly. Everyone had been nervous of him at the compound, even Ben.
A woman stood ten feet away with one hand close to her hip while the other held a gun pointed at Roarke. She had smooth, sun-tanned skin and her hair was a jagged mess of strands, choppy looking. Anton would’ve hated that.
“Now, this is interesting. What’s a Grit doing outside a Scars’ house? Death wish?” The woman’s eyes shifted to me and she half-smiled. “I’m Delara.” Anstice had mentioned her. Her attention turned back to Roarke and she jerked the gun to the right. “Move away from her.”
Roarke didn’t move and his hands curled into fists.
Oh, God, he’d kill her. A gun wouldn’t stop him. I’d heard horror stories from Anton about Roarke’s kills. His ruthlessness. Anton had always controlled him, but now he was on his own and I was uncertain what he’d do.
I touched Roarke’s arm, feeling the muscles flex beneath, but he kept his eyes focused on Delara. “Roarke, please. Go. I don’t want her hurt. Please.”
He glanced at me, mouth tight and deep lines between his eyes as he scowled. Then he ran his hand through his walnut-brown hair, which hung just over his ears. His eyes locked on me and, the moment he gave in, they softened. “I’ll walk away because you’re asking me to.”
“Smart move, Grit,” Delara said.
Roarke’s eyes shot to her and his tone was harsh and graveled as he said, “I find out she’s harmed in any way I will come after each and eve
ry one of you.”
Delara raised her brows and cocked her hip as she shoved her gun in the back of her jeans. “We don’t hurt innocent people, asshole. Only Grit’s do that.”
Roarke glared and I held my breath, praying he’d let it go. Then he said to me, “Will you consider what I asked, Rayne?”
Go with him? Belong to another man? No. Never.
I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t the right time to tell him no.
He slid his hand down my arm to my hand, placing a piece of paper in my palm and closing my fingers around it. “If you ever need me.” He leaned forward, head tilted, and kissed my forehead. Then he stepped away, hands dropping from me, and faced Delara. He bowed his head. “A pleasure.” Then he casually walked away.
I stepped to the side and sagged back against the wall.
“Charming, isn’t he?” Delara said. “A Grit’s greatest asset, but I assume you already know that.”
I nodded. Roarke had been the only Grit at the compound, although I didn’t know if he was the only Grit who worked for my husband.
“Rayne, I know this is overwhelming being with us, but we want to help.” Delara moved in closer and leaned up against the wall beside me. “I was asked to stop you from running, but what I’d like is if you’d listen to what I have to say, then decide.”
“I can’t go where they want to send me. I won’t be locked away again.” Never. Another compound. The memories were too fresh. Too real. I couldn’t. I inched back a step away from her. Then another.
Delara nodded. “Kilter tell you?”
I didn’t say anything, not wanting him to get into more trouble than what I’d already heard.
“Rayne, it’s okay. Kilter fought against the idea and our Taldeburu has changed his mind about a rehab center for you.” I had no idea what Taldeburu meant and I was uncertain if she was breaking down the walls around my mind or saw my confusion in my expression, but she explained. “Waleron is our Taldeburu. The leader of the Scars here in North America.”
Kilter kept his promise and convinced them. “Is he okay? I heard shouting. He sounded so angry.”
She hesitated and my heart pounded. Oh, God, please don’t let him be hurt. “He’s fine.”
I closed my eyes, nodding, and inhaled a long, ragged breath.
“We had an idea. What if you live with me? It’s not much, nothing like this place. It’s an apartment downtown above an art gallery.” She reached out, took my hand, and squeezed. I pulled away. “Rayne, you’re best to be around people who know what you’ve been through. Or at least have an idea. You can stay with me and Waleron will organize someone for you to see. You can get help. We want to help and you don’t have any place to go. I promise, we won’t involve you in Scars’ business and you can get a fresh start.”
“What did Kilter say?”
Delara shifted her feet and her shoulders tensed. “Kilter had to leave.” I gasped, heart slamming into my chest. “He’s safe and unharmed, but he won’t be around for a while.”
Kilter left? He just left? Despite the fact that I had been running away, it hurt that he left.
It was better this way. Maybe he’d known that. I had started to feel something for him and that was dangerous.
A vacant emptiness settled inside me—a familiar black void that had become my solitude and my demise. I had nothing left. And she was right. I had no place to go.
I lowered my head and nodded. “Okay,” I said.
DELARA CHANGED GEARS AND sped away from the red light. “Danni’s apartment is above her art gallery. Balen, that’s her other half, bought a house in the Rosedale area, so I’ve been crashing there. It’s small, but has two bedrooms and is in a great part of the city.”
I sat staring out the window, an ache in the pit of my stomach. I knew what it was from—Kilter. He’d become my safety net, a safety net with holes, but still a safety net. And now that was gone.
Delara reached over and put her hand on mine. “It’ll be fine. You’re going to be okay.” She squeezed my hand, and then put it back on the steering wheel. “You’re pretty screwed up.”
My eyes darted to her. I was, but I hadn’t expected her to say that. At least not to my face.
She laughed. “Hey, I’m allowed to say that because I’m completely screwed up.” She stopped the car, shifted into reverse, and parallel parked before turning to me. “What I’m saying is, I get it. I mean, I don’t know what you went through¸ but I get the hurt. The wanting to be numb and keep everyone behind a wall.”
Before I could say anything, she jumped out, and put coins in a big green box on the sidewalk. It spit out a piece of paper, which she placed in the car windshield.
“Come on. Let’s get you settled in. And you’ll need some clothes. We’ll have to go shopping at some point.”
“I, ah…” Don’t have any money.
“Waleron pays. Scars money. You saw the private jet?” I nodded. “Yeah, well, money isn’t a problem. Being immortal has its perks.”
Relying on others was the last thing I wanted to do, especially if they were Scars, but right now, I had no choice.
Delara weaved through the people on the busy sidewalk and stopped at a glass storefront. I got out of the car and followed, looking up at the sign, ‘Danielle’s’ then in smaller writing, ‘art gallery.’
In the window was a stunning abstract painting of a herd of horses running along the beach. Glistening drops of water glimmered on their coats as the sun peeked through the storm clouds on the right; the magnificent creatures surrounded by an array of purples and reds.
But it was the enormous portrait I saw when I walked in that had me awestruck with its haunting beauty. It hung alone on a half-wall at the back of the gallery. I ambled up to it, stopped a few feet away, and stared at the beautiful man with rainforest-green eyes.
It was magnificent, as if the man stared right into the depths of your soul. Wet strands of hair hung down the sides of his deep cheekbones with one teardrop pooling in his left eye. The brush strokes were bold, and at the same time, the subtle mixing had softened the course roughness of his features.
“That’s Balen. Danni used to paint him all the time. Long story,” Delara said. “She’s a brilliant artist.” Delara tugged me further into the gallery. “Hey, Danni? You here?”
A crash sounded behind the end wall with the portrait on it and a giggle followed. An orange cat careened around the corner, slid into an easel, and made a dash for a window where he leapt up onto the ledge and sat peering outside.
“Stop, Balen,” a girl said.
I heard a light slap, and then a petite woman emerged while readjusting her clothes. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a pink T-shirt that had numerous red and brown paint splatters. Her auburn hair was curled up around a pencil, revealing an oval face, which sported a blush on both cheeks.
“Delar, hey,” she said.
Delara put her hand lightly on my lower back. “Danni, this is Rayne.”
Danni stepped forward and immediately offered her hand. “Hi, nice to meet you. I just heard from Anstice. She said you’re going to share the apartment. That’s amazing.”
I heard footsteps come up from behind the half-wall and looked over her shoulder.
“And this is my other half, Balen,” Danni said.
The man in the painting. Holy shit. He looked even better in real life.
He was tall with tattoos running down his left arm to his elbow and muscled, but not bulky, kind of like Kilter in stature.
He nodded to me then came up behind Danni and put his hands on her hips. She leaned back into him and his arms slid around her waist.
The three chatted for a few minutes while I watched, uncertain what to do. Their conversation flowed easily, like that of old friends. I felt the complete opposite, like a ghost standing in the shadows, alone and with nothing important to say. My experiences were so limited, my life so controlled that attempting to socialize with people was awkward.
/> “Yeah, sounds good.” Delara nudged my arm with her elbow. “We’ll shower and get settled in first.” She turned back to Danni and Balen. “Let’s say we meet at the pub around two?”
A shower sounded like heaven; going to a pub was more like a nightmare.
Balen swung Danni around in his arms, placing a brief kiss on her lips, then leaned in to her and whispered something in her ear. She smacked him playfully in the chest and he laughed, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Delara whispered, “Balen is Anstice’s brother and what I consider jam—sweet, smooth, and delicious. And he is totally in love with Danni. Come on. I’ll show you the apartment.”
Danni snagged a cell phone from the easel tray where tubes of paint sat, tapped on the screen, and put it to her ear as she called out, “I’m calling Jedrik. He’ll be pissed if we don’t invite him.”
Delara huffed. “Let him be pissed.”
Danni’s brows rose. “You guys fighting?”
Delara shrugged as she urged me to the stairs at the back of the gallery.
The apartment was quaint with warm, inviting soft green walls and a few of Danni’s paintings hanging. But it was the worn furniture and throw blankets and abundance of pillows that I really loved. Nothing really matched, but each piece told a story, had history. It was kind of messy, which I liked, too.
A jacket lay on an old armchair. Worn magazines and books were scattered on the glass coffee table, and two cat dishes sat on the countertop in the kitchen by the old green fridge. Nothing was in order, making it the complete opposite of what Anton liked.
It was perfect.
“Splat, that’s the fat cat, is Danni’s. He lives here as the gallery cat. She tried to take him to their new place, but all he did was cry, so she brought him back. The regular clients of Danni’s bring him treats all the time. You good with cats?”
I had no idea, never had a pet. But he looked cute. “Yeah,” I said.
There were two small bedrooms in the apartment, each with windows. Mine overlooked the back alley, not much to look at, but it had an escape route and I could see the sun, the moon, and the sky. That was more than I’d ever had.