Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(89)

Here he was hiding pictures of the bruises he’d borne.

Yeah, he’d done it at first because he didn’t want to forget.

Most probably wouldn’t understand that. But remembering had driven him to get stronger. Faster. It had driven him to make sure his brothers were the same way. Then he’d remembered and looked at others and known how it felt to be the weaker one, the one who couldn’t get away. So he’d been driven to step between the victim and the victimizer.

It hadn’t even stopped once he left school, either.

All throughout college, even at the bar where he’d worked. His old boss had been pissed partly because he wasn’t just losing a decent bartender who’d worked for him for ten years. Zane had been just as good at dealing with the drunk idiots as some of the bouncers—and he’d enjoyed it.

Sometimes when he saw that glint in the eyes of a certain kind of guy, he’d remembered how he felt when he’d seen that same light in the eyes of Rick, Rodney, every * he’d ever dealt with growing up. And it felt good to be the one able to bring them down.

Slowly, he returned to the couch and sat down, staring at the monitor.

He swiped a finger across the screen, moving from one image to the next and the next. Even though the bruises had long since faded, he could almost feel the echo of them, sitting there, staring at those pictures.

He wanted to know why Keelie had gone off to face her demons?

He had the reason right here in front of him.

He carried his demons with him. He thought he faced them by not being the target he’d been.

By not letting others be the target.

But how did he really, truly face it when he still hid from it?

Sighing, he lowered his face into his hands and closed his eyes.

In that moment, he felt brutally old. Brutally exposed. Brutally alone.


*

The summer sunshine beat down on her shoulders.

She was due to meet Paul in five minutes.

She could have parked right in front of the law office. There had been room. But Keelie needed time to think. Time to breathe. So she’d parked a block down and now, she was trying not to panic. It wasn’t working.

She thought she just might sweat through the dress she’d bought for just this purpose.

Yesterday had been busy.

She knew, too well, just how important appearances were so she’d just decided to ride with it. She’d decided to go back to her natural color, pale blonde, and she’d practically felt her jaw hit the floor when she saw how much it cost to pay a professional to get her hair back to the color of her roots—and cut her hair into the short, pixie cut she’d decided to go with.

Her makeup was subtle—even for her. Since she rarely bothered with anything unless she was out on a date, the fact that she even wore any was a sharp one-eighty. The dress had a moderately high neck, although nothing would hide her tattoos. She wasn’t going to worry about that. But the sleeves went to her wrists and the material, a pale blue, was thin so she didn’t feel like she was smothering. It cut to her upper body before flaring out just slightly at the hips.

She wore a simple pair of taupe heels with a bit of sparkle down the side. She didn’t look like the woman who’d spent the past seven years of her life inking tattoos onto people’s skin for a living. Not that she was ashamed of what she did, what she planned to do for a good long while.

Keelie Jessup was a damn good tattoo artist and she was proud of it.

But the people she was here to face down weren’t going to see Keelie Jessup in the same light they’d see Katherine Lord.

Katherine Lord, heiress.

That was who her mother was looking for.

So she’d wear that face, even if it was a mask she was uncomfortable in. Money, appearance, it carried weight here.

Thus the reason she’d let Paul arrange for the rental of the Mercedes. The reason she carried a slim Coach purse instead of the battered, army-green handmade tote she’d used for years.

Spying a familiar form, she quickened her pace, suddenly eager to see the man who’d been a rare bright spot in her life.

At the sound of her heels clicking, he turned his head and it wasn’t more than a few seconds before she had her arms around his neck. “Paul.” She swallowed against the knot in her chest.

He just hugged her.

After a minute, she drew back and smiled at him, surprised at the wealth of emotion burning in her chest.

He reached up, tapped her nose. “Well. You turned out pretty decent, I must say.”

She laughed, the sound watery even to her own ears.

“You went and got older,” she said, making a face at him. Really, though, he looked the same. A few more lines on his face, and a few more pounds around the waistline.

But he still had that same kind smile she’d first seen in a courthouse years ago. She’d been sitting with the child advocate while they waited for her hearing. Paul really hadn’t had any reason for being there, but he had been.

It wasn’t until years later that she figured out why—he had wanted to be there so she wasn’t alone.

It was why he’d showed up every time she had to go to court, why he’d come to visit her, no matter which home she was in, no matter what family they’d placed her with.

She’d always had at least one person who’d cared.

“Thank you,” she said, the words slipping out of her before she could stop them.