Lies & Devotion (Blood and Iron Warriors Book 3)

by Kat Kenyon

  Smirking, I shrug. “All that junk makes you fat.”

  He flushes red and growls, “I’m not fat.”

  “You’re working on it.”

  Running his hand down his chest and over his stomach, he mutters, “I lost ten pounds at the beginning of the season running with you guys, but Coach made me gain it back.” He glares at me. “He said lightweights aren’t linemen. So, be happy I’m a good lineman.”

  He is a good lineman. And all year he was part of making sure that Dylan never got sacked, but it’s still fun to fuck with him.

  While Bay and I go back and forth, Mike and Ethan have settled around Rayne on the couch, showing her something on Ethan’s phone. Her giggles fill the room, shining her special brand of sunlight we haven’t seen in so long.

  “She looks like she’s doing better,” Bay says quietly, grabbing a bag of trail mix and a beer.

  “It depends,” I tell him. “She is in a lot of ways, but it’s rough. We’ve got a lot coming at us and we still have to go back to court.”

  “Well, you’re doing something right.” He tilts his head to the side. “How are you?”

  “Besides, wanting a few people dead, I’m fine.”

  “Murder can’t be on your to-do list. They take you away for that,” he deadpans before shoveling more food in his mouth.

  I would love to be able to give into my inner animal, but I can’t. And I tell him so.

  “Any word on anything?” It’s a hesitant, quiet question, but things ran by so fast during the day I understand why he wants to know.

  “Take your pick,” I say, taking a long drag on my beer. “My dad did an interview, her mom’s working with Gabe’s dad, they’re trying to put me on academic suspension, and information is being passed outside of the circle and we don’t know by who. We just know it’s happening.”

  “Damn. That’s fucked up.” Grim anger falls over surfer boy’s face, and he gives a nod to my teammates. “I hope you know we wouldn’t tell.”

  “We know that. We just don’t know who spilled.”

  Bay and I sit and watch the three guys surround Rayne with laughter and questions while she relaxes against the couch and snuggles her tea. “How’s school going?” she asks.

  Ethan grimaces. “I hate stats.”

  “It’s certainly not fun.” She giggles.

  “Not even a little bit.”

  “How are you two?”

  Kevin kicks back on the floor, leaning against her favorite chair. “I hate my classes. It was so much easier working with you last semester. I need you to have cards for the classes I have right now.”

  “What are they?”

  “Don’t want to talk about it.” Kevin inhales his drink before adding, “At least we have tutors.”

  Mike nods beside her. “It helps. Coach made sure we had people to help us with the classes since we don’t have your crazy organizational skills. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too,” Kevin pipes up. “Those study sessions where we all sat around working through the notecards really helped me last semester. Western Civilization was the first A I’ve had in a long time.”

  Rosy pink appears on her cheeks, her head tilting to her chest. “Next time we’re in class together, I totally got you.”

  “We know you do, chica.”

  Coughing, I move to join her, shoving Ethan out of my way, catching them up on the last day or so. Everyone has an opinion, but they all care, so it’s all in an effort to help us. Forty-five minutes into our conversation, Rayne’s phone rings.

  Glaring at her phone, she stands and holds up a finger, letting us know she’ll be right back. She walks back into the bedroom, and it’s quiet for few minutes before we hear, “You can take your money and go to hell.” A moment later. “You show up like this after shoving me in a closet for almost two decades? You never cared before, and you don’t get to care now.”

  The bedroom goes silent and after a few moments she walks out of the room, eyes blazing. “Lawrence Mathews can kiss my ass.”

  March

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Rayne Mathews

  Gramps has never called me and the moment I said hello, he opened by snarling his irritation about how I treated Anne. This isn’t a reconciliation or a matter of caring about me, this is him trying to control damage to his name.

  A name I’ve grown to hate for its self-importance. It’s not like this is the dark ages. His stupid name wouldn’t have been ruined if his son hadn’t discarded me. I’m not the problem, and I’m not tap dancing for him the way he expects me to.

  The leftover anger from last night supplies energy for this morning’s run and with the music up and people on the machines around us, I have a good workout. Then, I’m able to focus during molecular biology, even with Ethan cracking jokes and whining about the amount we have to memorize. In fact, the day goes well until I’m on my way to meet Tyler for our modern dance class, when the gray sky decides to do more than threaten, and a slight drizzle begins.

  Why is it raining so much in Southern California?

  It’s not heavy, painting the terracotta and pale yellows of the quad with a puddleless sheen. My hair isn’t getting soaked, merely damp, but the same panic that hit me a few days ago tries to grab me when a drop hits my eyelid.

  My chest seizes. Flashes of asphalt and glass.

  I’m not fragile, damn it.

  I can’t run away, not with court coming up. There are at least four people tracking me.

  I’m safe.

  It takes several painful, forced pulls of air before I move, and each time I take a step for the studio and not the SUV is a victory. Tyler’s there.

  Breathe.

  I’m not alone.

  Breathe.

  When it starts to rain a little harder, I suck in air and remind myself the court may take me again. I need my scholarship and that means I don’t miss any more classes.

  Breathe, damn it.

  I want my life back.

  Breathe.

  When I stumble through the first doors, I don’t slow down until I throw my arms around Tyler, his presence helping me breathe out the worst of the shakes that linger in my body. Noticing, his brow rises, and I wave him off, focusing on getting ready for class, and then on the teacher who asks us to perform the routine in groups of four.

  I did it. I can do this.

  When class is over, I’m feeling stronger but Tyler’s mood has soured, though he tries to cover it. His meeting at the dean’s office weighs on his mind. I know it weighs on mine and was just another reason not to collapse on myself today. He didn’t need the stress.

  I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that they threatened him. It’s not right, but they’ve been looking out for their self-interest since this whole mess started. It seems everybody does, regardless of the harm they cause.

  He has to get off academic probation or he won’t be able to play next season. I know how much he loves football and making sure he doesn’t miss a minute of it…just another reason I have to walk in the rain from now on.

  I can’t let my fear hurt him anymore.

  A quick kiss goodbye and he takes off. On my way to my next class, I get a text from Arnowsky reminding me that I have to schedule the therapy appointment, per the judge’s order. I resent it, but I pull up the number the hospital gave me. I don’t want to start over with someone new, so I give my name to Vanessa’s receptionist, and it only takes ten minutes to schedule an appointment with Vanessa’s private practice.

  When I hang up, I stare at my phone.

  That felt normal.

  The spark that felt dead two months ago, is arcing bright over the broken pieces inside my heart and reigniting more of the pieces and parts.

  I’m more than broken.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Tyler Blackman

  When I get to the Admin building, Coach is already there. His arms are folded over his chest as he scowls. “They’ve never refused my calls before,
and I’m not happy.”

  Dropping into one of the seats to wait, I glance around for Granddad before answering him. “They’re pissed I’m still putting pressure on them over the assault. There’s no other reason to be such dicks.”

  Coach snorts, before giving me a bitter look. “Probably, but don’t call them that. It’ll make you look bad, and it’s ineffective.”

  “Well, being decent didn’t help Rayne last semester.” Rolling my shoulders to try to ease the tension, my foot taps restlessly. “Being nice has never helped.”

  “Being nice doesn’t work,” announces Granddad as he walks through the lobby doors, swiping a hand down his expensive suit jacket and giving me a cranky grin. “Being rich works. Threats work. Nice only works when you’re at church and I swear, not even then sometimes. Most of the worst businessmen I know get faux absolution for the moral and legal crimes they commit daily by paying for it.” He reaches out a hand to Coach, who gives it a firm shake. “Erol Bassie, pleasure to meet you in person. Tyler says great things.”

  “You too,” says Coach. “Do we have a plan?”

  “Leave it to me. Tyler, only answer if I give you the go ahead. This school will correct its moral compass, or I’ll smash the one they have and get them a new one.”

  With that, Granddad hits the elevator button and walks in, looking like a king in his own castle.

  Coach raises his brows at me before following Granddad. Five minutes later, we’re ushered into a small conference room where Dean Lister and another man sit at a small rectangular table, facing the door.

  When we get settled, Granddad huffs under his breath, “If they think taking the power seats will help them, they’re sadly mistaken.”

  “Coach, I didn’t know you’d be here,” the dean says, lips pursed like he ate something sour.

  “I wouldn’t be if your office had returned my calls.”

  “We’ve been very busy,” says the dean, shuffling a few papers, “And since this is about Mr. Blackman’s academics, I’m not sure what you’ll have to offer.”

  “Let me worry about that, I assure you being here isn’t a waste of time to me.”

  The balding man next to the dean interrupts and introduces himself, “I’m Carlson Davies, assistant counsel for the university.”

  Granddad ignores his hand, staring blankly at the dean. “Why would you bring counsel to a meeting about academic issues?”

  “Mr. Bassie, the situation is hardly standard and the university felt it important to—”

  “I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to Lister, who’s well aware my grandson had legitimate excuses for the classes missed.”

  “I appreciate that you’re upset—” Mr. Davies says.

  Raising his hand, Granddad points a finger at Dean Lister. “You don’t care how upset we are, or the reason behind the absences, any more than you cared about Rayne’s safety when you kept a dangerous predator on campus.” He snarls at the attorney when he starts to interrupt. “No. This isn’t a negotiation. I’ve looked into not only your polices, but the two agreements you have with the state’s attorney general. You haven’t followed any of them. Your consent decree from four years ago said you’d expel all students who committed crimes on campus. You didn’t, which is why we’re here in the first place.”

  The words sink in, making me sick to my stomach. Looking from Lister’s slow blink to the rush of red on the attorney is like throwing a brick through a plate glass window. “You’ve done this before?” Coach’s hand comes down on my forearm, but I shrug him off. “You were supposed to get him off campus and you didn’t?”

  Lister has the decency to pale, but the attorney tries to explain. “Mr. Blackman, you don’t understand the situation. Mr. Stevens was never prosecuted or shown—”

  “Because you guys protected him!”

  Burn it down.

  “You don’t understand how this works.”

  “I do,” Granddad says, hands steepled under his chin. “You used the situation to solicit donations in exchange for looking the other way. Don’t think I don’t know what you did.”

  “Those issues are personal to Ms. Mathews, and we can’t talk about that,” says Davies, face hard.

  “Son, I’m the man paying for the review of all those emails as we speak. Who do you think deposed your people?”

  “That has nothing to do with this.”

  “You think so?” Granddad leans back, flicking his hand dismissively.

  Dean Lister’s face is bone white even as he leans forward. “I cared. And we want to make sure she is okay.”

  “Really, so why harass my grandson when you’re well aware he’s the one who’s responsible for her care?”

  “This meeting is about our rules on attendance,” the dean practically pleads.

  “Rules with an exception allowance for people in extraordinary circumstances.”

  The lawyer pops off condescendingly, “Those circumstances apply to Ms. Mathews, not Mr. Blackman.”

  “I disagree,” says Granddad. “He’s responsible for her health and welfare. When she needs him, he needs to be there, and those are especially extraordinary circumstances this university had a huge hand in creating.”

  Shaking his head, Davies taps his finger on the table. “That’s not what the rule says.”

  “I have permission,” I growl at him. “Not a single teacher has complained, and I’m completing the coursework.”

  “You have to be here in order to learn, and if you don’t complete your courses, your scholarship for next year is void,” says Mr. Davies, face vaguely smug.

  Before Granddad or I can respond, Coach Mills slaps the table and leans across the table. “Don’t you threaten one of my men. I make the decisions on scholarships.”

  Dean Lister frowns. “I’m afraid that’s not true, Coach.”

  “You better have that suit look at the charter of my team. I’m a separate business, and while I’m the coach, those decisions are at my sole discretion. I’ve always happily taken the university’s view into account, but I can do whatever the hell I like as long as I can show good cause. And this bullshit is a great example of good cause.”

  “Coach—”

  “His scholarship is solid,” Coach Mills says to Granddad, then nods to me.

  “Not if he isn’t a student here,” sneers Mr. Davies.

  “Did you just threaten to expel my grandson?” Granddad’s slow question startles Davies, bringing his attention back to the shark in the room.

  “No,” the dean rushes. “We just need to make sure he takes his education seriously.”

  “No, that was a threat. Tyler earned all As last semester and his coursework this year is still As and Bs. This is not about his education.”

  “There’s no threat.” The dean glares at Davies. “We just need to keep an eye on his academic progress, or we wouldn’t be doing our job.”

  Granddad looks at me, tilting his head. “How about you, Tyler? Do you think this about your degree?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do I,” Granddad says, coldly smiling at the two men on the other side of the table. “Let me make this clear, you move on my grandson or Rayne, and I’ll publicize every damn thing you’ve been involved in covering up.”

  Mr. Davies shakes his head. “Your threats mean nothing. Tyler, you can’t miss anymore classes.”

  “He’ll have to next week.”

  “Then he’ll be placed on academic probation with the risk of being removed.”

  Granddad’s hand slaps down on the table. “We’ll see what your bosses say when they realize I’ll use every dollar in my company to grind your bones into a powder to use in a paper mâché version of your mascot. And I either know, control, or am owed a favor by practically every one of your donors and I promise, I’ll call in every single IOU.”

  Lister turns green, but their lawyer is pissed as he gathers the few papers on the table and stands. “I think we’re done here. Tyler”—he shoves a paper
at me—“here’s your notice.”

  Granddad snatches it from me, letting them walk out while we stay seated.

  Coach Mills runs a hand over his head. “Those agreements you mentioned? What are they?”

  “The school showed callous disregard for the safety and welfare of the student body. They managed to keep it secret, but I have friends in useful places. One of them was signed after multiple girls, over multiple years, turned in a fraternity house for rape and the school covered it up.”

  I’d always looked at California University as an amazing school, full of the best and brightest. With the demanding degrees and standards of excellence, the idea they don’t care about the destruction of people on a personal level is nauseating.

  “There have been rumors over the years, but are you sure about this?” asks Coach. He looks as horrified as I feel.

  “Yes,” is all Granddad says.

  We spend the next few minutes going over the next steps, and when we leave, Granddad takes the paper they gave me with him. When we say goodbye, Coach walks away with Granddad, leaving me to get food before stats. But the meeting stays on my mind, replaying in my mind throughout class. It leaves me wanting to climb out of my skin, so when we get home, I go downstairs to punch out my anger and frustration on the bag.

  Managing violence is like trying to control a wild animal; it can get away from you and you end up shredded, but punch by punch, my mood calms. So, when I step through the door after a couple hours, the smile I give Rayne is genuine.

  It makes the pain in my hands worth it to give her the best of me.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Rayne Mathews

  We were able to move up the court date for the hearing and all the parties have to be there. Tomorrow is the day.

  It’s almost over.

  Fortunately, the last three days have been quiet. No bullshit, no drama, no nothing. Just class and the normal grind of getting things done. It’s why we’re having people over tonight to relax and study. With my fate being judged tomorrow, I want my mind occupied tonight.

  Thump thump.