She’d been in trouble, all this time.
And not a fucking one of them had known.
“When did you leave?”
She was quiet for a long while and he started to think she was done talking. But finally, she turned from the window and came to sit down, her face pale, tired, and strained. She looked weary—the kind of weariness that came from carrying the weight of the world for far too long.
“Four years ago … three months. Six days.” She paused, and he had a feeling she was mentally calculating it even down to the hour. “After that first time, he didn’t raise a hand to me again for more than a year, and that was after I’d gotten home from meeting Brannon for lunch. He just … showed up. Brannon, I mean. He showed up at the door and I knew if I just shooed him away, he’d come back. If he came back when William was there, he’d…”
“He’d know,” Gideon finished for her when her voice trailed away. “Brannon would have known, and your brother would have killed the son of a bitch.”
Neve just looked away.
“Damn it, Neve, why didn’t you tell him then? He would have gotten you away!” Fury ripped through the professional distance he’d been trying to maintain. “If you realized that Brannon would care enough to kill the son of a bitch, then why didn’t you…”
He made himself stop when he saw the bruised look in her eyes.
“I can’t give you a reason. I barely even knew myself at that point.” Her voice was flat. “I can’t even explain it now. Except … there was too much of him inside me. Part of me believed everything William had been feeding into my head over the past couple of years. My only value was to him. He was the only one who was there for me.… I didn’t have anybody else. It didn’t matter that Brannon was there then. Nobody else had been there for years. They didn’t answer the few letters I sent—the birthday cards, nothing. And”—she blew out a rough, unsteady sigh—“I was afraid. William told me that if I left, he’d find me. I was his, after all. He’d always find me.”
The words were haunted. Her hands were fisted in her lap, so tight her knuckles pressed white against her skin. He heard her swallow in the silence and dread gripped him as she continued. “He was home before I was. I’d left Brannon at the restaurant. Picked a fight with him when he started pushing about why I hadn’t come home, when I’d bother to come home … It was getting late and I’d been waiting for something to chase him off with. That was the perfect reason. I threw one of my finest tantrums and raced off, left him there alone. And when I got home … William was there.”
She reached up, touched her cheek, trailing her fingers down it. Gideon could see the echo of memory in her eyes. Unable to sit still, he rose and moved to her, crouching down in front of her. He reached up, touched her cheek, angled her head to the side. There was no scar there but she tried to twist away. He didn’t let her. Instead, he continued his visual search. When he saw nothing, he pushed his fingers into her hair—there.
A long, thin line along the right side of her head, just above her ear.
“What happened?”
“He knocked me into a table.” Her voice was tight, but steady. “I don’t remember what else, but…” She sucked in a breath. “I couldn’t see well when I woke up—my vision was blurred and … my clothes were torn off. I hurt everywhere. I got dressed as best as I could, grabbed my purse, and snuck out the back door. The servants were all over—they called him at the drop of a hat. I called for a taxi but when the driver got there, I didn’t know what to tell him, where to go … he ended up taking me to the hospital.”
“Remember his name? If I’m ever in London, I want to buy him a drink.”
Neve smiled tiredly. “He died of a heart attack last year. But … yeah. He … um.” She rubbed the heel of her hand over her heart. “He was there waiting when they released me and he asked me what I was going to do. I didn’t know what he was talking about, told him to leave me alone. He took my hand, stopped me from leaving. Then he said something that probably saved my life. He said that maybe if somebody hadn’t left his mother alone, maybe she’d still be alive. Then he took me to a shelter for women and children, told me that if I let them, they could help me.”
* * *
Neve went quiet, thinking about Ned Satterfield. She’d gone to the shelter, told herself she’d stay a night. Just a night. She didn’t belong there, in a shelter of all places.
But in those faces, she saw an echo of her own. At least, the faces of those who’d look at anybody.
She’d become a woman who couldn’t stand to meet the eyes of another.
She had allowed William to make her into that woman.
It sickened her, shamed her, humiliated her.
She could have curled into a ball and just died, she was so ashamed.
Sometimes she still felt like that terrified, miserable excuse for a human.
She might have even stayed that way—if William hadn’t discovered where she was and forced her to act.
In the end, it had been William’s own arrogance, his own certainty that he could outmaneuver her that had pushed her to stand. “He threatened to have the shelter’s funding messed with.” She shrugged. “I … I still don’t know how the funding for things works in the UK, but he kept saying that if I didn’t leave with him he’d have the place shut down. He knew people, after all.” A tight smile curled her lips. With her arms wrapped around herself to buffer a chill only she could feel, Neve said softly, “I know people, too. He thought I was some weak little nobody. But I’m a McKay, damn it.”
Feeling Gideon watching her, she looked up and caught the glint of pride in his eyes. It made her blush. Jerking her gaze away, she swiped her damp hands down her jeans. “I called the family law firm. They’ve got contacts all over the place—I mean, we’ve got businesses, or at least partnerships, scattered from here to kingdom come. Short of contacting the Lord Almighty, I figured one of the lawyers would have an idea of what to do.”
“Wait a minute.” Tension underscored his voice. “You contacted one of the lawyers. Who was it?”
She didn’t let herself flinch as she responded. “Amy Jo McCarty.”
She watched as he rubbed his forehead, knowing a memory had surfaced. “You dated her for a little while when Moira and you were fighting.”
“I dated her to make Moira jealous,” he pointed out.
“Moira knew that. She laughed about it. Said Amy Jo had a laugh like a hyena and would drive you nuts.”
“She was right,” Gideon muttered. His eyes narrowed on her. “She’s like a hyena in court, too. All sharp and predatory. And if your sister learns you contacted her while you were in trouble, but didn’t call home? She’ll have poor Amy Jo begging for mercy.”
“Then don’t tell her,” Neve retorted.
“Fuck,” he half snarled, standing up to pace. He stopped at the window, hands braced on his hips. “So what happened?”
“I don’t know the specifics, but they had a barrister they knew in London step in, plus I made a donation to the shelter. The next time he came to the door, the head of the shelter laughed at him. I was in the doorway—I heard her.” Neve swallowed, recalling the look of sheer fury she’d seen on his face as he left. “He … left.”
“What happened after that?”
She closed her eyes. “Lots of things.” The scars under her shirt itched, burned, although she knew that was all in her head. They’d long since healed. Physically, at least. “I ended up getting an apartment close by. Started to volunteer there. I felt safe there. Or safer. They—the shelter—tried to get me to press charges. I wouldn’t. I was too afraid. But I didn’t go back to him. Wouldn’t. I started writing home a lot. Told Moira and Brannon what had happened—I kept waiting for them to show up. I wanted…” She stopped, waited for her voice to steady. “I kept hoping somebody would rescue me. Save me.”
Taut, uneasy moments passed and she spoke again just to break that silence, just to fill the empty, aching void that seemed to
echo what she felt inside. “William was always there, every time I turned around it seemed. I finally did try to get a restraining order—his name, his family—everybody laughed at me. But then, one day, he came into a store where I’d gone. I was just grabbing something for my head—I had headaches all the time. He’d waited until I was in the back, tried to force me out the rear exit, covering my mouth, dragging me out even as I was fighting him. There were cameras. And a couple of guys were unloading a delivery truck—they chased him off. I got the restraining order and he left me alone for a while. I decided I’d leave London.” She smiled a little. “I moved north, went to Scotland for a while. Stayed in this pretty little village—Carrbridge. It was near the Cairngorms and I could see the mountains.” Wistfully, she sighed. “It was so beautiful … and peaceful. I worked in a pub in a ski town a few miles away. I was there for almost a year before…”
“He found you.”
Flatly, she said, “He never lost me.” She had to finish the next part quickly, get it done in a rush or she wouldn’t do it at all. Closing her hands into fists, she turned and met Gideon’s eyes. “I went home one night after work—it was late. I always worked until midnight or so. The pub owner would have his son walk me out, even offered to drive me home instead of having me drive myself. They … they worried. Sometimes I wish I would have listened. William was in my room. He’d convinced the lady who’d owned the cottage where I was staying that he was my husband, that we’d separated after a fight, but he was sorry, was going to make it up to me. She let him in, went back to her house across the road. Her son lived with her—a big, burly guy—he always freaked me out. He watched me all the time. But when I screamed … I screamed and he broke down the door. He grabbed William and threw him into a wall so hard, William had a concussion from how hard he was hit. Maybe if William hadn’t lied, if he hadn’t cut me—”
The moment she said it, she wished she could have taken it back.
But the words hung there and she froze, her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms, while Gideon’s gaze bore into the top of her bowed head.
“Cut you.” The words were soft. She heard the anger beneath the softness, though, and she had a bad, bad feeling that he might not keep this conversation quiet. Fuck—
Haltingly, she nodded. The slim scars under her shirt burned hotter now, but she felt cold all over. Cold, sick, humiliated. “Yeah. It … he did it to scare me. That’s all he wanted to do. He’d hit me hard enough to knock me down—then he dragged me to the bed.”
Memory flashed. The green silk, wrapping around her wrists, her arms jerked overhead. “He … um. He tied my hands, gagged me. The gag was loose, though. He cut my shirt off—cut me. I’d rubbed the gag off and screamed—I barely remember what happened. Angus was there before I could even blink and there were police everywhere and my landlady was there, wringing her hands and crying about it—he was my husband and what was going on…” She laughed a little, the sound watery, drawing a narrow look from Gideon. “Angus pats his mother on the back. He’s this big giant and she’s like a china doll and he hugs her and tells her never to let a person in without talking to the tenant again. Turns out he was a private consultant for security out of Glasgow. He’d done a background check on me the day I moved in—knew all about William. He’d been heading to bed when his mother mentioned that she might need a new tenant, because my husband had come to fetch me. He was already across the road when he heard me scream.”
She looked up. “And yes, I remember his last name if you’re ever in Carrbridge. I just called him a little while ago—he made me promise to call him every week or so to let him know I’m safe, otherwise he said he’d have my ass.”
It felt … good to get that out there, she realized. Unbelievably good. Freeing, she realized. Some of the weight she’d carried dropped from her shoulders and she thought she’d wilt from the relaxation that flooded through her. Slumping back against the seat, she settled into the surprisingly comfortable cushions and closed her eyes.
“If you want to wait until another time to finish…”
Neve opened one eye, stared at Gideon for a moment, then closed it. “There’s not much left. I pressed charges—finally. William was sentenced, actually had to do time, but he was let out early for good behavior,” she said mockingly. “I stayed in Carrbridge for a while—I felt safe there. But once I heard he was getting out, I thought I’d leave, go back to New York City. I had friends there and he didn’t have his family name to fall back on. But after a while, he showed up. And I left. I went to Boston. Was there for four months … I’d been volunteering at a women’s shelter and somebody called me, told me a guy was there asking questions. I never went back. Every damn place I went, I’d either see him, or he’d call, or I’d be informed somebody had been asking about me—or I’d just get a feeling…”
“How long has he been after you?”
“Nearly a year.” She opened both eyes now and sat up slowly, staring at him. “I don’t stay in hotels—I either go to cities where I had friends from New York or people I knew through what little modeling I did. Or … where there are shelters where you can stay. I work there, donate money…” She shrugged. “It’s not ideal, but it makes it harder for him to track me down.”
“Why didn’t you come home?”
“I didn’t feel like they wanted me,” she said starkly. “I wrote them. So many times. Once I got stateside, I was writing every week, and the letters just came back—return to sender—every damn time. I figured they’d been doing the same thing all along, but…”
Gideon started to shake his head, slowly.
She rose from the seat, the hurt hitting her hard.
She was tired of people not believing her. It hadn’t stopped when she’d left the UK, either. One of the reasons she’d preferred to stay at women’s shelters was because they did believe her—when a box of roses would arrive for her at a friend’s house, none of them had understood why she would freak out, why she’d get scared. Two of the friends she had told about William hadn’t believed the man who’d been such a stud—so amazing and so romantic—could be such a monster. Did you do something? Did you cheat? Cops wouldn’t take her seriously because she hadn’t seen him.
She was tired of not being believed.
Her hand had already closed around the doorknob before Gideon managed to slam his hand against the door. “Hey, hey—where are you going?” he asked softly.
“I’m tired of people not believing me,” she said, her voice trembling. It echoed how she felt inside. She felt like she was trembling—all over, inside, outside. “I’m tired of it. I get it—I was trouble when I was a kid. I lied. I stole shit. I got in trouble and I made trouble and I had fun with it. But I was a fucking kid. Do people not have a chance to—”
“Neve.” Gideon cupped his hand over her shoulder. “I never said I didn’t believe you.”
* * *
Gideon did believe her.
If she said she’d been writing home, then she’d been writing home.
Where the letters had been going was a mystery that would have to be solved at a later time.
She stopped mid-sentence, watching him through narrow, distrustful eyes.
“I believe you,” he said again. “It never made sense to me that you’d go that long without writing anybody. It just didn’t. We’ll try to figure that out later—because I also don’t see your brother and sister just sending the letters back.” She opened her mouth but he shook his head. “They waited. Neve, they had gifts waiting for you at Christmas. Every year. They waited. I know, I saw it.”
Her face crumpled and he braced himself for the tears. Tears were like a raging storm with her. She held them back, fought them like a soldier at war, but when she lost the battle—
But she closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath.
Then another.
He watched as her face went blank, as her brow smoothed. When she looked back at him, the tears were gone and her
eyes were clear. For some reason, that bothered him even more than it would have if she’d given in to the raging sea of misery he knew lay inside.
“Neve…” He brushed her hair back.
“The letters were in my backpack, Gideon. Those were the personal items I mentioned.” She looked away now, her green eyes falling to the floor. “I … I’m a mess inside, probably have been all my life. I started to figure it out when I was at the shelter the first time. I figured the only way to fix myself was to start by fixing all the problems I’d caused and that had to happen by fixing things with Brannon and Moira—I started by just apologizing, but then … I started to write about … everything. It was like … I had to. Shit, it’s probably best that the letters came back. Nobody needed to read that shit. But I had to write them.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Neve stood in front of the pub.
She wanted to go in there about as much as she wanted to face Brannon, but she’d stopped running away from her problems. It seemed like every problem she’d ever faced in her adult life had started because she’d run from the problems here at home.
Gideon stood at her side and his expression was as troubled now as it had been when she finished telling him.
“I’ll have to tell my people to watch for him, you know,” he said softly.
Neve sighed. “Yeah.”
“I can’t control their curiosity. I can tell them not to be concerned with it, just to keep an eye out, but you know how this place is. Sooner or later, somebody will figure out why we’re keeping an eye out, what he did. And word will get out.”
The idea of that made her feel, once again, like she had that day in the shelter, like curling up in a ball, hiding away. Forever. Squaring her shoulders, she told herself what she did every damn day when she looked in the mirror. You didn’t do anything.
Sometimes, it took on a double meaning—no, she hadn’t done anything. Not when he hit her. Not when he slowly took control of her life. But she hadn’t asked to be abused. She hadn’t made him hurt her. He was the one who’d done that, and she’d been the one to walk away.
Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) Page 9