Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(78)

Her face was blank, devoid of emotion.

Her eyes were anything but.

Zane remained where he was through sheer force of will.

He didn’t think anything had ever been as hard as just standing there.

He wanted to go to her, to reach out and touch her, cup her face in his hands as she fought to release whatever poison she’d carried inside her—and it was poison—but something inside him told him that would only make this harder.

So he remained still, and silent.

“She was a friend of mine.” Keelie continued to watch him and, now, her eyes all but challenged him.

He continued to wait.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

She jerked her chin up, her eyes glinting. “Well?”

“Well . . . I’m waiting to hear the rest of it.”

“The rest . . .” A low, derisive laugh escaped her. “Just what else do you want to know?”

“How about the entire story?” he suggested.

“Oh, so you’re one of them. You like the sordid, dirty, disgusting details.” She flung it out like an accusation.

“No.” Now he did move, unable to stay away any longer. She flinched and backed away. It was like a slap against his heart but he didn’t let it stop him as he caught her arms, pulled her up against him. Pressing his lips to her temple, he murmured, “I want to hear the story—I want you to tell me what happened.”

She shuddered. He felt it wrack her body, from her head straight on down.

He held her tighter and she shuddered again. “I already told you. I walked in . . . he was raping her.”

“There’s more to it than that.”


*

More.

There was more to it. Yes. There was more. So much that she still felt sick and dirty inside when she thought about it. Sometimes the dreams found her at night and she’d stumble into the shower and no amount of scrubbing could wash away that kind of filth.

“Keelie.”

At the soft, low murmur of his voice, she looked up.

He’d moved toward her. She hadn’t even heard.

Now, he stood so close, his shadow had merged with hers and without thinking about it, she reached out. Her hand tangled in his shirt. She felt the heat of him through it. The knot in her throat seemed to swell, trying to choke her.

“I met Victoria—Toria—in art class. She hated being called Victoria. She was . . .” Keelie paused, her hand tightening until her knuckles stood out against her skin. “She was goth before people even knew what goth was, ya know? A regular Wednesday Addams. We had to sit together and at first, I just . . . I hated it. I’d been living with my mom for more than a year and she had me convinced that I was just this cardboard cut-out. I was like . . . you know that movie Mean Girls? The Plastics? That was me. I wasn’t really happy with it.” She licked her lips and looked away. “I didn’t want to lose everything. Again.”

Zane cradled her face in his hands and pressed his lips to her brow.

The gentleness of it infuriated her and she tried to twist away. “Don’t,” she said, her voice thick and harsh. “Don’t. I don’t want . . .”

She couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“I know.”

Curling her hands around his wrists, she dug her nails into his skin, trying to ground herself, trying to find some way to keep going despite the misery and shame that choked her. “She . . . damn it. Toria hated me. She used to razz me, called me a rich bitch, made fun of me . . . we probably would have just kept going right like that all of high school except this new girl came into class.” Keelie uncurled her hands from Zane’s, and then forced herself to take a step away, then another. “I knew her. I’d met her through one of the homes I’d been in. Part of me felt like I should just ignore her . . . she wasn’t part of my world anymore, ya know? But Clara was always so nice. I was lucky with my foster parents for the most part. The one time I wasn’t lucky, Clara was the only one there for me. She was bigger, mean. She was always bigger than the other girls—she’d been held back twice and she kind of took on this big sister role with some of us. Me, included. Now she was at this school where most of the students were upper middle class or just plain loaded. There she was, wearing cheap clothes, she needed braces and, to be honest, she was a fashion mess. But I still liked her. She looked at me and it was like . . . I’d found my long lost sister. She saw me and grinned—but halfway to the table the teacher assigned to her, one of the students tripped her. I can’t even remember which one of us reacted first. Toria, Clara . . . or me.”

Keelie rubbed the back of her neck, thinking of how she’d practically had to hold Clara back.

The guy who’d tripped her had been one of the varsity ball players.

He didn’t know it, but Keelie had saved him from complete and utter humiliation when she kept Clara from going after him.

He’d turned away, laughing.

And Toria had upended the pot of ink she’d been using for her calligraphy project onto his shirt. Oh, wow . . . Lucas, I am soooooo sorry. She’d blinked kohl-rimmed eyes at him. I was just so overcome by that display of masculinity—tripping a girl and making her fall. No wonder you’re such a popular guy.

“Toria found us talking after school. I got up and left—Clara was my friend, but Toria was . . . well. She was Toria.” If Keelie had just kept to that mindset, Toria wouldn’t have been hurt, either. “She started nagging me again the next day.”