Chapter 15 Kai #2
…And to do God knows what else while I was blackout drunk.
That’s worse.
That’s so much fucking worse.
Rooke is a manipulative, gaslighting psychopath who could easily have forced me to do something I didn’t want to do. If it wasn’t him…then it means I only have myself to blame.
That I wanted—fuck, maybe even sought out—something I don’t want.
If my phone wasn’t dead, I’d have messaged Kruger already to—
Bullshit.
I wouldn’t have messaged him. I’m too fucking fragile after this clusterfuck of a weekend.
I don’t want answers.
I want Haven.
The bathroom door opens.
I jerk upright, heart slamming in my chest.
Haven stands in the doorway, her face pale and drawn. She looks like she’s been carrying the weight of every bad decision she’s ever made, and it’s finally crushing her.
But she’s wearing a new cable-knit sweater dress, and she washed her hair, and it looks like she put on makeup. Blue eyeshadow to match her dress. Lipstick I’ve never seen her wear before.
Like she’s on her way to a fucking date.
“Kai,” she breathes.
I should go to her. Should wrap her in my arms and tell her it’s okay. I’m out, we’re fine.
But I don’t move.
Because jealousy, resentment, and outright possessive rage flood me like fresh concrete.
“You went to him.” My voice is flat.
Her hands bunch into fists at her side. “Kai, I—”
“You fucked him, didn’t you?”
She flinches like I’ve hit her and turns her head away.
“You fucked him while I was stuck in that cell, while Thatcher was interrogating me. You were bending over for him, moaning his name, thanking him for getting rid of me, weren’t you?”
Her eyes glitter when she looks at me, as she stammers out a faint, “No—I—It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?” I’m on my feet, closing the distance.
She backs up until she hits the doorjamb, hands clutching at the thick fabric drawn taut over her stomach.
“Tell me, Haven. Explain it to me. Because I’ve had two fucking days to imagine every scenario, and they all end with you choosing him over me. ”
“I didn’t have a choice.” Her chin is trembling and tears sparkle in her lashes, but her voice is steady.
My hand shoots out. I don’t even know I’m going to grab her until my hand is on her throat and I’m pushing her against the wall beside the door.
“Bullshit,” I hiss. “There’s always a choice.”
Is there, though, when Rooke’s involved?
“Is there?”
My head spins hearing her echo my thoughts like she’s reading fucking subtitles. She arches her back, pushing into my grip, one hand grabbing my wrist, the other pushing against my chest.
“Because from where I’m standing, it seems like everything I do just drives me deeper into his trap.” She hesitates, then adds a whispered, “Us.”
“What trap?”
She blinks away her tears. I can’t decide if those blue eyes look prettier without makeup, or smudged with black like they are now.
The muscles under my fingers tighten as she takes a breath.
“I went to him because he told me to. Because he said if I didn’t, we’d both be punished.”
“What the fuck do you mean?”
“He framed you, Kai. And he was more than willing to frame me too.”
It wasn’t paranoia. It was fucking pattern recognition.
I stare at her.
She stares back, mouth tight, jaw clenched.
“Why—” I have to clear my throat. “Why would he…?”
“To prove that he controls us. Controls everything. And then he undid it, just as easily, to prove that too.”
The lawyer. If it hadn’t been for Barnes arriving when he did, I’d probably still be in lockup. Rooke set me up and then sent his lawyer to get me out.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
“And you—” The words catch in my throat. “You still went to him? Knowing what he’d done?”
“If I hadn’t gone to him, Kai, we’d both be in prison. Not just you. Me too.”
“How?” I yell. “How would you go to prison? You didn’t do anything!”
“Neither did you, asshole!” she shouts back. “Think I was going to take a chance and call his fucking bluff, Kai?”
We’re both silent now. Both breathing hard.
Angry, hurt, confused prey boxed in by something smarter and stronger than both of us. And what happens when you back a scared animal into a corner?
It lashes out.
I search Haven’s face. Her eyelashes flutter as she searches mine.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I murmur, sliding my hands up her throat until my thumb is on her jaw and her head is tilted back.
The lull that follows feels too heavy. Too intimate. Like a radioactive wind cutting right through my clothes, my flesh, my bones.
“Haven.”
She doesn’t answer, but the look she gives me is haunted with guilt in a way I’ve never seen before.
“What did you do?”
I feel her swallow under the heel of my hand. I want to press harder.
So I do.
Her breath catches, and when I trace the outline of her bottom lip with my thumb, it trembles in response.
“I messaged him,” she murmurs. “Friday night. After our fight. I was pissed because you just fucking left—”
“I asked if you wanted to come—”
“You fucking left, Kai!” Her throat moves again, her voice lowering back to a whisper.
“What did you text him?”
Her gaze flits away. “It doesn’t matter.”
She flinches at the sound of my growl.
I duck my head low enough that my breath ghosts over her lips. “It fucking matters to me!”
“I—” She cuts off with a bitter chuckle. “I played right into his hand, okay? I told him exactly what he wanted to hear, and he took it as permission to do whatever he wanted to you, and I’m sorry, Kai.” Her voice catches. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
I look at Haven. Really look at her.
This girl I’ve known since we were kids.
This girl I destroyed, and who destroyed me right back.
This girl I thought I could build something new with, something real.
She’s still here. Still in front of me. Still crying and apologizing and looking at me like I’m the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth.
But all I can think about is how she gave Rooke the green light to ruin my life.
“I need a shower,” I hear myself say.
“Kai—”
“I need a fucking shower, Haven. I’ve been in that cell for two days. I stink. My head is killing me. And I can’t—“ My voice cracks. “I can’t do this right now.”
I push past her into the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
The shower runs hot. I stand under it until my skin turns red, until the steam fogs every surface, until the water cools.
And I think about male DNA.
About blood under my nails.
About the possibility that Rooke didn’t just frame me for a crime.
After what Haven just told me, I know it’s him they found on me.
He stalked me when I was weak. Claimed me when I was too drunk to resist.
…this is what you want, someone to tell you what to do…
Rooke’s voice is in my head. Low. Amused. Always so fucking amused at the idiocy of others. At their weakness, their humiliation, their fear.
…someone to own you…
Jesus.
I brace my hands against the tile, water sluicing down my back, and try not to scream.
It was him.
And the worst part—the absolute worst fucking part—is the tiny, shameful flicker of relief that curls through me.
Because at least it was Rooke.
If I have to be that weak, that fucked up…at least it’s with someone I already hate.