Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(19)

“For what?” When she hesitated, I urged, “Ryker? What did they want from him?” Here I was grilling her after giving the others shit for wanting to, but f*ck, this was for her, not for me or the Scars.

She shifted her feet. “He drugged Ryker heavily.” She swallowed. “Roarke had notes on Hannah. I had to…” I caressed her back in slow, gentle strokes. “I had to pretend I was her.” Jesus Christ. “They put me in her clothes, did my hair like hers and I learned to talk like her.” A tear escaped from the corner of her eye and landed on my T-shirt. “I made Ryker believe I was Hannah. The love I saw in his drug-filled eyes, his words…” Rayne drew in a ragged breath. “It calmed him when I was her,” she whispered.

“Why did your dickhead husband want you to be Hannah?”

“I made him use his abilities,” she said. Her eyes refused to look at me and her body flinched as she said the words. She was avoiding something. “It felt like I was raping him,” Rayne said. “I hated it. I hated looking at Ryker and seeing his confusion, pain, and then his love for Hannah, and I knew… I knew he’d never see her again.” I’m going to be sick. I hate this.

I tensed as her thoughts filtered into me.

“Please, I can’t face him again. I need to get out of here.”

“Babe, Ryker doesn’t hold you responsible, and neither should you.”

Why did I have this need to protect this woman? She was everything I despised—fearful, untrustworthy, submissive, and thin as a railroad track. Christ, she was an utter mess.

But I also saw courage. That determined look in her eyes when she’d held my knife to her throat, daring me to kill her three weeks ago. That flicker of rebellion when I told her to come downstairs and eat. The problem was, she had so many issues from living in that place. Issues I might never comprehend or be able to help her with.

“Kilter?” Rayne’s voice quivered.

“What?” Nicer, *. “Yeah, babe,” I corrected.

“Can you tell Ryker that I had no choice? That I’m sorry he lost Hannah.”

“Shit.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Yeah, sure. But you don’t have to worry about him. He’s here, but contained in a private room. You won’t see him.”

There was no question she was hiding something. Whether anyone could reach the depths of her mind where she lay entombed, I had no f*ckin’ idea. What I did know was I’d protect her from ever getting hurt again. I owed her that for leaving her behind the first time.

A niggling thought of Gemma rose, and I quickly pushed it aside. This wasn’t about my f*cked-up past. Rayne had nothing to do with my failure to protect Gemma.

“Can I go upstairs now?” she asked.

I felt an ache in my chest, something I hadn’t felt in years. “This isn’t a prison.”

As soon as I let her go, she ran for the door. I wanted to bring her back, demand she stop hiding. Fuck. I wanted her to fight, damn it.




“She’s not eating,” I shouted as I paced the length of the library two days later.

It was Keir’s domain with floor-to-ceiling cherry bookshelves. A Persian carpet lay underneath the large oak desk in the corner of the room. A laptop was open on the polished surface next to a framed picture of Anstice and Finn. Keir sat in the leather swivel chair behind the desk, his eyes on the computer screen.

Anstice leaned up against the rolling ladder, hands clasped together and her foot resting on the last rail.

“Are you listening to me, damn it?”

“Yes, I heard you,” Keir said in a calm voice, a mere flick of his eyes toward me then back to the computer. “I’m sure the entire house heard you.”

“She ate nothing today. She shuffles the food around, but doesn’t eat. She needs to eat.” I slammed my fist into the door.

“Yes,” Keir replied, “but no one can force her, Kilter. Not even you.”

“Jesus Christ.” I had no recourse when it came to someone refusing to eat. I couldn’t very well shove food down her throat. I didn’t understand why she wasn’t eating. She should be diving into the food with the way she looked.

“Something else is going on,” Anstice said. “She could have an eating disorder. I don’t know, but she has some of the signs. There are many reasons why a person can develop one.”

“What the f*ck does that mean?” I retorted.

She pushed away from the ladder, walked over to the desk, and picked up a book, tossing it to me. “Read it.”

“I don’t want to read a f*ckin’ book. I want answers.” I tossed the book on the chaise lounge. “Is she dying?”

Keir leaned back in his chair. “She’ll die if she continues to lose weight.”

I ran my hand through my hair. “So, what do we do?”

Anstice raised her brows. “Do you care enough to listen to anyone’s advice?”

“Of course I f*ckin’ do.” I’d avoided listening to any of them since the day I stepped into this house, but this was Rayne’s life, and I was at a loss as to what to do.

“He’ll listen,” Keir said.

Anstice rested her butt against the front of the desk, her hands curling around the edge on either side of her. “Anorexia nervosa is a psychological disorder. It’s emotional. There are numerous explanations as to why it occurs. For Rayne, it could’ve been brought on by her husband. He may have instilled the odd comments in the beginning about her weight, or maybe he monitored what she ate when she was young. We know from what Quill said about the look of the compound that Anton was organized and methodical, so Rayne may have been in an environment where she needed to be the same way.