Cruel Shame

by Sofia Daniel

  I clenched my teeth. Everyone I knew who’d been arrested for something or other and not once did we get luxury snacks, not even the time I led them to Billy Hancock’s cocaine haul.

  DCI Cromar ushered me inside and took the seat facing away from the glass wall. I resisted the urge to plonk myself on the sofa next to him. The benefits of pissing him off outweighed the cost of inhaling his musty, rank sweater.

  I perched myself on the edge of the opposite seat and folded my bandaged hands on my lap.

  His gaze dropped to the bandages. “What a trying day you’ve had. Myra Highmore attacking you with a gun, followed by the revelation of your father’s horrific abuse.”

  “Mr. Burgh is my grandfather,” I snapped. “And he didn’t abuse anyone.”

  The detective chief inspector made a see-sawing motion with his hand. It’s obvious what that fucking meant. You say potato and I say potahto—that I could call Mr. Burgh a grandfather all I wanted but there was enough evidence to prove that we were much closer related.

  Angry heat surged through my veins and heated my face. Every blood vessel on the left side of my head pulsed in sync with my pounding heart. I wished this concussion didn’t mess with my reflexes. The first time we met, I treated him like the wanker he was, and now he was making me look like I’m some kind of victim in denial.

  “Listen,” I said between clenched teeth. “Lady Liddell showed me that fake DNA report, and I tore it into pieces. Mr. Burg is not my father.”

  He leaned back in his seat, spread his legs wide, and folded his arms over his thin belly. “How do you know?”

  “What?”

  “You weren’t there when Duncan Burg forced himself on your mother.” He tilted his head to the side and leveled me with penetrating stare. I supposed that was the police equivalent of striking a triumphant pose.

  “Neither were you.” I leaned forward with my fists clenched. “When Lady Liddell spouted those lies, I went straight to London to ask my mother.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Because you suspected it was true.”

  “I suspected Lady Liddle was planning on using the fake DNA test against my family.”

  Cromar shook his head. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “I don’t know,” I snarled. “Maybe the smug grin she gave me after I tore up the test and she said she’d made multiple copies.”

  “And it’s a good thing that she did, otherwise this information would never come to light.”

  I ground my teeth. He’d already made up his mind. Actually, he was either trying to be a dick or was working directly for the Liddells. At a guess, I’d say it was a combination of all three.

  “This conversation is going nowhere,” I said with a groan.

  DCI Cromar rose from his seat, strolled toward the exit and swept his arms toward the door. “You came to us, Miss Hancock.”

  “Because I want you to take down a statement,” I hissed.

  He folded his arms over the yellowing sweater. “Did Mr. Burgh ever act inappropriately toward you?”

  “Never.”

  “A witness produced a recording containing you accusing him of…” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his smartphone, and tapped a few commands.

  I narrowed my eyes, bracing myself to hear Elizabeth’s made-up bullshit.

  “Here we are.” Cromar cleared his throat. “Miss Hancock screamed at the top of her voice ‘are you coming onto me? It sounds like you’re pissed off because I didn’t go into the cupboard with you’.”

  Every drop of blood drained from my face and into a heart spasming with palpitations. I said those words. Said them when I didn’t know why the hell Mr. Burg had brought me to the academy and why he kept calling me by my first name.

  How was I to know what my grandfather would be the headmaster of a posh Scottish school? I grew up with a druggie for a mother and a drug lord for a stepfather. People like me weren't supposed to come from such breeding.

  I turned my gaze back to the empty sofa. How much would I bet that our conversation was stored somewhere on a computer ready to be unearthed? If I denied it, I’d lose any credibility as a character witness.

  “There’s no shame in being a victim of abuse.” DCI’s voice turned coaxing. “Abuse has followed you like a black cloud, Miss Hancock. From your stepfather to your foster fathers to Samuel Kettering and now your grandfather.”

  The pain in my head chose this moment to sharpen, and I winced at the sensation of being impaled through the eye with a javelin. Frustration welled through my insides. If only I could think straight, I’d have the right words to put this bastard in his place. My throat thickened, and my face grew hot with tears.

  “Have a hanky.” DCI Cromar stood at the edge of my sofa, his lips curved in what he probably thought was a sympathetic smile. “Dry your eyes and help me ensure he doesn’t do the same to another impressionable, young woman.”

  “You’re disgusting,” I murmured.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “How would you like it if someone accused you?”

  Cromar’s brows drew together in a frown. “Miss Hancock—”

  “You’re supposed to uphold the law, yet all you’re doing is helping a corrupt family victimize an innocent man with a pack of lies.”

  A frustrated breath huffed out of his nostrils. “And you insulted our Deputy Chief Constable.”

  “Are you going to take a statement or not?” I snapped.

  “Not.” He placed his hands on his hips and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “You’ve told us nothing in the public interest.”

  “Nothing that will benefit the Liddell family, you mean?”

  He stepped aside. “If you’re going to turn rude and belligerent, you had better leave.”

  “What about my chocolate digestives?”

  “They’re not coming.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  Not that I cared, but they never were. I rose off the hard sofa and wiped my bandaged hands down the sides of my jeans. The corruption in this place felt like a mass of fleas carrying the bubonic plague. The longer a person stayed, the more likely they were going to be infected by the Liddells.

  “That was a fucking waste of my time.” I brushed past him and headed toward the door.

  DCI Cromar grabbed my arm. “Miss Hancock.”

  “What do you want?” I snatched my arm out of his grip.

  “We are here to help you, even if it doesn’t seem that way.” Sincerity dripped from his voice, and the way he pulled back his shoulders and puffed out his chest reminded me of Gilderoy Bloody Lockhart.

  I didn’t know if I should cry or spit in his face. The wanker actually believed in what he was saying. “If you care about justice, you’ll listen to Myra Highmore’s claim of where she got that gun.”

  “Miss Highmore is a disturbed young—”

  “Like me?” I met his gaze. “It’s funny how you dismiss these witnesses as mental the moment their statements disprove your superiors’ lies.”

  His nostrils flared, and a muscle on the side on his jaw flexed.

  “May I leave, now? Detective Chief Inspector?” Normally, I’d call him a detective and enjoy his spluttered reply that he was also a chief inspector. This time, I used his full job title. If DCI Cromar wasn’t corrupt, maybe something I said might sink through his thick skull.

  He stepped aside. “You were never under arrest.”

  Without a backward glance, I walked to the door and flung it open. Constable Pala stood outside holding two steaming mugs of tea and stared at me with round eyes.

  I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. “DCI Cromar could use two cuppas. I’ll let myself out.”

  Glasgow Station wasn’t different from the one in Richley. Maybe all police forces around the United Kingdom used the same architect to save costs, maybe I’d become so accustomed to being on the wrong side of the law that I could navigate these places even with a blinding headache and a mind about to collapse into mush.


  When I reached the door that led out to the public reception area, the receptionist buzzed me out. As soon as I stepped through the door, Maxwell and Orlando bolted out of their seats and rushed at me with Kendrick strolling behind.

  “What happened?” Maxwell asked.

  I shook my head. “They wanted me to incriminate him. They wouldn’t listen to anything else.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Dread barreled through my insides like an out-of-control bowling ball. I grimaced at my only course of action. “I’m bringing my mother up from London. She needs to clear his name and tell them the truth.”

  Chapter Nine

  Maxwell and Orlando exchanged glances, seeming to communicate an entire conversation with their eyes. My heart sank. What didn’t they want to tell me? Maybe there was a development in Mr. Burgh’s case, and something I said—or my appearance at the police station—had gotten the police to charge Mr. Burgh and keep him locked up until a future trial.

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  When neither of them looked me in the eye, I turned my gaze to Kendrick, who never had a problem with being awkward. Annoyance flickered across his features, but it was more directed at his brother and BFF.

  “Our parents called.” Kendrick’s sharp eyes slid to Maxwell, who continued avoiding my gaze.

  I inhaled a sharp breath through my teeth as an imaginary knitting needle stabbed at a spot behind my left ear. All this time, I told myself that prescription medicine didn’t work. Without it, something inside me felt like it was about to explode. It was probably time for another dose.

  “They have recalled me back to the family estate and Max offered to take my place,” Kendrick said in a single breath.

  Maxwell finally met my eyes with one of those bracing-himself-for-an-explosion expressions of clenched teeth, and the corners of his mouth pulled back toward a corded neck.

  “You’re going away?” My words came out a choked sob.

  “Sorry.” He cupped my face with his large hands. “They want Ken to enter into marriage talks with Elizabeth. I don’t trust them or the Liddells not to do something underhanded and trap my brother into an engagement.”

  My mouth fell open, and my gaze darted to Kendrick, whose cheeks turned pink. Wasn’t he the dude who told me he no longer wanted to associate with Elizabeth? Another knitting needle of pain lanced through the back of my head, making me wince. It also brought the realization that the dude of which I spoke had been Maxwell, pretending to be Kendrick.

  Annoyance tightened my skin at the reminder, and my lips pursed at the thought that the twins were frequent identity swappers.

  Maxwell grabbed my arms. “Think of it as an undercover mission. Ken’s too honest to do anything underhanded and too polite to ask rude and demanding questions.”

  I glanced at Kendrick, whose lips tightened, and then back to his more dishonest twin. “You’re going home to find out what’s happening with the Liddells?”

  He nodded. “Lady Liddell agreed to bring Elizabeth up to explain herself. If I accompany you to London, I’ll miss what might be our best opportunity to destroy those bastards.”

  “Alright.” I rocked forward and wrapped my arms around his neck. Maxwell pressed me into his body, and my heart ached with the intensity of my concussion at his impending absence.

  He held me for several heartbeats, seeming like he was memorizing the way I felt against him. The poor bastard would have to spend the next day or so in the company of Elizabeth and her rancid mother.

  “They won’t get away with trying to kill you,” Maxwell murmured into my ear. “I swear it.”

  I drew back and turned to Orlando. “Are you going with him or something?”

  “Grandfather is coming down to make the archbishop to explain how he could let his wife and daughter talk such filth to the press.”

  My brows rise. “He thinks they’re lying?”

  Orlando rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “The miserable old git is more outraged by the public display of dirty secrets. I need to stay in Glasgow to see if I can steer the conversation toward a confession.”

  Some of the tension around my chest loosened, and I nodded. It wasn’t like they were backing out or abandoning me. Even if they offered to accompany me to London, I would refuse. There was absolutely no way I could access the level of information they could get via their families.

  “Alright, then.” I inhaled a deep breath, trying to push the pain away. “I’ll fly down on my own.”

  Orlando shook his head. “We thought you might want to go back to London, so we looked up if you could fly with a concussion.”

  “The answer was no?” I asked.

  “It’ll make your pain a lot worse,” he replied.

  Maxwell wrapped an arm around my waist and steered me through the police station. “One of the guys in the football team had a concussion, refused medical advice and ended up having a seizure.”

  Orlando strode ahead and opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air.

  I stepped out into the evening and glared into Maxwell’s silver eyes. “If you’re suggesting I stay in Templar—”

  “Not at all,” he said.

  Orlando walked to my side and slid an arm around my shoulder, engulfing my left side in his warmth. I relaxed in the cocoon of their larger bodies and sighed.

  Tall, concrete lamps bathed the limo in amber light, and an arch of spectral light hovered over the road. For a brief moment, I thought Father Neapolitan had brought down holy terror in revenge for my having been born. When it floated about with my eye movements, I exhaled a breath. It was just a funky migraine.

  Moments later, Maxwell opened the limousine door, letting out a lovely gust of warmth. Maybe these guys had a point.

  “Alright.” I slid into the leather seat. “I’ll take the train to London. That way, I can sleep throughout the journey and not aggravate my head.”

  “You can’t go to London on your own.” Maxwell scooted around me and settled on my right. Orlando took the seat opposite and tapped something into his smartphone.

  I glanced from Maxwell to Orlando. “Then who’s coming—”

  “I will.” Kendrick settled on my left.

  I blinked several times, trying to clear my head, and gazed at Kendrick out of the corner of my eye. He pulled back his shoulders, folded his arms across his chest, and raised his chin.

  On a less attractive person, Kendrick’s expression would be mullish. His tight neck and jaw pulled down his lips in a grimace, his nostrils flared, and his glare was hard enough to kick down doors.

  “Are you sure?” I turned toward him and tilted my head to the side.

  Kendrick huffed an annoyed breath.

  “Alright.” I offered him a slow nod, translating the gesture. “You wouldn’t have volunteered if you didn’t mean it.”

  He tossed his head and sniffed. “I’ll book us separate berths.”

  Orlando held up his smartphone. “Too late. I already reserved you a double ensuite.”

  “What?” Kendrick hissed.

  My breath caught in the back of my throat. Kendrick and me confined to one of those little berths for an entire night? I slid further down in my seat and suppressed a groan.

  “What if Lilah throws up or has trouble waking?” asked Maxwell. “What if she faints in the shower?”

  Kendrick’s cheeks turned purple. “Shower?”

  I dipped my head and exhaled a long breath. On any other day, I might have offered to sleep out on one of the public seats and told Kendrick I didn’t need him watching over me. But with that funky migraine burrowing through my skull, I was in no position to refuse help. Now, I just felt sorry because he was being lumbered with me at my worst.

  Maxwell patted my thigh. “Don’t worry. Ken has stood in for me dozens of times.”

  “With disastrous results,” Kendrick snarled.

  I reached into my bag, pulled out my painkillers, and placed two tab
lets on my tongue. Maxwell passed me a bottle of water to wash them down. I murmured my thanks and swallowed several mouthfuls of cool liquid.

  Kendrick must have taken pity on me because he stopped complaining about sharing a berth, and the rest of the journey around the city center passed in blessed silence. When the limo pulled into Glasgow Central Station, he waited patiently as I kissed Maxwell and Orlando goodbye, helped me out of the limo, and offered me his arm.

  As we stepped beneath a gigantic verandah entrance of emerald lamp posts and green-tinted glass, I stared up at Kendrick, marveling at how differently he held himself to Maxwell.

  The light cast shadows over his chiseled cheekbones, strong jaw and perfectly straight nose. Unlike Maxwell, who wore his hair in a messy, just-been-fucked style, Kendrick wore his slicked back, which emphasized his permanently furrowed brow. The guy really needed to relax.

  We crossed a vast concourse of white floors, glass ceilings, and elegant, brown storefronts. Which version of him would I get for the journey? The scowling mute, the hero who knocked Elizabeth out with a punch, or the dickhead?

  “What?” he stared down at me and scowled.

  “Thank you for escorting me to London,” I murmured.

  Kendrick pulled back his shoulders. “Maxwell is standing in for me, so I suppose it’s worth the sacrifice.”

  My shoulders sagged. So I would be getting the dickhead.

  Chapter Ten

  We stepped into a suite of red carpets, mahogany-paneled walls, and tartan-green furnishings. A double bed took up its entire left side, with windows running down its right. At the foot of the bed were a pair of armchairs arranged around a table that doubled up as a desk, and opposite that, a stool, either for dressing or using as a desk chair.

  It was a little smaller than the one I’d once shared with Maxwell, but with the thick drapes obscuring the station and the warm air circulating through the wall vents, it looked comfortable and cozy.

  “This is nice,” I placed my bag on the stool and sank onto the edge of a soft mattress.

  Kendrick stood in the doorway, surveying the suite. The tight expression across his lips told me he was either dreading being stuck here with me for an entire night or was calculating a way to avoid spending time with me while fulfilling his obligation to Maxwell.