Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
ANDIE
“I hate you for leaving me!” I scream at Kellan’s grave. My eyes widen when I realize what I had said. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.” I drop to my knees in the slick mud, my umbrella flying away in a gust of wind.
“I didn’t mean it. Take me with you. I want to be with you,” I beg him, clawing at the ground, flinging clods of wet, slimy mud every which way. My desperation to be with my brother leading me into darkness. I wish I had died with him.
Like an apparition of death itself, my father appears at my side, gun in his hand and pressed to my temple.
“Hello, Alexandria.” He pulls the trigger.
A blast of cold water is dumped over my face, and I wake with a jolt in a fit of coughing as my lungs inflate and then try to expel the frigid liquid. I catch Keane in the corner of my eye, bucket in hand, and kick out at him with my left foot. All it does is send the now-empty plastic bucket flying across the room.
“What the hell, Keane!” My clothes and hair are soaked, as are the bed and linens I’m lying on.
“Get up.” Anger tinges his words, and they are directed at me.
He’s dressed in all black with the exception of his red cross-trainers. His hair is artfully messy, like he just woke up, but his hazel eyes are clear, focused, and menacing.
I ease into a sitting position. My head pounds and I wince when I put pressure on my right hand, pain lancing up my arm and around my shoulder. There’s a large bandage covering the area where I sliced into the skin to get the microchip out. I rotate the shoulder to relieve the stiffness and glower up at Keane.
And why am I not dead?
“Where’s my father?”
“Gone,” he clips. “You’re ours now, princess.”
“What exactly does that mean?” I ask, getting off the soggy bed and stripping off my sodden clothes, not giving a shit if Keane sees me in my bra and panties.
I would kill for some clean undergarments, as I’ve been forced to wear the same underwear and bra since I got here. I fling open the dresser drawers and grab the first items my hands touch. As long as they’re dry, I don’t care.
“Keane, what does that mean?” I ask again, turning around. I freeze in place like prey would do when suddenly caught in the sights of a predator.
The hot look in his eyes has me paralyzed. I was always Kellan’s annoying little sister to Keane. He would either tease or ignore me whenever I tagged along with my brother to whatever the guys were doing. Keane has never looked at me this way before. The intensity of his gaze as it slowly peruses my mostly naked body is unnerving. But it also sends a thrill through me, one that pulls at that dormant, dark place; as if he had dipped a finger into my soul and started twirling strands of my essence around the digit, tugging at it until it loosened and unraveled.
He averts his gaze, instantly severing the connection.
“It means,” he states, walking to the open bedroom door, “that you’re getting your wish. And trust me when I say, I’m going to make sure you live to regret it.”
He walks out without another word. Asshole. I am surrounded by assholes. I yank on the shirt over my semi-damp bra and pull on the sweatpants. Grabbing my sneakers from the floor, I groan when I see that they still have blood-stained laces. That’s just gross. I shove my sock-clad feet inside them anyway, then I scrub-dry my hair with the corner of the sheet that isn’t wet and pull the tangled strands back into a low ponytail.
My father took the bait. Holy shit. Since I’m not meeting my Maker and buried six feet under, I have a pretty good idea of what’s coming next. And all I can say is: Bring it on.
Understanding that every move I make will be watched from the surveillance cameras I know have to be around somewhere, I step out of the bedroom and scan down the long hallway. No Keane in sight. Since I haven’t a clue what he wants me to do or where I’m supposed to go—not like I can go anywhere since I don’t know the code for the security panel—I decide to do a little snooping.
Rafe already told me which room belonged to whom, but I’m curious to see what their private domains look like. The more you know about your enemy, the better prepared you are to fight them.
I open Rafe’s door first and am immediately met with the spice of the cologne he uses. It’s the same scent I remember him wearing when we were together. I would spend hours bundled in his arms, my nose pressed to his neck, and I would just breathe him in. Rafe would hold me like I was the most precious thing in the world, and I would soak up every touch, every kiss, knowing if my father found out about us, moments like those would be forever denied me. Ironic that’s exactly what happened.
Upon entering the room where Rafe sleeps, it’s too dark to make out anything, so I touch the panel on the wall. Overhead recessed lights come on. The room is painted all black, the only splash of color being on one wall. It’s a mural done in different shades of red. The image is of a human skull with a snake slithering through its empty eye sockets. The words “Death is only the beginning” is written under it in large script. Wasn’t that some movie slogan?
Other than the black bedspread and pillows nestled inside black pillowcases on a king-sized bed, his room is practically bare. No other furniture, only an acoustic guitar sitting upright in its stand. It’s different than the one he used to play for me and serenade me with. I trail my fingers along the strings and up the neck of the guitar, and the temptation to fuck with my ex is too strong. I turn the tuning pegs and loosen the tension on the metal wires, then pull two of the strings out completely. It’s juvenile, but I don’t care.
My eyes are drawn back to the rumpled sheets on the unmade bed. Needing to get out of his room before more memories swamp me, I turn a slow circle before heading to the door. A flash of silver catches my eye. On his nightstand is a familiar bracelet. I should recognize it because I gave it to him. The braided brown leather bands are frayed and worn. I finger the three small circular custom charms that bind the braided bands together.
Alexandria + Rafael
We had made love for the first time the week before I gave it to him. How stupid and gullible I was at fifteen. I’m surprised he still has it. I’d have thought he would’ve tossed it away in the trash by now, just like he did with me.
Leaving those memories buried where they belong, I head to the next room: Jax’s. I twist the doorknob and meet resistance. It’s locked. Figures.
I try Keane’s. Not locked. Opening the door just a crack, I poke my head inside, making sure the coast is clear. Keane’s room is different than I expected. Brighter. Not as dark and lonely feeling as Rafe’s. With all the personal stuff in their rooms, it’s hard to believe this place is just a safehouse. From the looks of things, they must spend a lot of time here.
Keane has hung framed photographs on the wall, all of them of various nature scenes and landscapes. All of them beautiful. There’s one of the sun rising behind a sandstone arch. Another of a bright, red cardinal with his plumage puffed out as it sits on a snowy branch of a tree. The photograph of a waterfall surrounded by lush tropical plants is breathtaking. There’s another of a golden eagle in flight, wings spread wide, orange-yellow eyes scanning the ground. The only picture that seems out of place is the one of a young girl—a teenager. It’s the only photograph with a person in it. Her back is to the camera and she’s wearing a thin, red sweater; her blonde hair loose and flowing behind her in the breeze. She’s looking into the distance, her arm outstretched as if she’s reaching for something. Realization slams into me like a wrecking ball.
The girl in the photograph is me.
“Why are you in here?”
I startle and turn around. It’s obvious what I’m doing, so no need to lie. “Sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Get out.”
“This isn’t one of my father’s safehouses, is it?”
I thought it was because of the security cameras and biometrics scanners. No, this place is something different entirely. The bedrooms are too personal. The upstairs is too homey. The kitchen is too grand.
Keane pivots to the side and swings an arm out, motioning for me to leave. The man is infuriating how he barely says a word, except to bark out demands and orders.
“Get your ass upstairs,” he clips.
I stop in front of him, our bodies sandwiched between the doorframe and only scant inches apart.
“You drowned me and made me get out of bed, then left. I can’t read minds, Keane. I also can’t use the elevator without the code and biometrics.”
He leans closer, his mouth hot next to my ear, and I shiver.
“954761. Jax took care of the rest.”
If he’s expecting a thank you, he’ll be waiting a long time.
When I don’t move, Keane presses in closer until my spine molds to the frame of the door. I hold my breath, unwilling to allow his musky scent to fill my lungs. He’s too close. Too annoyingly good looking. Too tall. Too goddamn sexy with his tussled, dark brown hair and sinfully lush lips.
When my lungs burn and force me to draw in oxygen, I have no other choice than to inhale, causing my breasts to push against his chest. Huge mistake. It’s like lighting a stick of dynamite, watching the wick spark and burn. You know the explosion that will happen when the wick burns to the end.
Keane lightly brushes his nose up along the crease of my ear at my temple, and my underwear dampens with a sudden rush of arousal. It absolutely mortifies me how easily he can get a reaction from me. I loathe this man , I remind myself. He’s the enemy .
“You ready for your initiation, princess? I know I am,” he taunts.
“Initiation?”
The smile he gives me is pure mischief.
“You want to take Kellan’s place? You have to earn it.”
Like the bucket of cold water he dumped on me, the spell of his nearness is broken. I wedge my hands between us and push him back. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you should’ve never come back,” he replies with derision. “Now get the fuck out of my room.”
Pushing me out of the way, he slams the door shut and walks off, leaving me standing there, a jittery, confused mess.