Strong Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #1)(44)

“Because he was in federal prison.”

“How could they possibly know about him?”

“Because they were looking into me. And it was my testimony that put him there.”

Jasper is a trained killer who put his own father in prison?

Oh God!

Another bomb. Another left turn in the convoluted maze that is Jasper.

I want to curl up in a ball and cry for him, but I also want to throw my arms around Jasper and shield him from the pain that he can’t escape, the agonizing memories that obviously haunt him. But I don’t do either. I simply bow my head, dropping it on my bent knees, and close my eyes until I can regain some equilibrium. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t be. He was a black-hearted bastard who deserved to be buried under the prison, not drawing breath with the rest of the lowlife criminals.”

In the lag that follows his venomous proclamation, I’m almost afraid to ask the question that’s circling my mind. But I’m even more afraid not to.

“Wh-what did he do?”

I don’t glance up when Jasper doesn’t answer me.

“He drowned my older brother. In this very lake. Behind a little white house not far from here.”

Sweet Jesus!

I keep my eyes closed and my head down, trying to weather this as gracefully as I can. Falling apart won’t do either of us any favors.

My stomach lurches, overtaken by a tidal wave of nausea. I want to ask why. I feel the word form on my lips, but the ringing in my ears prevents me from hearing whether it makes it out into the air or dies on the tip of my tongue.

But it must’ve, it must’ve floated out. That or Jasper intuited it, because he answers.

“He’d hated Jeremy for as long as I could remember. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because Jeremy was sick. Oppositional-defiant disorder and conduct disorder is what the doctor said. He told Mom that my brother was exhibiting early signs and strong traits of antisocial behavior. He needed medication and therapy, but my father wouldn’t hear of it. The worse Jeremy got, the worse my father treated him. When my brother would misbehave, Dad would take him out back, to a stump in the yard, and whip him until his belt broke. I never once saw Jeremy cry. It infuriated Dad that he didn’t. Maybe he’d have stopped if he’d seen tears, but I don’t think Jeremy was capable of crying.” Jasper’s voice is cool and robotic, like he’s numb. “The last time he got sent home from school, my father dragged him right out into the water and held him under until he stopped struggling.” Jasper’s voice drops into a low rumble, as ominous as thunder. “That day he killed one replica of himself. But he left the other one alive.”

I don’t even know what to say. My heart is breaking. The agony in his voice, a voice that normally shows so little, is enough to rip through me like a scalpel.

There are so many things I could say, and maybe should say, but what comes out is a question instead. “Why do you come here? Why did you buy a cabin here, where you can never escape what happened?”

“I could never escape it anyway. This way, I’m in control of it. I come here to remind myself of who and what I am, of what I came from, and what I’ll always be.”

“A monster,” I finish flatly. That’s what he feels like he can’t escape. His father, his brother, his blood. His perceived destiny.

Jasper rolls smoothly to his feet and steps to the very edge of the yard, where ground meets water. The gentle current sends slender green blades of grass waving in front of his toes.

I let my eyes wander his nude form—the wide, wide shoulders, the trim, trim waist, the absolutely perfect butt, the long, thick legs. He’s magnificent and I don’t think I could ever tire of just watching him. Even with his head bowed and his muscles tense with his hellish memories, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, monster or not.

“I’ve tried to make myself get back in this water, to kill that fear like my father killed Jeremy. But I can’t. I can’t make myself get in. All I see is my brother, floating away, and me watching him. Helpless. I’ll never know if I could’ve saved him if I’d gone out sooner, if I’d had the courage to face my father. I only know that I didn’t. That I survived and my brother didn’t.”

Once again, I feel the urge to go to him, but I’m fairly certain my comfort would be more of an annoyance to a man like him. Such a loner, such a silent sufferer. It’s heartbreaking, but it’s also amazing to watch. I can almost see the strength coursing through the veins beneath his smooth, golden skin. Even at his worst, even when he feels defeated by a past he can’t control and thwarted by genetics he can’t escape, he’s ready to take on the world. And win.

I see his upper torso expand and contract. A sigh.

When he turns to me, his eyes are clear again, as though the haunted man of moments before was more a ghost of mine rather than his. “Let’s get you dressed so I can show you around. It’s that or spend the day like this,” he says, pointing down at his erection. It has already filled the condom we just used and is threatening to burst from the tip.

“Where the hell did you get your stamina?” I ask, trying to just go with his mood swing rather than continuing to delve into something I’m not sure can be fixed.

“Costco,” he replies, deadpan.