Zellerman looked like he might pass out. He licked his lips, glancing around. “She…uh…” His eyes grew wide. His hands were shaking. “Look, man, it wasn’t my idea.”
Carter’s blood boiled. “Never mind. Don’t you dare answer that question.” He narrowed his gaze, pinning Zellerman to the chair, knowing his assumption was correct. This asshole had let Brooke’s mother work for him in exchange for sex. Now that Ann was no longer living, Zellerman had no use for Brooke.
“Look,” Zellerman continued, “I felt sorry for them, okay? The woman came in here fifteen years ago desperate. She told me her husband was abusive and she was on the run and she didn’t want him to be able to track her. So, I gave her a job. She was a good employee. She worked hard. When Brooke turned eighteen, she begged me to let her work for me too. I did it. But you’re right. It’s a mess. I can’t take the risk anymore.”
“I’ll bet,” Carter spit out sarcastically. “I mean, why keep Brooke? She isn’t half as valuable as her mother.” He slid his hand into Brooke’s and turned around. They weren’t going to get anything from Zellerman.
Carter honestly believed the man didn’t have either Brooke’s or her mother’s social. He was leaving out the juicier part of the story, but he wasn’t lying. “Let’s go,” he said to her in a far calmer voice.
She followed him without a word, not speaking until they were back in his truck. And then she turned to him. “I feel like the two of you were having a silent side conversation in a language I don’t speak.”
Carter was furious. And a little sick. He didn’t meet her gaze as he started the truck and pulled out of the lot. The only thing keeping him from vomiting was the realization that it seemed incredibly unlikely that Zellerman had made a similar arrangement with Brooke.
“Carter?” she prompted.
He reached over and took her hand when he came to a light. He needed to be sure. “Did Zellerman ever make a pass at you?”
She flinched. “No.”
Carter narrowed his gaze at her, trying to figure out if she was telling the truth. “He never propositioned you?”
Her eyes went wider. “For sex?”
He nodded.
She flushed, her free hand going to her throat. “No. Never. I hardly ever saw him.”
The car behind them honked. The light had turned green. Carter pulled forward.
Brooke tugged her hand back, crossed her arms under her chest, and turned to stare out the window. She didn’t say another word.
He waited until they were back at the house, the engine off, before he turned to face her again. “Brooke…”
“She was sleeping with him, wasn’t she?” she asked the window.
“I’m guessing.” Damn, he hated this development.
She shuddered. “That bitch,” she shouted before she grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. Two seconds later, she stomped around the hood and entered the house.
He was so stunned at her outburst, he struggled to move. When he finally caught up with her, she was in the kitchen, slamming around and pulling stuff from the fridge. “You want a sandwich?” she asked.
He glanced at the clock. It was ten in the morning. Granted, she needed to eat more, and he was glad she was doing so, but he wasn’t hungry yet. “No. You go ahead.”
She got so frustrated with the twist tie on the bread bag that she ended up tearing the plastic, ripping an enormous hole down the side, and sending several slices flying into the air.
For a moment, time stopped. She stared at the mess. And then her entire demeanor changed and she jerked her gaze to his. She was white as a sheet. “I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up. I’ll put the bread in a Ziploc baggie.”
“Jesus, Brooke. It’s just bread. You look like you killed my cat.”
“You have a cat?” Her eyes widened.
He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “No. But we can get one if you want.” I don’t want a cat. What the hell am I talking about?
She blinked and then glanced down at the mess and rushed toward the pantry. She returned with a large Ziploc, not making eye contact.
He rounded the island, took the bag from her hand, and tossed it on the counter. Next, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
She shrugged. “Nothing. I need to clean up the mess. I shouldn’t have blown up like that. Sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. It won’t happen again.”
He froze. He’d heard those words before. Last night while she was having a nightmare. “Brooke…” He pulled her closer. “Look at me.”
She glanced at the counter.
“Forget the damn bread. It’s just bread. Look at me.”
She flinched first, and then lifted her gaze. There was fear in her expression.
“Did you think I was going to be mad?”
“Aren’t you?”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “No. Shit, Brooke. No. Over bread?”
“I broke the bag. I lost my temper. I broke the bag,” she repeated, her voice trailing off.
Ignoring the mess, he backed her away from the kitchen and then turned her around and led her to the sofa. They always made more headway when they were sitting on the couch together.
She was wiping a tear from her eye when he sat her next to him. He pulled her into his embrace and cupped her head against his chest. “Baby…”
She started to cry.
He rocked her back and forth, holding her. Had anyone ever held her?
Eventually, she relaxed into him and tucked her sweet hand around his chest.
“You’re allowed to lose your temper, Brooke. It’s normal. We all do it.”
“You don’t. You didn’t even get very angry when Mr. Zellerman didn’t give you my social security number.” She tipped her head back and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes.
“I was furious.” He wiped several curls from her face. “But it wasn’t going to do any good to scream at the man. First of all, he wasn’t worth it. He made me sick to my stomach. And second of all, he didn’t have what we needed.”
She said nothing for a moment, and then, “He was sleeping with my mother.”
“Seems like it.”
“Gross.”
He chuckled. “Agreed, but that’s a far different reaction from the one you had before.”
She flinched and scrunched up her nose. “Yeah. Well, my mom… She…”
He changed the subject because he wanted more information and intended to take advantage of the moment to get it. “Did she tell Mr. Zellerman the truth?”
“About what?”
“Your dad.” He smoothed his hand up and down her hair. “Was he abusive? Is that why your mom left him? Is that who abused you?” His upset stomach turned into something more like a full-on need to vomit. He wanted the information, but he dreaded it at the same time. What sort of man kicks a kid around?
She didn’t respond. Instead, she did that evasive thing, looking away.
“Brooke?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember him.”
What the hell? Could she have all this pent-up anxiety like an abuse victim without remembering the incident? “I’m confused.”
She shrugged. “I don’t remember him,” she repeated. “I used to ask her when I was little, but it always made her mad. She never told me anything.”
“What about the rest of your family? Uncles? Aunts? Cousins? Grandparents?”
“I don’t have any, I guess.”
Now he was really freaking out. The implications were too many to count.
She pulled away from him, shivering, closing off.
He didn’t want to break this connection. He needed her to talk to him so he could help her. It seemed pivotal. He knew only one way he might be able to get her to soften to him. He grabbed her waist and spun her around, setting her on the floor in front of him. “Knees, baby,” he prompted.
She instantly righted herself between his legs, her knees hitting the carpet.
/> “Good girl. Hands clasped. Shoulders back.”
She did as instructed without hesitation.
He was seriously concerned about how easily she could submit and the fact that he was about to take advantage of her vulnerability, but enough was enough. He needed answers. To help her ease into the role, he stroked her hair. She tipped her face into his palm and mewled softly.
Damn.
He gripped her shoulders next and nudged them back, encouraging her to straighten a bit and fix her form, knowing the effort to please him would help ground her. “Knees wider, baby.”
She complied again.
“Good girl. Now, talk to me.”
“I told you what I know,” she whispered.
“There are a few dozen holes.”
“I can’t fill them.”
“I bet you can fill some of them.”
She let her head dip farther, her hair curtaining her face.
“You have all the classic signs of an abuse victim, baby.” He stroked the top of her head as he spoke, hoping to soften his words. “It’s obvious to me. It was obvious to Faith. Even Rowen and Lincoln speculated. I assumed you had an ex-boyfriend who beat you, but then all signs indicate you haven’t ever had a boyfriend at all.”
She shivered. “No. I haven’t.”
He pinched his face for a second, a silent ridiculous fist pump going into the air to verify she hadn’t been with anyone. And then he stopped himself. That was not necessarily true. If her father abused her, he also could have raped her. If he did, and if he was still living, Carter would hunt his ass down and kill him. He was trained in plenty of useful combat skills. Eight years in the army ensured it.
“So, if you didn’t have an abusive boyfriend, then it must have been your father,” he pointed out, hoping she would open up or remember.
She shook her head too quickly and then lifted her gaze. “Carter. I don’t remember him. I’m not lying. If I ever knew him, I don’t recall. Maybe he was abusive to my mother like she told Mr. Zellerman? She never said anything about it to me, but it would make sense. She hated men.”
“She hated men?” Ahhhh. He sighed. “Did she tell you that?”
“Every day of my life.”
He winced. “She told you men were bad all the time.”
“Yes. That’s why I’m so hesitant. I’ve never given anyone a chance to prove otherwise. I couldn’t have even glanced at a man while she was alive, and it took me until now to have the guts to speak to you. I’m still leery.” She flushed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You should be leery. You’re brainwashed.” But Lord, there were still holes in this story. He worked through his thoughts out loud. “Maybe your father was abusive to both you and your mother, and she took off with you to protect you, and she was so freaked out about the way he treated you both that she went overboard and pushed you to hate men to keep you irrationally safe.”
“Maybe…”
“It happens all the time. That would explain why she didn’t want to give out your social security numbers. She didn’t want him to be able to track you down. Did you live in hiding?”
“Yes. Always.”
“Did she take you to school and then pick you up right after?”
“I never went to school.”
His entire body jerked. “You never went to school?”
“No. She made me study, though. At home.”
“Jesus. She was totally hiding you so he wouldn’t find you. She must have been so scared. I feel kinda bad now for judging her for sleeping with her boss. She did everything she could to keep you safe.”
Brooke’s face scrunched up and then she laughed. Not like a normal laugh. Out of control.
“What’s so funny?”
“My mother?” She continued laughing, gasping for air, trying to pull herself back together. Somehow she managed to do all this without releasing her hands from behind her. She even kept her shoulders pulled back while they rose and fell with her odd cackling. “I can’t begin to tell you why she was hiding me or from whom or what, but she didn’t keep me safe.”
“What do you mean? I’m not following.”
She sobered and stared at him. “For someone who has spent as much time as you have trying to figure me out, you’re sort of dense.”
He felt pretty stupid now, but he was still in the dark. Suddenly, it hit him. He closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and groaned. “Your mother abused you.”
She said nothing.
He needed to wrap his mind around that before he looked at her. When he lowered his gaze, he found he was far more horrified by her revelation than she was. Of course, it wasn’t news to her. She’d known it her whole life.
“I’m seriously stupid.”
She smiled and shrugged. “I mean, it’s a common mistake, I’m sure. Most abusers are men.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s embarrassing. And I didn’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone. The first person I really let myself go with was Faith. Until my mother died, I didn’t have friends. I had acquaintances at work and stuff, but nothing substantial.”
“And you ran out of money.”
“Yes.”
“How long did you live in that apartment?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember another home.”
“What did your mother do with you when you were young?”
“One of the neighbors kept me when I was very small. A really old lady. Mrs. Thurston. She was nice. As soon as I could take care of myself, my mother left me home alone. She made me lock the door, answer to no one, and left me with chores.”
“How old were you then?”
She shrugged. “Too young. Probably four.”
His eyes shot open wider. “Baby, jeez.”
“I could open a can by then. I didn’t use the stove. I wasn’t allowed to, but I could eat a can of cold soup.” She shuddered. “To this day, I don’t like canned soup. I didn’t even add water to it.”
His mind was reeling. Jesus.
Chapter 15
She was on a roll, so she kept talking, letting it all spill out. “Carter, I have no life experiences. I don’t even have a high school diploma. My mother did the bare minimum to prove to the state she was homeschooling me each year, but I never took a graduation exam. Half of what I know about the world I learned from watching TV. After my mother died, I started going to the library and a nice librarian helped me learn to use a computer. I’ve been going there in the afternoons several days a week for months.”
His eyes were drawn together when she glanced at his face, and his hands were on his knees, gripping them tightly. His voice was low, caring. “Tell me about the abuse.”
She knew she was shocking him, but it was too late to stop the flood, so she closed her eyes, lowered her head, and kept going. “It was sporadic. I could never see it coming. She would be supernice and fun for weeks at a time and then snap. I had to be so careful because I was always waiting. Anything could set her off. Like she was a different person.” It still boggled her mind, and she shuddered remembering how she walked on eggshells all her life.
Carter lifted a hand and cupped her head again. “Those are the cycles of abuse.”
“Well, whatever it was, she got worse over the years. I could predict the days I would be beaten the moment she got out of bed. On her bad days, she was out of control from the get-go. She would rant and throw things. Nothing I did would stop her. There was never any way to keep from receiving her wrath.
“It was like she waited, watching all day for me to mess something up so she could take her anger out on me. Anything would do it. If I didn’t shut a door or shut it too loudly or didn’t wash my hands long enough or use enough soap or scraped a plate with my fork or my shoestrings weren’t straight. Anything.”
Carter leaned forward and set his forehead on the top of her head, hauling her closer with his hand at the back of her neck. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
She d
idn’t even shed tears. It felt weird, but purging this pent-up secret was a relief. “Afterward, she would leave me alone for the rest of the day. I usually didn’t move a muscle or make a single sound. The next day she would get up and be back to her happy self. She wouldn’t mention the beating, but she would take me to the park or fix my favorite foods or let me watch a movie, her ways of apologizing I guess.”
When Carter pulled her forward closer, she lost her balance and released her hand to steady herself against his shins. She turned her face to one side and set her cheek on his thigh. He didn’t respond to the break in form. Instead, he tucked her hair behind her ear and stroked her face.
He spoke in a soft voice. “None of your neighbors ever called the police? Child Protective Services never showed up?”
She shook her head. “My mother was very careful to ensure no one heard us. I can’t imagine what she would have done if I’d ever screamed or cried loud enough for the neighbors to hear. I never tried.” She shuddered.
“Jesus.”
“I know it’s kinda deep and maybe makes no sense, but I always felt relieved after she beat me because I knew life would be fantastic for several days.” She sucked in a breath, trying not to let her voice crack. “I knew I was a good girl again…until I was not, and the process started over.”
“It makes perfect sense, baby. You were a child. You internalized what happened to you the only way you could. Let me ask you something else.”
She nodded against his thigh. Whatever he wanted to know, she would tell him. “Okay.”
“Do you see the correlation between your mother beating you and this new desire to submit to various types of masochism?”
She had thought about that. “Yes.”
“When Faith did a scene with you, did you feel relieved afterward?”
“Yes. It was amazing.” She lifted her face to look up at him. “I can’t explain it, but after she did that last scene with me, I was flying. Like I was…” She wasn’t sure how to finish that thought.
Collaring Brooke (Club Zodiac Book 3) Page 13