She said she was clean. That she was going to stay that way. That she wasn’t going to touch that crap ever again.
Best part? His mama . . . she’d seemed . . . happy. Smiling so much that it made Ian think it might be safe to smile, too.
But the sounds coming from the kitchen didn’t sound like she was smiling.
“Fuck you,” she whimpered. “Get out of my house, you piece of shit.”
Ian pushed his back up against the hall wall and slid that direction, wishing his big brother Jace wasn’t still off with his friends.
He’d know what to do.
There was another crash, and his mother screeched. Her footsteps pounded on the floor. Heavier ones were right behind her.
Fear raced across Ian’s flesh like the prick of a million needles when he heard the man’s low, menacing voice. “Your house? I bought you, you stupid bitch. You think any of this comes for free?”
Ian peeked around the corner, and the man was trying to put his mouth on his mother, his body way bigger than his mom’s, so muscly and hard, Ian was worried he could break her in half.
She kept moving her face away from him, head jerking one way and then the other, trying to stop him from putting his gross mouth on her lips. “Stop.”
Sickness crawled through Ian’s belly.
Kisses are for who you love the most.
That man didn’t love his mother.
His mama flailed and kicked while the man tried to put his hand under her shirt, and his mother cried out, “Get off me, you sick prick. You disgust me. I told you we were over. Over!”
Ian flinched when he heard the crack.
He’d heard the same thing before, and he knew it was a strike across his mother’s face. That her cheek would be blue tomorrow, and she’d spend the day in bed crying.
It only took that flash of realization, and he was no longer afraid. He went barreling out into the other room, roaring at the top of his lungs, “Leave my mama alone!”
He might be skinny, but Jace told him he was a fighter.
A scrapper who was gonna take everyone by surprise.
He jumped on the back of the guy who had his mother pinned against the kitchen counter, climbing him like he was a jungle gym. He locked his arms around the man’s neck. He cinched down as tight as he could. “Run, Mama, run. Get out of here. I’ll save you.”
Horror streaked across her face, just as dark as the mascara that ran in messy lines down her cheeks. “Oh my God, Ian. Let him go. Get down. Let him go.”
Ian fought harder, tightening his arms until they were trembling with the force he was trying to exert.
But he guessed it didn’t matter all that much because the man growled and grabbed Ian by the wrist. He gripped him and swung at the same time, tossing Ian across the kitchen like he didn’t weigh anything at all.
Ian slammed into the refrigerator, hitting it like a rag doll, arms and legs flopping around like they weren’t attached. Pain splintered across his shoulder and the side of his head.
He slid down and slumped to the floor.
He tried not to cry from the pain.
But Ian realized he didn’t really know what pain was.
Not until the man ripped his belt from his pants and came for him.
An hour or a minute or a day. Ian didn’t know. All he knew was agony.
His mama was screaming. Begging for the man to stop. It only made the man hurt him more. That was the last thing Ian knew before everything went black.
* * *
Ian couldn’t move, everything hurt so bad. He tried to pry his eyes open, but they were too puffy and swollen, every part of his skin feeling like it might burst.
“Shh, baby, shh. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” His mama’s voice was right there at his ear, and he realized he was in her arms, and she was rocking him. “I won’t let nothin’ bad happen to you, not ever again.”
He drifted in and out, lulled by the sound of her singing softly in his ear. “Forever and ever.”
Her lips fell on his temple as she gave him a soft, soft kiss.
It stung.
But to Ian, it was the best thing he’d ever felt.
Twenty-Nine
Ian
I jolted awake where I’d fallen asleep in the driver’s seat of my car where I’d pulled it up to sit right in front of Grace’s house. Gasping for air and disoriented, my eyes darted around the shadows leaping through the darkened neighborhood. The trees were a bluster where the wind pummeled and pounded, clouds building in the starry-sky, a storm to bring on the winter.
Creeper mode.
Protector mode.
Wasn’t sure I even knew the difference any longer.
The only thing I knew was I hadn’t been able to force myself to drive away from the spot since I’d ran out her door hours upon hours earlier. I’d just . . . sat in my car.
Guarding.
Refusing to leave in case that weasel-dick showed his mangled face.
Grace’s grandmother had gotten home with the kids about an hour after I’d left, and I’d sat there, watching the lights come on at twilight before they’d finally dimmed at around ten-thirty.
The house going silent.
Didn’t mean I hadn’t been able to feel Grace. Her gaze searching for me from out the window. Her spirit nothing but worry, like I could feel it radiating out to gather me up.
Wasn’t sure when I’d drifted. But there I was at after one in the morning, gripping the steering wheel, sweating like a motherfucker. I might as well have been that twelve-year-old kid getting his ass beat to within an inch of his life rather than the man I’d become who refused to allow anyone or anything to touch him.
That man had just been another in the long line of men who had come in and out of our lives. Depraved and deranged.
I scrubbed a hand over my face to break up the exhaustion and grabbed my phone where I’d tossed it to the passenger seat.
Part of me hoped Grace had texted me.
Another was wondering if I’d hear from Mack, my mug plastered all over their alerts, wanted for assault.
Reed’s pride was too bloated to let me get away with it.
I blew out a sigh when I saw that my phone was void of any messages, eyes moving, everything silent except for the howl of the night.
Still, agitation lined my bones. Deep and cold. Filled with dread.
Everything felt . . . off.
I didn’t know if it was the recurrence of that dream, the scars lining my body screaming in agony, or if it was the girl who rested inside that house.
The only thing I knew was I couldn’t sit idle.
I had to do . . . something.
Make the first move.
Not wait around for the bastard to have the upper hand.
I pushed the button to start my car. A spray of headlights lit the road, and I eased by Grace’s house, carefully searching, making sure they were safe before I made a U-turn.
The powerful engine of the Mercedes roared as I accelerated. Streetlamps glared from above, casting the pavement in a hazy white glow, not a soul around as I sped beneath the flash of streetlamps that shined from above.
Had no clue what the fuck I was doing except for crossing all kinds of lines. So many of them, I was sure there was no other outcome than one that was going to be bad.
I was getting myself in so deep there would be no resurfacing.
No reclaiming what I’d worked for. Strived for. Lived for.
Stupid.
Goddamned stupid, but I didn’t know how to stop this out of control train as I flew around a corner, making a sharp right, not even slowing when I did. Tires squealed as I skidded, the rear fishtailing for a second before I caught traction and barreled down the street.
Anxiety climbed with every second. With every mile.
I took a couple more turns the same way, flying through the night like I was invisible.
Invincible.
That’s what it was going to take to win this case.
No fucking fear of what would be waiting for me at the end of the street.
As I approached the ritzy neighborhood, I slowed. I made a left and then a right, thanking God my car didn’t stick out in a place like this.
Here, the houses were set back, surrounded by spiked wrought-iron fences, some surrounded by stone, all fucking pretentious and oozing old money.
The house had been in the Dearborne family for more than a century, Reed’s great grandfather one of the first bankers in the area. Politics had quickly become synonymous with their name. Reed’s father had once been mayor, and Reed seemed all too eager to take it one step farther.