by Kat Kenyon
Lies & Devotion
Blood and Iron Warriors: Book 3
Universe 1
Kat Kenyon
Copyright 2019 by Katrina Kenyon
Blood and Iron Entertainment, LLC
2718 Walter Road
Westlake, Ohio 44145
www.KatKenyon.com
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2020
ISBN 978-1-7329701-8-2
Editing by: Taryn Lawson
Proofing by: Marla Selkow Esposito
Cover by: Shanoff Designs
Formatting by: Shanoff Designs
Logo by: Shanoff Designs
Photography by: Shelly Duncan Photography
Publisher Blood & Iron Entertainment, LLC
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Preface
Dedication
End of January
Chapter One
Chapter Two
February
Chapter Two Continued
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
March
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Stay up to date
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Preface
The beginning is easy to fall into and the end always pulls us up but the muddy middle often drags us down. But that’s what makes it real. That’s life. Things that drag us down are what make us stronger. They become our power.
Please be aware that this book contains adult content suitable for people over eighteen. There are topics such as abuse, violence, sex, and high-stress situations in this book.
This is Book 3 in a planned series about the same couple that will continue throughout their college experience. I write in chronological order however, so the next planned book in this series will be about Dylan McVey.
Dedication
This book is for those who have been betrayed by the system. To those who have been abused by those who should have protected them. To those who haven’t been believed because it seemed unbelievable.
I believe.
End of January
Chapter One
Rayne Mathews
The rhythmic pounding of my feet on the treadmill doesn’t stop when the sound of the TV invades my headphones. I don’t know why I left it on when the news broadcast started, except I’m a glutton for punishment. Even with my music booming, all I hear is the parrot on-screen, detailing police efforts to hunt down All-American heartthrob, Gabriel Stevens in connection with an ongoing investigation.
Sweat may run down my spine, but it’s not the run or the pain in my ribs that make it hard to breathe; it’s the image of his face compared to my beaten one that they flash casually, asking who the audience believes, the broken girl from a bad home or the perfect boy from a good one? They don’t connect the broken face to the boy, they just ask which is better, perfect or broken?
We all know which we’d pick.
For the first week, the police were able to keep the situation quiet. My name was hidden as a courtesy paid to assault victims, but that ended after a paparazzo found us at the beach house we’d been renting. Then it was a full blitz. He got his pictures, and the tabloid rags began printing my name and battered face with stories that have run the gamut from close to the truth to total fantasy.
Being at the beach let me zone out, but I lost that freedom. The next day, we moved into this secured complex with a new security team used by political dignitaries and A-list stars, along with a new sense of being at war.
“They’re here,” Tyler calls from the living room, breaking through the news and the music I no longer hear.
Closing my eyes against the prospect of seeing anyone, I force myself to stop the machine. “Okay,” I yell back, looking down.
The red numbers on the display mock me. Little red bars indicate my race to nowhere, accomplishing nothing, but I want to keep running. Anything to avoid talking. Better to be running even with my injuries still healing, or dancing where no one can see me, then expel the tears sitting just below the surface, threatening to drown me. At least it helps exhaust my body so it’ll shut down and stop my mind from fighting a war it can’t win.
Unfortunately, I’m not tired enough to make a dent yet, which means my ribs hurt for nothing. My head drops forward, hanging with the lack of air. When I glance up, Tyler’s leaning against the jamb, watching me. His arms are folded against his chest, hip resting against the frame. His casual pose belies the stress he’s under and even with the soft neutral smile he sends my way, his worry shows through.
Stepping off the belt, I quickly wipe down the machine and walk toward him. His head tilts down as I get close, but he doesn’t reach out; instead, he lets me choose how close we get.
“Let me get cleaned up,” I say, trying to return his smile. The bruises and damage still painting my face and body scream the lie, and yet I try. He deserves something from me. But a smile isn’t just a simple contraction of muscles. It’s supposed to represent joy or provide reassurance, and I don’t have those to give. The simple stretching of my lips pulls my soul apart.
As usual, he doesn’t push. “Don’t rush.” Inhaling the nasty mop on my head, he drops a soft kiss. It’s just the whisper of his lips, but I press into it. His soft touches are the only things allowing me to feel something, anything, beyond the pain.
My fingers drift across his waist as I pass, letting him know I appreciate him, before I head toward our room. Tyler silently follows, walking past me into the bathroom. He doesn’t ask, he just seems to know what I need, leaving me alone to kick off my runners and sticky clothing. The faucet starts with the sound of a cabinet opening and closing, followed by the clear sound of bath salts being poured.
He’s the one thing I’m sure of, and as soon as the evidence of my interrupted run is tossed in the hamper, I walk into the bathroom where the smell of lavender slowly fills the space. Standing over the tub, carefully waving his hand through the water to make the salts dissolve, my boyfriend adds another string to the ties that bind us. Because I’m tethered to him in some irrevocable way, and it seems so unfair to him that it makes me want to cry.
He’s making sure I don’t fall, keeping me grounded so I don’t slip away into the nothing I crave. He makes sure I eat, take my medication, get out of bed—he never forces me,
instead, he slides moments of life between my bouts of internal static. But his smile doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. Even though they’re always soft, always open…they’re never gold.
Giving his arm a quick squeeze, I sit on the lip of the bathtub, stroking my fingertips through the six inches he’s put in. The water looks more substantial than it is because he’s added bubbles to the salts, but even this is almost too much to handle.
You can do this.
“Take as much time as you need, baby.” Giving me another kiss on the top of my head, he leaves, shutting the door behind him.
Focusing on the feel of my muscles, I try to think of anything that’ll distract me from how it feels like the water will drown me. As my toe slips in, I think of silly movies, cartoons…anime. I play scenes in my head, hoping it’ll take my mind off of how the dirt soaks further into my skin each time I touch water.
The sound of people drifts through two closed doors, letting me know our friends are here, for the first time since it happened. The scenes in my head shift to the stares that’ll come if I walk out there. Eyes on me, on the bruises, the cuts, the filth. My chest locks and I feel like I can’t breathe. Slipping down, the water rises around my face and I nearly explode out of my skin as I snap upright.
I know they’ve been asking for me, but—
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Pouring a ton of shampoo into my palm, I dig into my scalp and remind myself that my friends would never be that cruel. The people in the living room care about me, but I don’t want to see them.
I’m a terrible friend.
But being around people makes me feel like I’m dying. My heart races, my skin gets clammy, and there’s no air. It doesn’t matter how well-meaning they are. Anyone who comes too close makes me lose grip on my thin thread of control. Tyler’s the only one who doesn’t make me spin out, and since the beach house, he’s made sure no one gets close to scare me.
He moved us to an apartment with three layers of its own security and a panic room, plus Vindex Security and Investigation are the best money can hire in the world.
Vindex is run by two former Marines, Neil Dean and Sam Cruz. They’ve taken personal responsibility for my physical safety and the ongoing hunt for Gabe. They make sure at least two people are on me at all times, with extra for the building and Tyler.
The men from the first company made me nervous, but Vindex doesn’t. Their teams let me know where they’ll be so they don’t startle me, and they try as hard as they can not to touch me or come too close, knowing it makes my skin crawl.
They care if I’m scared.
They’re my Shadows. Peter Pan had a shadow that ran away, but mine stick to me no matter what, protecting my body like Tyler protects my sanity.
An image of Neil, with his black beard and tattoos dressed as Peter Pan gives me a moment of amusement before I force myself to rinse my hair out under the faucet. Tyler’s laughter drifts in again and it sounds good. Really good, actually.
Tyler hasn’t laughed in forever, or at least that’s what it feels like, and I’m relieved that our friends are here for his sake. When I hear him get something from our room, I hold my breath, hoping he’ll go back out and have fun because he deserves it.
Don’t we all get what we deserve?
Choking, I try to imagine my bodyguards chasing Peter Pan and failing to catch the boy who never grows up.
I’m drowning. Abandoned to die.
What I deserve?
Gasping from the black thought, I scramble out of the tub, dragging myself away from the memories, heart pounding. The struggle to get my lungs to work saps what energy I have left, hacksawed breaths burning their way in and out as I stumble to our bed. Collapsing at the foot, I slide down, resting my head against the soft cotton.
When Tyler comes in twenty minutes later, I’m huddled on the floor, the air-conditioning freezing my bare skin. I haven’t been able to move from the floor to the closet for clothes.
“You okay?” His voice is light, but fear darkens his face as he looks down, making me cringe at having him see me this way again when he’s trying so hard to make things normal for me.
“Tyler…” My voice cracks as he picks me up from the floor and puts me on the edge of the bed.
Disappearing into the bathroom, he comes back a moment later with a towel. Wrapping my hair, he puts me to bed, pulling the blankets over me.
“Baby, you don’t have to do shit,” he says softly, sitting beside me, fingers barely stroking my skin, his eyes never breaking from mine.
My voice is hoarse when I try to talk, “I know you want—”
His eyes soften even further as he cuts me off. “Rayne, it’s okay. You don’t have to do anything. Not for me. I’m fine.” Dropping a soft kiss on my forehead, he stands, saying, “And they’ll still be your friends when you’re ready. Until then, let me deal with it.”
He means it. He’s militantly protective and I know he’ll do anything for me, but it’s not okay. He takes care of everything and gets nothing. He just gives, just accepts. And I let him. He’s struggling and I feel horrible, but I nod and close my eyes.
I miss my friends. I miss my life.
I miss me.
Chapter Two
Tyler Blackman
Even as the elevator closes on Mike and the sound of the guys laughing and joking disappears, I know I’m not bringing them back anytime soon. While it was good to see everyone, she isn’t ready.
The bruises and ribs will heal, but the fractures underneath are as deep as the San Andreas and just as unstable. I didn’t break her this time, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Nodding at Sam at the end of the hall, I wait for the monolith to speak into the mic in his ear. I don’t close the door until he gives me the sign everyone’s gone and he returns to his silent watchfulness, leaving me confident I don’t have to sit in front of the door with a shotgun laid across my lap all night.
After the last security team allowed a journalist to get onto the beach house’s property, I fired them, and within three hours, Neil and Sam were in the house introducing themselves.
She’d freaked when that camera flashed in her face and didn’t speak for an hour. I was scared for a moment it was permanent, but these terrifying Marines made her feel safe. Holding my hand, she trusted me when I trusted them, and she began calling them her Shadows the next day.
I lock the door and clean up, making sure snacks and drinks get dumped in the trash before I flip off the light and head to the bedroom.
The carpet is thick under my feet, my toes sinking into the plush gray pile, and as quiet as I can, I open the door, hoping I don’t wake her. I put her to bed two hours ago, and I’m praying she’s still there, still asleep. There’s always the chance she’s slipped into the other room to try to run herself into a coma. It doesn’t work, but she does it again and again.
Better that than her staring at the wall trying not to break.
Closing my eyes, my forehead falls to the door. Breathing in as much calm as I can, I push into the quiet. The crystal lamp casts a soft glow, decorating the room in splashes of color. And curled up in the bed, looking small and vulnerable, is my girl.
Her hair is still wrapped in the towel, and her delicate white skin stands out in the light, soft blue veins making a subtle map on her neck and hands. Even in her sleep, she’s tortured, brows drawn, a twitch flickering in the corner of her eye. She’s always been tiny, but she feels it now, as she grips the blanket like it can protect her.
I take a step. Then another. My footfalls take me into the small bubble I’ve been able to create for her. Each one bringing me closer to her body, but I don’t know how to get closer to her heart, which is all I want to do. If I had a solution, no matter how hard it was, I’d do it for her. But I’ve got nothing…except that I love her and I’ll do anything to protect her.
Another step with no clue.
She whimpers and I know if she wakes up, she won’t go back to
sleep. Whipping off my shirt, I pad to her side of the bed where she’s curled in on herself. This is the one thing I know to do. It’s the same thing she’s needed every day since I carried her out of the rain. My sweats hit the floor and I turn off her light, sliding in bed behind her.
When my skin brushes her, she startles, and every word of love and protection I can think of comes out as I wrap my arms around her. My words whisper across her skin…and her hands relax ever so slightly.
A slight stutter in her breathing tells me she’s awake the moment before she twists her body to face me. Beautiful blue eyes stare into mine and the clear recognition she’s not alone flickers. Her eyelids shutter again, hands flexing on my pecs for a moment before her hands slip around me.
I’m thrilled when her breathing evens out, letting me know she’s asleep again. Until she coils around me. The sensation of her skin on mine is like a drug to an addict, and I’ve been without a hit for so long. But it’s messed up and guilt makes me freeze. No matter how much I tell my body it shouldn’t, it wants her, and the feel of her moving terrifies me.
Trying to fight it off, I count prime numbers in my head. I work through the hardest equations from class, willing my body to get with the program. If she wakes and I scare her, I’ll never forgive myself. It’s all about her.
One night at a time.
Kissing the top of her head, I wish her a night of sleep.
I hope she sleeps in peace.
February
“Well, we can get through this shit and head to campus around ten.” Rayne smiles a little as she waves at our statistic’s homework on the table. My sweatshirt swamps her small frame over snug jeans, and even though her hair’s in one of those weird girl-knots on top of her head, she looks beautiful.
Another week has gone by and she’s started back to a few classes. It’s only her dance classes and our stats class, but it’s a big deal. The dance classes help her vent, and she feels safe in statistics because I’m with her. She’s also catching up online with the rest of her classes, and fortunately the school isn’t arguing with her. And they’d better not. She’s still got bruises and that’s on them.