by Laura Kaye
“Family,” Easy said in a low voice, the emotion of the moment making him miss Rimes so bad, it was a physical pain in his chest. But even with that acute reminder of what he’d lost, Easy took a small measure of comfort. Because, this . . . this was the meaning and the belonging Easy had been missing for the past year.
“YOU OKAY IN there?” Sara asked from out in the hall.
The hot water of the shower rained down on Jenna’s head. She’d finished bathing herself at least ten minutes ago, but she didn’t want to leave the white noise and heat of the shower—because after her admissions and that panic attack, she really wasn’t looking forward to seeing anyone. Embarrassment and shame made her cringe when she thought about her panicky freak-out and the fact that she’d shared what she’d promised herself she’d keep quiet. Now, she had no doubt that Sara was going to want to talk more. And she couldn’t begin to imagine how she would face Easy.
“Yeah,” she called as she wiped her hands over her face. “Be out in a minute.”
Guilt cut through Jenna’s belly. Sara had helped rescue her. Jenna should feel happy and relieved and grateful to be reunited with her sister. And she was.
Except.
She shivered despite the spray’s warm temperature.
Being in Sara’s presence reminded Jenna of what a freaking burden she was and all the ways that her illness—hell, her very existence—had hurt Sara over and over again.
Time to stop hiding. She turned off the water, grabbed the towel from the toilet seat, and dried herself off.
Then, almost holding her breath, Jenna did something she hadn’t allowed herself to do when she’d come in the bathroom. She stepped in front of the mirror, lifted her eyes, and looked at her reflection.
“Oh, God,” she said, as her gaze scanned over the black-and-blue ringing her right eye. She leaned in and tilted her face this way and that, getting a closer look. Everything between her eyelashes and eyebrow was purple, and the bruising extended above her eyebrow, too. A reddish purple beneath her eye extended to the side of her nose, where the bruising turned a sickly yellow. More purple colored her puffy cheekbone, where three little white strips held together a split right over the bone.
The hit to the mouth has bruised her, too. Not as bad as around the eye, to be sure. But the whole area below the corner of her lip was a reddish purple. Her gaze scanned downward to find that a bruise marred the skin at the top of her left breast and that purple fingerprints dotted her arms here and there.
Man, how she wished she could say, “You should see the other guy.” Except, all her efforts to fight back had been absolutely useless. She tried to swallow around the lump in her throat.
“It’s over,” she whispered, bracing her hands against the porcelain. As she inhaled a deep breath, her gaze settled on a pile of toothbrushes resting behind the faucet nozzles. What she wouldn’t give to use one of them, but she didn’t know to whom they belonged nor did she know anyone well enough to be at the borrowing-your-toothbrush stage. She brushed her teeth with her finger. Twice. And then she gave in to the urge to borrow the mouthwash sitting on the back of the toilet.
“I have some clothes for you,” Sara said from the other side of the door.
Not wanting Sara to see any more than she already had, Jenna wrapped the white bath towel around her body like a cape, glad it was big enough to cover everything that needed covering. She glanced at her own clothes, which she’d stuffed into the plastic garbage can under the sink, then opened the door and found her sister standing right on the other side, her expression somewhere between hopeful and worried. The sweats and tee in Sara’s hands didn’t look familiar, which brought home the realization that Jenna had none of her belongings here. And neither did Sara. “Thanks. Where did you get this stuff?” Jenna asked, taking the items into her hands, which was a bit challenging with her arms under the towel. But Jenna didn’t want Sara to see all the bruises.
“Becca,” Sara said. “Do you remember her? You met her last night, but you were really out of it.”
Frowning, Jenna tried to remember seeing anyone but Easy, but couldn’t. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, you can meet her today when you’re ready. She lives here, too. She’s a nurse, and she’s really nice. Luckily, she had some extra stuff we can borrow until we get ours.”
Lives here, too? As in, what? They lived here now? “Why did you say it like that? ‘Lives here, too.’ ”
Sara rubbed her forehead. “Well, just that, we’ll be staying here now. At least for a while.”
Jenna’s thoughts were suddenly in a whirl. About how their lives had changed so quickly. About the fact that they were still in danger. About their father, who had left them in this mess in the first place. He’d apparently been involved with and indebted to the Church Gang before he’d died in a prison fight, which in the gang’s estimation dropped the debt into Sara’s hands to pay off.
“But all our stuff . . .” Jenna’s belly squeezed as realization set in. “My books. Your sewing machine. Our pictures. What . . .” She shook her head, knowing it was stupid to worry about things like this given what she’d survived, but whenever life got hard, books were what had gotten Jenna through. When their dad went to prison, then died a couple of weeks later, when she had a bad seizure that knocked her down for a few days, when she and Sara fought—books helped her escape it all.
Now, she had absolutely nothing. Not even the clothes on her back since she planned to get rid of what she’d been wearing when she arrived.
“I know,” Sara said. “And I’m sorry.”
There Jenna went, making Sara feel bad again. She hugged the clothes to her chest. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. But I’m confused. If Bruno’s dead, why can’t we just go back to the apartment?”
“Because Church isn’t dead,” Sara said, sadness slipping into her green eyes. “Dad’s debt was to Church, so as long as he’s alive, we’re in danger. We’re safe here, but our apartment’s off-limits.”
“If that’s the case, what about moving to New York? I thought we wanted to get out of Baltimore altogether?” This was the plan they’d come up with a few mornings ago. The day after Jenna had learned about everything that had happened to Sara. And just a few hours before Bruno and his henchmen had broken into their apartment and dragged Jenna out. The only reason Jenna hadn’t insisted they pack up and run that morning was because Sara had talked her into finishing out school for the semester so she didn’t lose the credits.
Funny how, just a few days ago, college had been the most important thing in her life. All she’d wanted to do was get her degree and get out of their shithole apartment and start a life of her own. She’d been so dedicated to the idea that she’d taken summer classes every single summer so she could graduate early, leaving her with just a few classes remaining before she could get her degree. All of that felt like it belonged to a different person right now.
And all of it also felt incredibly selfish. Here she’d been focused on getting out and getting away, which would’ve left Sara in the middle of a horrible situation. All by herself.
Sara ducked her chin and hugged herself. “All the money I’d saved is still at the apartment. As are my truck and your car. We don’t really have a way to go anywhere right now. And I think Shane and the guys can help us here. I think . . . maybe we don’t have to run away to be safe.”
The mention of Shane’s name resurrected Jenna’s memory of the way Sara had looked at him. “So, you guys are serious?”
A quick nod. “Um, yeah. Crazy, huh?”
“I think it’s awesome, Sara. You deserve it, and Shane seems like a great guy.”
Sara’s gaze flashed to hers, and the surprise on her face made Jenna feel like shit. Had Sara thought she’d disapprove? “You don’t mind? I know we’d agreed to go—”
“Oh, my God, Sara. No. Of course I don’t mind. And it’s not like you need my blessing anyway. I only ever cared that you got free of Bruno and C
onfessions and that whole situation.”
A silence stretched out between them until Jenna didn’t know what else to say.
“Well, let me slip this stuff on, and I’ll be right out.” When Sara nodded, Jenna gently pushed the door shut. She forced a deep breath, then dropped the clothes to the toilet seat so she could hang up the towel. In between the tee and sweats in the pile was a pair of panties.
Jenna laughed. It totally took her by surprise, but once she started, she couldn’t stop laughing. Because here she was in the middle of a situation where she had so little she had to borrow underwear, of all things. She laughed so hard, she had to brace herself on the sink. So hard, her lips and cheeks hurt, and she couldn’t draw a full breath. So hard, her knees gave out, and she finally sank to the floor in a ball. Tears streamed down her face. She didn’t even have her own underwear. Thank God she had small boobs and could get away without wearing a bra. That made her laugh even harder.
Clearly, she was cracked in the head.
When she could finally breathe and sit upright again, she took another look at those clothes. And didn’t find them funny at all.
She forced herself to her feet again and mechanically pulled on each piece until she was fully dressed in a light blue T-shirt and dark gray sweats. The shirt was short-sleeved, baring quite a few fingerprint bruises. But what choice did she have?
Next to the bottle of mouthwash sat a man’s toiletry bag. Given the brush that sat inside, she guessed that it didn’t belong to Easy, so she hoped whoever it did belong to didn’t mind her borrowing his stuff.
She pulled the brush through the dark red hair until she’d straightened all the tangles and it hung in long, damp threads almost to her breasts.
And then she was out of reasons to remain in the bathroom for even another minute.
But Sara wasn’t in the hallway. Nor was she in Easy’s room. And Jenna was kinda glad for the reprieve, especially when her gaze landed on Easy’s duffel bag. Maybe he had a long-sleeved shirt that would cover up the bruises before Sara saw them. Or, oh, God, before Easy saw them. Before anyone saw them. Her face was bad enough, but unless she was willing to wear a bag on her head for the next two weeks, that much couldn’t be helped.
Kneeling next to his bag, she carefully looked through the neatly folded piles of clothing. His scent hung on the clothing, some tantalizing combination of laundry detergent, aftershave, and something masculine that was pure Easy. She felt kinda bad for snooping, but not as bad as she’d feel if she had to see everyone counting the number of marks she wore on her arms.
Nine. Depending on how you counted the ones that blurred together on her left wrist.
Toward the bottom, Jenna found a long-sleeved faded black shirt with the words “Pittsburgh Steelers” on the front in gold. It was the kind of worn soft that told you it was an old favorite. And her heart immediately latched onto wearing that one. Without allowing herself to think that through or second-guess her decision, she whipped off the blue tee and pulled on the black one.
It was so long the hem of it hung past her butt, and the sleeves had to be rolled twice before her hands would stick out. It was perfect.
And it made Jenna long for Easy’s presence. His strength. His intensity. His touch.
“Hey,” Sara said as she walked into the room. “I brought you a Sprite.” She came to a halt just inside the door, and her gaze went to Jenna’s shirt.
“I was cold,” she blurted. “Do you think Easy will mind?”
Sara shook her head and sat on the edge of the bed. “I doubt it.”
Jenna felt like she had to sit, too. She accepted the can of Sprite with a thanks and took a long sip as she sat down. God, the flavor and the fizz tasted so good.
“Hey, you might want to take that slower.” Sara turned on the bed to face her.
“I know. I’m just really thirsty. And hungry, too. I’m not sure when I last ate. But I guess I better wait to see how this goes first.” She took another long drink.
“Yeah,” Sara said. And the air turned tense between them as Sara’s expression crumpled. “I’m so sorry, Jenna,” she said, covering her mouth. “I had one job, and I totally failed.” Tears pooled and fell down her sister’s cheek.
Guilt and shame tossed the soda in Jenna’s stomach. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Jenna said, sitting the can on the floor and scooting closer. Close enough that their knees touched. She grasped her sister’s hands, which were shaky and cold.
“I do,” Sara said in a tear-strained voice. “It’s my fault that Bruno came after you. Because he was looking for me. He found out I’d been talking to Shane after I accidentally left a cell phone Shane gave me in Bruno’s office. So stupid.”
Jenna shook her head. “None of that matters. It’s all just proof that Bruno was a controlling, possessive asshole.” She leaned her forehead against Sara’s. “Please don’t think any of this was your fault. I’ve been enough of a burden to you without adding this to all the things you’ve had to deal with.”
Sara sat ramrod straight. “You have never, ever been a burden to me.”
Tilting her head, Jenna gave her a small smile though her throat went tight. “Come on. You were a nineteen-year-old college sophomore when Dad died, and you had to come home, drop out of college, and take care of me. And that’s not even including all the stuff you had to do to be able to pay for my epilepsy meds and keep us safe. By any definition, that’s a burden.”
“I never felt that way about any of it, Jenna. And I’m so sorry if I’ve given you the impression that I see you that way.”
“No, you haven’t—”
“I have an idea,” Sara said, squeezing her hand. “How about I promise not to blame myself for your k-kidnapping, and you promise not to ever think you were a burden to me.”
Jenna stared at her sister a long minute, the words and the brightness in Sara’s eyes luring her in.
“Clean slate, Jen.”
Clean slate? The idea was tempting and scary and . . . exactly what they needed. She nodded. “Clean slate. I promise.”
“I promise, too,” Sara said, pulling Jenna into a hug.
They sat that way for a long time, and it was like a weight lifting off Jenna’s chest.
“Do you want to talk about what happened? At Confessions, I mean?” Sara asked against her hair.
Jenna shook her head and pulled out of the hug. “No,” she whispered.
“If anybody would understand, it would be me,” Sara said hopefully.
Forcing herself to meet her sister’s gaze, Jenna said, “I know. But I . . . I just . . . don’t want to.” She hated the flash of hurt and disappointment in Sara’s eyes, but Jenna wasn’t ready to put herself back in that place any more than she had to.
“Okay. Standing offer, though. Please know that.”
“Of course.” Out of nowhere, a wave of nausea washed through her. Jenna grasped her stomach and groaned. “Tummy is not happy with the soda, I think.”
“Gonna be sick?”
“God, I hope not. Maybe I’ll just rest.” Jenna crawled toward the pillow. “Bring the bucket closer just in case?”
“Do you want me to stay?” Sara asked as she got off the bed, grabbed the bucket from across the room, and placed it next to the bed.
“No, that’s okay. Go be with Shane,” she said, enjoying the bit of pink that filled into Sara’s cheeks. Jenna chuckled despite her rolling belly.
“I’ll check on you in a bit,” Sara said. On her way out, she flicked off the overhead light, leaving only the little lamp in the corner to throw off light.
It’s not dark. Don’t freak out. There’s plenty of light. Right.
Jenna closed her eyes, thinking maybe she could sleep off the nausea. Problem was, when she closed her eyes, images she didn’t want to see played on the insides of her eyelids. Bruno busting through her bedroom door. The gun in her face as she lay tied on the floor in the back of the van. The suffocating darkness of the black room.
Staring up at the men groping her while she lay helpless, unable to move a muscle.
Heart racing so loud it pounded blood behind her ears, her eyes blinked open, her gaze settling on the small lamp. A shiver passed over her body until she couldn’t stop shaking.
And despite being rescued, Jenna couldn’t help but wonder if she’d really ever be able to escape what had happened at Confessions.
Chapter 4
JENNA MADE IT maybe twenty-five minutes. Twenty-five minutes before she was nearly so terrified she was ready to scream for help.
As she flew off the bed, out of the room, and through the apartment, she hated herself for not being braver, for not being stronger, for not being tougher.
Her brain knew she was being irrational, but that didn’t keep her imagination from conjuring every horrible scenario, her ears from hearing suspicious noises, and her heart from hammering like an attack was imminent.
Until she couldn’t convince herself it wasn’t true.
She only noticed the apartment enough to know she was alone. Racing down the stairs, she held tight to the gray metal railing, afraid in her shakiness that she’d go tumbling to the bottom. At the next landing were two gray doors, both with keypads next to them. Music sounded out from behind the one on the left, so she tried there. Locked. She knocked. Again. Then again. No answer.
She crossed the hall to the other door and knocked again. Nothing.
The shaking worsened. It was like a nightmare where you found one door after another but none would open.
Jenna started down the stairs again and found a door right at the bottom. More music played, but this one opened when she tried the handle, so she raced in.
She skidded into what looked like a lounge with couches grouped in one corner and a couple of tables and chairs filling the center. One wall had a large painting, almost like graffiti, that read, “Bleed with me and you will forever be my brother” in shades of reds and grays and blacks.
“Hello? Is anybody here?” she called.
Just then, a black-and-tan puppy came out of one of the rooms off the hallway in front of her and loped her way. The little thing was missing a leg, but its gait didn’t seem too badly impacted by the loss.