Broken: The MISTAKEN Series Complete Second Season

by Peak, Renna

  “Robin called me this afternoon and asked me to go with her to what she said was going to be a dinner party. She’s a fucking liar.”

  If I wasn’t still reeling from the whole dead body thing, I might have commiserated—Melissa had lied to me about the size of the party, too. If Brandon and I had one thing in common, it was our distaste for large crowds, though I think my fear of them far outweighed his dislike of them. But I actually didn’t care about Robin. “I meant about Amanda.”

  “How do you know her, anyway?”

  “Seriously? I’m sure I told you I’ve been giving Mason piano lessons for the last six weeks…”

  He coughed and I thought for sure he was choking on something—only he hadn’t been drinking or eating. “What?”

  “What do you think I do in Palo Alto every week?”

  “I had no idea you were in Palo Alto every week.”

  I nodded. So much for him knowing where I was and who I was with every second of every day. I should have known that was bullshit. “How do you know her?” I paused, clearing my throat. “How did you know her?”

  “I didn’t kill her, Jen. I was hoping I could talk to her tonight—that was it. I was going to warn her. She was doing things to piss your father off. Doing things she knew she shouldn’t be doing.”

  “But how did you know her? Because you did know her, right?” Something just told me he did. I didn’t have any way of knowing if he had or hadn’t, but there was something…

  “I didn’t know her. I’d never met her before in my life. I know her brother—step-brother. I’ve worked with him for years.”

  “Ryan is a venture capitalist. What in the hell would you need to work with him for? You told me you…”

  He shook his head, staring at the road. “Ryan is as much a venture capitalist as I am, Jen. That’s just a cover for his frequent traveling. It’s something to tell people so they leave you the hell alone. So they don’t ask questions about what you do for a living.”

  “Oh.” I felt like he had punched me in the stomach again. I didn’t know why I felt so stupid about this—about what he did. I knew he was a fixer—I’d known it since I figured out who he was. I’d been around politics long enough to know that people like Brandon—and maybe Ryan—existed. I just wasn’t close enough to the action to care about them.

  He went silent again. I wasn’t sure if that meant I had touched a nerve or not, but he didn’t say anything else.

  “You said you knew about Cade. What about him?”

  He worked his jaw for a few moments. “Ryan paid him to stay away that night. To look the other way.” He turned to look at me, his gaze boring into mine before he turned his attention back to the road. “When did you meet him? Ryan?”

  “At the gala. The night I caught you with your tongue down Robin’s throat.” Shit. I hated thinking about that night. I hated that I had seen him in that office, stealing files from a computer. And I really hated that he had made it clear that he was there that night with her.

  He nodded. “And Amanda?”

  I shrugged. “Same time.”

  “And you had never met either of them before? You’re sure?”

  My brows knitted together. “I’m sure. Why?”

  He shook his head and went silent.

  “Take me back to the house, Brandon. My car is back there—I need to get home and get packed.” As devastating as it was to think about, it was true. I needed to get my crap together and go face my real future. Brandon wasn’t in my future anymore—my father would see to that. And as much as I wanted to believe whatever it was he was trying to tell me, it didn’t matter in the long run. A woman was dead and I was going to be a dead woman myself if I didn’t show up for my date with destiny in D.C. And the little boy … I pulled out my phone and texted Melissa. Ryan took Mason.

  I had just hit the send button when Brandon pulled the phone from my hand. He hit the button on the door to open the window and tossed it out.

  My eyes went wide and I stared at my empty hand. “What the fuck, Brandon?”

  “You won’t need it.”

  My jaw dropped. “Are you kidnapping me? Is that what this is?”

  He shrugged. “If that’s how you want to think of it. I can’t let you go back there.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Back to the house? Or back to D.C.?”

  He shrugged again. “Neither. Both.”

  I shook my head. “You are unbelievable. You think I won’t open the door the next time we’re at a stop light? You think I’ll just lean back and enjoy the ride?”

  He hit the lock on his door and leaned back in his seat. “You’ve found my rides fairly enjoyable in the past.”

  I rolled my eyes again. “Seriously?” I turned to look at the door and pulled the lock up manually. “And you think talking dirty to me is going to keep me in my seat? Have you lost your fucking mind, Brandon?”

  “I engaged the child lock. You aren’t going anywhere until I open that door for you.”

  Even though we were now speeding down the freeway, I pulled on the door handle. Even though the door appeared to be unlocked, it didn’t budge when I pulled the handle. I leaned back in the seat. “You really are unbelievable.”

  “I know.”

  I shook my head. “Tell me why she had to die.”

  “She didn’t.” He looked over at me again. “I told you before—I didn’t do it. She didn’t have to die.”

  “I knew her, Brandon. She wasn’t the type to commit suicide. She wouldn’t have…”

  “You tried. Are you the type?”

  I winced. We had never talked about my suicide attempt before. I had never mentioned it, except maybe in passing when I talked about my time at the recovery center. At Shady Shores—the private loony bin in Maine my parents had sent me to after the hospital determined I was medically stable enough to go. After they had pumped my stomach and held me restrained in bed for two days while they “monitored” me. But I was sure he didn’t know about it—at least not about the circumstances leading up to it. “That isn’t fair.”

  He shrugged. “You don’t know what other people are thinking, Jen. No one does.” He turned to look at me again, his lips pressed together. “Did I hear you say that you had a date with a bottle of pills tonight?”

  I narrowed my gaze and folded my arms across my chest. “I meant with my sleeping pills, asshole. I wasn’t planning to take the entire bottle—just enough to get to sleep. My psychiatrist gave me a new prescription the other day, and today was the first chance I’ve had to fill it. You know, because you dragged me to Sacramento and everything…”

  I heard him mumble something under his breath, but I didn’t understand what it was.

  My body tensed. “If you have something to say, just spit it out. Don’t do the fucking passive-aggressive thing with me, Brandon. Just say whatever it is.”

  “I said, you don’t need any fucking pills. You only need me.” He turned to glance at me. “Was that clear enough for you, Jen?”

  I slouched down in my seat, crossing my arms in front of me again. “Perfectly clear.”

  “Good. Because you slept just fine a few nights ago—the night I got to hold you in my arms for the first time in two fucking months. Two fucking months, Jen.”

  I shook my head. “I was protecting you.”

  “Bullshit. I was protecting you.”

  “My father told me he’d kill you if I came near you again.”

  “Your father told me he’d kill you if I came near you again.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s perfect, Brandon. You expect me to believe that my father would say that? You think he would do anything…” And then I remembered the whole “elimination” talk from the night before. How my father had made it perfectly clear that he was not only able to harm the hairs on my precious head, but perfectly willing to harm them as well.

  “That’s the kind of man he is, Jen. I know it’s hard to believe, but he’s not a nice person. He’s not one of th
e good guys.”

  I turned my head and looked out my window, watching the lights pass by and tried not to think about how Cade had told me that Brandon was one of the good guys. These men all seemed to have some twisted notion of what the word “good” actually meant. “Should we call the police? To come get Amanda’s body?”

  “They’ll find her. I want us as far away from that mess as possible. You don’t need to be anywhere near that.”

  Because of the press. My mother’s voice hissed in my head again. Everything was about how we looked in front of the fucking press. It was the only thing that mattered. I looked over at him. “Swear to me. Swear it again, on whatever it is you love most in life, that you had nothing to do with what I saw in that bathroom. Because, Brandon, I’m going to see that image in my head every time I close my eyes for the rest of my life. And if you don’t want me to think you’re responsible every single time I close my eyes, swear to me…”

  “I swear on you. I swear on the woman sitting next to me … on the thing I love most in life … that I had nothing to do with that. Not a goddamned thing to do with it.” He glanced over at me. “Can you believe me? Can you believe me if I swear on you?”

  I still didn’t know if I could believe anything he said, but I was locked in his car without an escape route. So I nodded.

  “Good. You don’t need pills. You sleep in my arms tonight. You sleep in my arms every night for the rest of your life.”

  If I hadn’t known better, it would have almost sounded like a proposal.

  10

  “Jen, I have something important to ask you.”

  My heart fluttered in my chest. I wasn’t prepared for this—not tonight. Not knowing that I still had to face my father and Daniel tomorrow. I wasn’t even sure how I was going to respond to this… “Brandon…”

  “Do you have your passport? If you don’t, we’ll need to think of something else…”

  I blinked a few times, unsure that I had really heard the question. “What?”

  He glanced over at me. “Your passport? You don’t have your purse…”

  “My wallet is in my pocket.” I reached into my jacket and made sure it was still there—it hadn’t fallen out during the melee at Amanda’s house. “My passport is in there.” I turned to look at him. “Why?”

  He only nodded, rubbing his jaw.

  I turned to look back out the window, allowing him his time to think about whatever harebrained scheme he was cooking up this time. Even with a passport, it wasn’t as though my father wouldn’t be able to find me. I would have to use a credit card to buy a plane ticket—and I knew my father had access to my bank accounts. I could leave the country, but he would know where to look for me if I did. “I thought you were taking me to Montana. Wasn’t that what you were talking about last night?”

  He glanced over at me, shaking his head. “Not far enough away.”

  I rolled my eyes before turning to stare out the window again. Whatever it was he had planned, I knew it wasn’t going to work. I knew it was only going to be a short term plan. There was no way my father—or Daniel—was going to let me get away from them that easily. No way that hopping on an airplane to wherever was going to be far enough away. I knew there wasn’t anywhere far enough away—Montana or wherever he was planning to take me. It was a romantic gesture, but it wasn’t realistic. He had to know it, too.

  The drive to the airport from Palo Alto was short, and we were there only a few minutes later. He drove into the long-term parking area and pulled into a stall. The rain had mostly subsided; the raindrops pelted the car just hard enough to hear against the roof and to make it difficult to see out the windows into the dimly lit parking area.

  He turned to me, shutting off the ignition. “Jen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to see that tonight. I’m sorry about all of it…”

  I nodded. “I know.” I did know he was sorry. I didn’t know for sure if anything else he had said that night was true—but I did know that his apology was sincere.

  He tilted his head and leaned toward me, his lips crushing against mine. He tasted my bottom lip with his tongue before pulling away slightly. He breathed his words into me. “Tell me, Jen.”

  Before I knew what was happening, his body was straddling mine and I felt the seat tilt back. He pressed his lips to my neck—to that spot just under my ear that he knew would melt me. He almost groaned into me. “Tell me you love me.”

  I almost moaned the words, bowing my neck under his kisses. “I love you.”

  His hands slid up my waist and under my jacket, his thumbs grazing across my breasts. His lips were on mine again and he pulled my bottom lip between his before breathing his words into me again. “Tell me who these lips belong to.”

  I didn’t need this. I didn’t want the possessive thing tonight. I tried to tell him in the way I said his name, more in protest than in stating what he wanted to hear. “Brandon…” I slid my hands up to his shoulders, trying to increase the distance between us. I felt my body responding to his touch, but my brain…

  His hands found the hem of my dress and he slid his hand under, caressing my thigh and tracing up my leg until the pad of his thumb reached the silk of my panties. “Tell me, Jen.” His lips found that spot under my ear again, sending another electrical jolt pulsing through me.

  “Brandon, please…” I pushed against his shoulders again, trying to move him away. My body was betraying what my mind was screaming at me—this wasn’t the right time. Or the right place.

  My neck bowed again and I gasped as he laved at that spot under my ear. I felt his hand push its way under my panties, his thumb sliding between my folds and circling my clit. He groaned into my neck again. “Tell me who you belong to, Jen.”

  Something about the words stung and I felt tears welling behind my eyes for the millionth time that night. “Brandon, stop.”

  His body froze for a long moment before he pulled his lips away from my neck and looked down into my eyes. His voice was barely a whisper. “What?”

  My own voice was barely audible. “Stop.” I felt a few tears slide down my cheeks once again. “Please, stop.”

  He pulled his hand from under my dress and was back in the driver’s seat before I had time to process what had happened, what I had said. He gripped the wheel with both hands, his body hunched over as though he had just taken a punch.

  I wanted to tell him it was fine—that I was okay. But I wasn’t. I tilted the seat back up and looked at him for a long moment. “Brandon…”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jen. I thought…”

  I blinked back the tears. I didn’t know how to make him understand that it wasn’t him I was rejecting. “Brandon, you don’t have to do the caveman thing.”

  His brows knitted together and he turned to me. “What?”

  “It seemed like you were ready to drag me by my hair through the parking lot to show off your conquest.”

  I saw a hint of a smile flash across his face before his look turned grim again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He paused for a long moment. “I don’t know what we’re doing.” He started the ignition. “I should take you home.”

  I reached over and turned the ignition off. “The things you said to me. The things you said on the sidewalk…”

  He looked out the windshield into the rain. “I meant everything I said, Jen. I wish you would believe me.”

  I nodded. “I don’t know very much about you, Brandon. I’ve known you almost six months, but I don’t know very much about you. I’ve been an open book with you.”

  “Jen…”

  “I love the way you smell. I know you hardly ever shave, so I know it isn’t aftershave. I think it’s just you.”

  “Jen, you don’t have to…”

  “I love that you can cook. I love that you can paint pictures that actually look like something. I love that you read books. I love that you brush your teeth whenever you think you might kiss me.”

  He ch
uckled. “Fresh breath is important…”

  I smiled. “I love that you practically adopted two kids who aren’t even yours. I love that you loved your grandmother. I love…” I looked down, feeling the tears welling behind my eyes again. “This is going to sound so self-centered and selfish, Brandon, but I love who I am when I’m with you. I love that I can play the piano for four hours and I love that you sit there watching me the entire time, just as mesmerized as I am. I love that you don’t say anything when my hair is messy or if I’m wearing something that will get me on the worst-dressed list. I love that you love me for who I am—for what I’ve given you. And I love most of all that you don’t expect me to be Jenna Davis. I love that with you I get to be Jen.”

  I let him kiss me that time. I let him claim me with his mouth and own every inch of it with his tongue. I let him kiss me for as long as he needed to, because I needed it just as much.

  He smiled at me when he finally pulled away. Something had changed in him—maybe it was just that he knew I believed him. I couldn’t really explain what had changed for me. I just knew that I believed him and that at least for the moment, I trusted him.

  “Where do you want to go?” He had an almost child-like excitement in his eyes. “Somewhere warm?”

  “Warm is good.” I knew this was going to be a mistake. I knew my father or Krystal—or someone—was going to come find us. I knew it, but I didn’t want it to stop him. I wanted to be able to enjoy the few hours I had left with him. I knew when my father found out, there wouldn’t be many hours left for either of us.

  “What about Australia? I’ve always wanted to go there.” He rubbed at his cheek—the one I had struck earlier—and it began bleeding again. He looked down at his hand that was now stained with blood. “Shit.” He motioned toward the glove box. “There’s a first aid kit in there.”

  I opened the glove box and took out a bandage, placing it over the small cut over his cheekbone. I pressed a kiss against it when I was done. “I’m sorry.”