Killing Ruby Rose (The Ruby Rose Series)

by Jessie Humphries

  “That’s not true,” he argued.

  “LeMarq, the girl I didn’t save, The Stick and his friend, the two other gangsters…or whoever they were…and now Father Michael. How would I ever be able to explain that?”

  He blew out a breath, and clenched his hair in his fists.

  “You aren’t responsible for any of those deaths. He is,” Liam said. Who was he trying to persuade? Himself?

  “He didn’t make me carry that knife. He didn’t force me to pull any triggers,” I said, playing prosecutor. “I put myself in those positions. I am the one with motive, intent, and—worst of all—very little remorse for the victims.”

  “Ruby, he put you in impossible situations. And in every single case, you did the right thing. Every one of them deserved to die, except for the girl. But now the right thing is to tell the authorities. Maybe the FBI or CIA can help.” He reached for me again, but I didn’t want his touch. I put up my signature warning hand.

  “Yeah, so they can help destroy my family and escort the both of us to prison for the rest of our lives,” I said, my voice rising an octave. “No matter who we go to, it all trickles back down to the detective assigned to my case—Martinez. And if Sammy was wrong about Martinez, he’ll take you down with me. Because, as you recall, you were present for some of this.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it all my life. Believe me, I can handle whatever the police throw at me,” he said with a weird smirk.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. I glanced over at his disfigured ear.

  “Never mind. I didn’t mean that literally,” he said, shaking his head—a move I now knew he did to make sure his hair covered his scar. “I just meant that we have no choice but to trust the system—”

  “What happened to you?” I cut him off. He knew my secrets. It was time for me to know some of his.

  He glared at me with how dare you eyes, but I held his gaze like we were having a blinking contest. “Liam, c’mon, you know I won’t say a word—”

  “I have a record, OK? A juvenile record, that is. It’s sealed, and supposed to be expunged or erased, or whatever, when I turn eighteen next year. But it exists. And somehow Martinez knows about it. That’s what he was talking to me about that night he came to your door. He warned me to stay out of this, and away from you, or else he’d make sure my record got longer.”

  “What?” I lost the blinking contest. “Back up. What did you do?”

  “It was a long time ago, Ruby. I’ve never told anyone about it.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me? Whatever you did can’t compare to what you’ve witnessed me do,” I said, irritated that he was holding back when things were so lopsided in the bad-deeds department.

  “I nearly killed my father,” he said point-blank, staring at his hands as if they might still have blood on them.

  “Because he did that to you?” Not only did I ask the question we’d been avoiding for weeks, but I actually reached over and touched his ear. At first he flinched away, but then he hung his head and let me move his hair aside to run my fingertips along the disfigured skin. I could feel him cringing as I prodded his head to the side to allow the blue light of my console to shine on the scarring. My heart ached for Liam’s embarrassment, and it burned for the father that had done this to him.

  “Well, yeah, I reacted to defend myself from him, but really to protect my mom and brothers.” Before he looked away, I saw that his eyes were now full of sorrow and rage. “He used to abuse her right in front of us, our whole lives. He’d come home wasted, knock her around, call her every name in the book, accuse her of things—and if my brothers or I got in the way, we got it, too.”

  “You have brothers?” I asked, wondering how I didn’t know this.

  “Christian is twelve, and Tug is only eight.”

  “Tug? That’s his name?”

  “Well, his real name is Tomas, but my mom always says ‘If you’re not careful, he’ll tug your heart right out,’ ” Liam said, smiling painfully and looking out into the night. “Not to mention your arms if you don’t take him surfing when he wants.”

  “Good to know,” I said, hoping I’d get the chance to meet them someday.

  “Anyway, one night, when I was thirteen, I just couldn’t take it anymore. He came home from work late, drunk and out of his mind. He was angry about…everything. He went after my mom. Slapping her, pushing her, accusing her of having affairs when everyone knew—well, I knew because I was the oldest—that he was the one sleeping around. He threw Christian across the room for getting in the way and was about to go after Tug for crying when I snapped. He got me in the ear with a broken beer bottle, but I…” He closed his eyes as if talking about it made him relive it.

  I put my hands on his cheeks and made him look at me. It was my turn to comfort him. “It’s OK—if there’s anybody in this world who’d understand, it’s me.”

  “I would have done anything to protect my mom and brothers, even if it meant killing him.” Liam swallowed hard, like he regretted letting his dad live. I finally understood why he liked me—I was just as damaged as he was, if not more.

  He was big and strong and gorgeous, but broken. Cracked inside—just like me. We both put on our best show, but underneath we couldn’t stop the suffering for those we’d lost and what we’d done.

  “Where is he?” I asked, wondering if I needed to go kick his ass right this second.

  “He still lives up in NorCal. I haven’t seen him since the trial.”

  “Trial? He pressed charges on you?” I gasped and placed my hands over his balled-up fists.

  “Yeah, and they stuck. They said I should’ve spoken up about the abuse—if it really happened.” He squeezed my hand. “They didn’t believe me after the fact.”

  “What? Didn’t your mom and brothers testify to back you up? Surely they had bruises or other physical evidence to corroborate your side of the story.”

  “Things got complicated, Ruby.” He shook his head and pulled his hands away from mine. “My dad was smart. He rarely left evidence of his abuse. Even that night, I was the only one hurt. Christian had carpet burns and my mom had red marks, but as usual, the real damage was on the inside.” Liam cracked his window and took a breath of fresh air. “Plus, my dad has a lot of money and he hired an attorney to file a petition to terminate her parental rights, arguing that my mom had poisoned me against him. That she actually brainwashed me into trying to kill him for the money. My brothers were little, and I couldn’t bear to see them being put through all that. And, we didn’t have any money to fight him. He agreed to drop the petition and let her have custody of us if I copped to the assault charge. So I did. He kept his good name along with his multimillion-dollar business, and I took the blame.”

  I grimaced at the reality of the situation.

  I had been taught—ingrained with the belief, really—that the justice system worked. That the police investigate the crimes, the D. A.’s office prosecutes them, and the Constitution protects it all. Sure, there were glitches, but overall it was the best system in the world. And I preached this at my high school Constitution Society meetings. True, I only founded the stupid club to pad my resume, but I still believed it.

  Until now.

  Now, I didn’t know what to believe if abusers like Liam’s father and murderers like Father Michael could get away with so many premeditated crimes, with malice aforethought and intent to do harm. Liam had none of that, I had none of that, but we could go down in flames.

  “If I’d reported the abuse earlier, documented it, documented some evidence against my father before it all blew up? Maybe he’d be the one with the record and not me.”

  “You were just a kid, Liam,” I argued. “How could you have documented evidence against him? That makes no sense.”

  “It doesn’t have to make sense, Ruby,” he said, shaking his head. “After the fact, it was our word against his. And his word meant a whole lot more th
an ours. He was a well-respected businessman who donated regularly to the campaigns of anyone who mattered in the City of Santa Cruz. The police couldn’t help me even if they believed me.”

  “I get it, Liam. I know how much it matters to have connections. I’ve obviously been on the receiving side of that crooked line lately, and I have the same problem you did! I don’t have any evidence. Silver has made damn sure of that,” I said, burned out. Tired of being cold, sick of thinking, and weary of being me.

  “I know,” Liam said softly. “I know.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, staring into the dark night. There were no easy answers, and we had almost no one to trust.

  “I just need some time.” I interrupted the silence. “I promise, I’ll think about it.”

  “In the meantime, is it OK if I come up?” he asked.

  “Up where? To my room?” I said, surprised.

  “I don’t want to leave you alone,” he said. “Your mom isn’t home yet.”

  I looked at the clock. 11:02. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. She’s probably having ‘campaign drinks’ downtown.”

  “So…yes?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  “Uh, I guess,” I said, sure about wanting him near, but unsure about what a yes actually meant. “You might want to park your Jeep around the corner, though, so Jane doesn’t immediately call in the cavalry.”

  “Cool, because there’s something I want to show you,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye that my virgin brain couldn’t interpret. Suddenly he was moving his whole body in my direction, and all the frozen blood in my body turned hot. Until I realized he was just leaning over to press the gate-opener button clipped to my sun visor. “I’ll meet you inside,” he said, his lips so close that his breath mingled with mine. “Let’s do this.”

  CHAPTER 19

  When I finally emerged from the shower, my skin burned bright red. I wiped some of the steam off the mirror and stared at my pitiful reflection, counting up the reasons why I resembled a Hot Tamales candy.

  It could’ve been the scalding water I’d used to warm the icy marrow in my bones.

  Or the vigorous scrubbing with my loofah to remove the evidence of ever having touched Father Michael.

  Or the anger I felt toward Silver for turning me into something I hated.

  Or the intermittent impure thoughts I had about Liam alone in my room.

  I cracked the window to let the ocean breeze turn me back to a normal color before I got dressed and went out.

  I opened the door to find only a bedside lamp was turned on. I’d forgotten for a second that I told Liam not to turn on any more lights in case my mom came home. This way she’d think I’d fallen asleep already.

  As I let my eyes adjust to the low light, I discovered Liam totally relaxed (and fully clothed) on my bed. Disappointment (that he had no physical expectations) and relief (that he had no physical expectations) duked it out for control of my emotions. Then a third reaction won out—surprise—when I saw what he had in his hand. A photo. Of a man. With a well-groomed beard that could only be…

  “Is that a picture of Silver?” I asked, racing to the bed to snatch it from Liam’s fingers. “How in the—”

  “You’re not the only one with high SAT scores,” he said, pulling the picture out of my reach.

  “Really? I thought you got on the honor roll by batting your girl lashes at teachers,” I teased back, grabbing the picture.

  “Hey, I don’t have girl lashes!” He pretended to be offended. “And I’ll have you know, I study very hard to get my grades. Not all of us are naturally brilliant like you.”

  “Whatever.” I smiled without looking back at him, staring at the photo.

  It wasn’t great. In fact, it was terrible. But it was something. Silver looked just like Liam described. Handsome, in that “look at my sexily groomed beard” kind of way. Well built. Well dressed. No more than forty years old, if that. What would a guy like this want with me? He looked too normal. This had to be the man that I’d seen across the crowded cafeteria as I was about to faint, and through my blurred vision I made a facial hair miscalculation, projecting my fear of Martinez onto someone else.

  “Seriously, how did you get this?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the picture.

  “You know Mrs. Peabody in the front office?” he asked. I nodded. “This morning, when I was supposed to be in second period, I took her some donuts. When she went to the break room to get her coffee, I took a peek at the security footage. It’s all digital, so I typed in the date, zoomed in on the clearest image, and printed this sucker out. It was easy.”

  I finally looked up at him. Genius. Why hadn’t I thought of that? And why did I keep underestimating, distrusting, and generally misjudging him? I could have reached over and kissed him in gratitude, but instead I said, “This is amazing. Thank you.”

  Our eyes lingered on each other’s, until I had to look away, blushing. His neon sign was back on, and mine had blinking red lights. And in this situation the red lights didn’t mean STOP.

  I wondered if he felt the same. If he could forget all the awfulness of the evening. After all, we didn’t need to go all the way. We could just—

  “So now that we have proof of what he looks like, it should be enough for the police to ID him, right?”

  OK. Not what I was expecting.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Isn’t this good news? This could help clear you. It shows that the guy is following you. He’s somewhere he’s not supposed to be.” He reached toward me, not to touch me or comfort me but to take back the picture. “If we show this to the police, they have that face-identification technology—”

  “I told you, Liam,” I said, standing up. “I can’t go to the police with this. Not yet. Just having a picture of some dude doesn’t prove anything. How do we connect him to any of the abductions or killings? How do I prove he made me do anything?”

  “Hang on,” he said. “Just a few minutes ago, you were ready to plant one on me for getting this picture.”

  “I think it’s time for you to go.” I crossed my arms, ready to close the doors on the vault. I knew I was being ridiculous, but exhaustion, shame, and confusion were drowning me just like Father M—

  “Look, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do. I promise.” He held up his hands and moved toward me slowly, like he knew what I was capable of. “I’m just trying to help you.”

  I bit my lip, unsure of whether I should believe him. I couldn’t even trust myself. Just moments ago I was ready to kiss him, and now I could just as easily knee him in the jewels if he said the wrong thing.

  I dropped my head and ran my fingers through my damp hair. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to feel anymore. I don’t know who to trust or where to turn. I should probably just run away to Mexico where no one can find me, and then I wouldn’t have to kill anymore or go to prison.”

  “OK, let’s go,” he said, smiling and moving in closer again. “Let’s just get some sleep before we make a run for the border, all right? You’ve had a busy day.”

  It was true. It had been one freakishly long day, and I didn’t want to spend any more energy or emotion recounting it. I was ready to collapse.

  “Come and lie down.” He took me by the waist and guided me back to the bed. Part of me wanted to steel myself against his charm, but there was no denying the larger part of me wanted to give in to him. I wanted to believe him that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. He wouldn’t do anything stupid behind my back, like talk to the police. Whether I was willing to admit it or not, the vault had been unlocked. I’d let him in completely somewhere along the way.

  I was falling—out of control, into bed, and for Liam Slater. Falling hard.

  I slid under the covers and felt him slide in right behind me. Within moments I was drifting. Not just into sleep, but closer to another human being than I’d ever been before. He pulled me tight to his chest, and I melted into him. Every part of him entw
ined with every part of me, like I didn’t know where he started and I ended. My head rested on his arm, and our breathing slowed to match one another’s. I’d never experienced anything like it. His hot breath near my ear sent prickles up my neck.

  I lay there, waiting to feel his lips against my skin, or his free hand on my thigh. I wanted it. But apparently not as much as my body and mind wanted sleep.

  The last thing I remember was his arm reaching over me to turn the lamp off, and the feel of his body against mine. I didn’t even care if my mom came home to find him in my bed. What was she going to do? Kill me? She could get in line.

  In the morning, Liam was gone, but his scent wasn’t. I breathed in my pillow, the smell of his cologne and shampoo reminding me of his warm skin and soft hair. I longed to feel him again, to be held by him. So much for my aversion to touch.

  I wondered when he’d left. It was Saturday, so he probably had early-morning practice or something. I hadn’t even asked if he’d won his game last night. It didn’t seem like it mattered at the time, but now my omission just felt rude.

  My stomach rumbled. It had been nearly a day since I’d eaten anything. I rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen. The smell of coffee not only alerted me to my mom’s presence but also spiked my awareness of a possible confrontation with her. I almost went back up to my room to search for a granola bar in my backpack when I heard her voice.

  “Is that you, Rue-girl?”

  I gulped and shuffled into the bright light of the kitchen. I felt like I needed sunglasses just to enter this side of the house. Maybe I had some kind of hangover from last night’s horror.

  “Hey, sunshine,” she said.

  “Hey, Mom.” I went straight to the fridge without looking at her. As I searched for the quickest and easiest nourishment, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She put down the paper and watched my every move. Why was she just staring at me without her normal assault of judgment or cross-questioning? She knew something.

  “Good night’s sleep?” she asked.