Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
ANDIE
The bathroom floor I have been meticulously scrubbing before Keane came in is Jax’s. As soon as Keane leaves, I hurriedly finish cleaning. Stepping into Jax’s room, I loiter for a few minutes and look around. When I had been snooping the other day, his door was locked, and I wasn’t able to peek inside his domain. I hate to say that I’m underwhelmed with what I find, which is nothing. Absolutely nothing. Jax’s room is completely barren and utterly devoid of anything other than a bed, covered with dark blue sheets and a matching bedspread, that doesn’t even look slept in. Funny how the room fits the man perfectly. Both are empty and soulless. So why does he keep the room locked? I leave the dirty, soiled toothbrush on his pillowcase, like a bitchy version of a hotel turn-down service, and promptly exit the room.
I’m already sick of this initiation shit even though nothing really has happened yet other than being thrown in a hole and given maid duties. It’s such ridiculous, adolescent stuff. Honestly, this entire situation is ridiculous, but I know that I’ll have to endure it to get what I want. It’s all about the endgame.
Crossing the hallway to my room, I change into the last pair of clean sweats and a plain T-shirt, not wanting to stay in here for longer than I have to. If only Keane would let me sleep on the leather couch upstairs. I walk back out as quickly as I walked in, and my sight stops on the door I was told opened into Kellan’s room.
One of the last things Kellan said to me before he died was that he had important things he needed to tell me. Secrets he had kept from me.
Curious, but also agitated because I want answers, I hold my breath and turn the knob. Of course, it’s fucking locked. Unlike the other rooms in this house, these doors have regular keyholes and not biometrics access panels. I could attempt to pick the lock, but I have no tools, paper clips, or bobby pins available to MacGyver it open. So, I go with the old-fashioned approach. I kick the door in. Okay, I try. It takes a few hard heel slams before the doorknob and one of the door hinges goes wonky. I manhandle the six-foot piece of pressed wood board open a crack, so my girlie frame can squeeze through.
A blast of musty, stale air immediately hits my face and fills my lungs. It’s like I’m opening a crypt and releasing the ghosts that have been trapped inside. As soon as I’m on the other side, I’m met with utter darkness and silence. Like a tomb.
“Take me with you. I want to be with you.”
Fuck. I can’t do this, I think to myself, before reaching out and trying to find a light switch. My heart hammers as I feel around the wall and find nothing. The door behind me makes a slight creaking noise, but to me it sounds like cannon fire in my head.
“Kellan?” I whisper, knowing I sound crazy as hell.
My fingers finally touch something small and rectangular. I press it and pale lights overhead brighten the interior. I’m half-expecting to see my brother sitting on the bed, smiling at me like he used to do whenever I barged into his room at home. Older brothers would usually be pissed to have their younger sisters in their room and invading their personal space, but not Kellan. I can’t even recall how many nights I would sneak into his bedroom whenever I had nightmares, crawling up onto his bed and snuggling against his side. He would kiss me on the top of my head and wrap an arm around me, promising me no more bad dreams. But it wasn’t the dreams that terrified me the most. It was the devil who brought them.
I’m so lost in past remembrances that I don’t hear the person behind me. A hand lands on my shoulder and I react without thinking, holding back the scream that tries to claw its way out. I don’t realize it’s Rafe I’m fighting until he has my arm wrenched behind my back and slams me face-first into the wall.
“Fucking hell, Andie. It’s me,” he snarls next to my ear as his body pushes up against my spine to subdue my attempts to escape. I relax my struggles, and he warily eases off me.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I complain, turning around, ready to go off on him.
I wish I hadn’t. Rafe is standing so close, his chest rising and falling with effort, his familiar scent overwhelming me. Those damnable blue eyes scan my face, like he used to do, right before they would lock onto my lips, and he would kiss me. And just like when I was fifteen, my body instantaneously combusts at his nearness, wanting him to touch me, to feast on me with those full, soft lips and large hands. I’m bombarded with memories of us together, how good he felt, the things he did to me that sent me soaring. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to reach out and graze my fingers along his stubble-roughened jaw. You detest this man , I remind myself. He broke you . Never again.
“Back off,” I bite out.
Without a word, Rafe raises his hands between us but stays where he is.
His gaze flits around the room. “I haven’t been inside here, since…” He trails off. “Keane wants you in the gym,” he tells me, his hand brushing featherlight against my hip.
The sensation of his barely-there touch causes a throbbing in my clit. No , I berate myself as I stare up at him, not moving. I need a second to secure the barbed-wire wall around my heart, hating that I still want him.
I sigh heavily, knowing another stupid test is about to get thrown my way, but preferring it over being near Rafe any longer. I push him back to leave the room and stalk off to the elevators, jamming in the code. Rafe and I ride in silence, but I can feel his eyes on me. He mumbles something about how Keane is going to lose it when he finds out I busted Kellan’s door in. I smile at that because watching Keane come unglued is funny. It’s even funnier when I’m the instigator.
On the main floor, I follow Rafe down a long hallway located off the living room. There’s an entire section on the east side of the house I was unaware of. I need to explore more. It’s like a virtual maze of hallways and hidden rooms. Keane commented that this place was Kellan’s personal cabin. Is that why there is a room like mine here? Did he build it, expecting me to return home one day? Knowing this used to be Kellan’s domain helps explain why the kitchen is stocked and the house is decorated the way it is.
We walk through a den area and down another hallway. Rafe opens a set of double doors to reveal a full gym equipped with various weights, workout benches, and two treadmills. Keane and Jax are sparring in the middle of a standard square-circle, or boxing ring, set up in the center of the expansive space. The ceilings are over two stories high; a gigantic metal fan mounted to an overhead beam lazily spins to help circulate the air.
I stop to watch Keane and Jax, and I have to admit, I’m impressed. They are not holding back or pulling their punches. Each hit, every kick, is precise, brutal, and savage. Sweat glistens on their bare chests and soaks their hair. Blood drips down from a cut on Keane’s brow, coating one side of his face and turning his pretty-boy looks into something lethal. Jax is leaner than his opponent, but no less packed with defined muscle.
With their shirts off, I’m able to catalog many of the tattoos I’ve only gotten brief hints or glimpses of. Circling one another in the ring, the images on their torsos blend together, a swirling kaleidoscope of fractals made of four colors. Keane’s ink is all bold blues, grays, and blacks; whereas, Jax’s are more vibrant—bright red pops of color among the dark, coal black of the images. From where I’m standing, I can’t make out individual pictures, except one, and both of the men have it inked on their backs: a gorgeous, unearthly phoenix rising from the flames of hell, its wings outstretched. Gripped in the phoenix’s claws are the words, “DEATH IS ONLY THE BEGINNING,” written in bold, block letters. They are the same words that are written in script on the wall of Rafe’s room.
“Did you design that?” I ask Rafe.
His full lips part slightly. “How did you know?”
“I snooped in your room,” I reply honestly. “Didn’t Keane tell you?” I say, throwing his friend under the bus.
“No.” Those kissable lips press together as his focus lands on Keane in the ring.
Keane is circling Jax, trying to anticipate his next move. Jax drops his guard just a fraction, and I know he made a huge mistake. Keane strikes out fast and swift with his left fist, but Jax is quick enough to deflect it, delivering a kidney blow to Keane’s right side with his knee. I feel like I’m watching a lion battle a panther. I’m tempted to ask Rafe to grab us some popcorn, so we can sit back and watch the show.
Jax gets momentarily distracted when he spots me in his peripheral vision, but it’s enough for Keane to gain advantage, sending Jax to the mat with an uppercut and sweeping his legs out from under him.
“ Fuck! ” Jax loudly gripes and smacks away the proffered hand Keane holds out to help him up.
Keane reaches for a towel from a top rope and wipes the blood from his face. “Enjoy the show, princess?”
“Very much, thank you,” I muse. “The best part was seeing Jax kick your ass. Oh, and you missed a spot,” I remark with as much sarcasm as possible, using his own words he said to me a half hour ago.
I indicate with my hand where there’s still blood on his cheek.
A sharp bark of laughter emits from Keane, and I stare at him, dumbfounded. He never laughs. Ever. Or he used to never laugh. Not one that’s real anyway. It totally transforms his face, making a set of dimples pop out and his eyes sparkle. Jesus Christ, I need a lobotomy.
Jax slips through the ropes and goes over to one of the treadmills, ignoring me completely. He’s not wearing his glasses, and for some reason, I don’t like that.
“Anytime, Tinker Bell,” Keane states from the ring, leaning forward on the ropes, looking bored.
My head snaps from Jax to him. I swear the guy lives to get a rise out of me. My eyes flash a warning of indigo ire.
“Call me Tinker Bell one more time and Rafe will be carrying your unconscious ass out of here.”
One dark eyebrow raises with interest. “Rafe, get her hands wrapped. Let’s see if she can deliver what she so recklessly proclaims.”
Like the obedient manservant he is, Rafe does as he’s told without question. Just like he did when my father commanded that he was never to see me again after finding us together in bed. My father had his men tie Rafe up to a chair and forced him to watch as I was degraded and beaten in front of him with my father’s belt, until strips of skin ripped off my back and buttocks, and I passed out from the pain. When I woke up, I was alone in my room, naked and sticky with dried blood. Rafe broke up with me the following day over a fucking text message. I never forgave him for not fighting harder for me. He should have spat in my father’s face. Defied him. Loved me enough to walk away and take me with him. But he didn’t.
Kellan turned rabid when he found me the next afternoon after I failed to come down for breakfast and lunch. The following week, I was hauled onto a plane with my mother, heading for Europe. A part of me has wondered if Kellan was the reason I was sent away. I hope so. It would mean he finally stood up for me and got me out of that house and away from our father’s abuse.
I try not to think about those bad times, but it’s hard to do, especially when they keep creeping up in my nightmares. If it wasn’t for Kellan, I probably would have killed myself long ago. I think that’s why I’m so desperate to be with my brother now. He was the only good thing, the only bright light, in my dark, lonely world. At one time, I thought Rafe was too. How wrong I was.
Rafe finishes taping my hands. I flex my fingers and make tight fists, testing out his handiwork. Then I look my ex in the eye, still caught up in my horrid past.
“I never did tell you,” I say in a hushed tone.
He leans in slightly, the smell of his heated skin enticing. “What’s that?”
“I hate your fucking guts.”
Hurt flashes across his face, but I don’t care. I can’t care. These men mean nothing to me. They are a means to an end. They left Kellan to die. Fuck them. Fuck my father. Fuck this initiation. Fuck all of it.
I join Keane up in the boxing circle, needing distance from Rafe and wanting to get whatever Keane has in store for me over with.
“Lover’s spat?” Keane quips with a snarky smirk as soon as I enter the ring, and I’m just done.
Keane has been King Dickhead ever since they “rescued” me, and I use that term loosely. Without preamble, I punch him in his smug mouth and smile broadly when I almost knock him flat on his ass.
“Keep your juvenile comments to yourself.” I tsk as he swipes away the dot of blood on his lower lip. “Well, not so pretty anymore,” I say and blow him a kiss with my middle finger, which is hard to do with my hand wrapped up to the first knuckle.
He wants a fight? He’s going to get one. I’m going to pass this next test with flying colors and have the pleasure of putting him in his place while I do it.
I no longer hear the treadmill running, so Jax must have stopped to watch. I’m not going to remove my eyes from Keane, though, to find out. Rafe hops up onto the platform and leans forward on the corner post.
“You were always a smart-mouthed brat,” Keane says, as he slowly circles me.
“Sticks and stones,” I reply.
He tests me with a quick right jab, but I don’t even flinch.
While watching him and Jax spar, I noticed a couple of tells. Things one would pick up if they were paying close enough attention. Keane pivots his left foot slightly to the side right before he forward punches, and he will angle his head to the right side when he goes for an uppercut.
Just as I anticipated, I see the turn of his left foot, and I’m able to block his hit easily. I counter with faking a right punch, before I kick him solidly in the lower abdomen, doubling him over. He almost looks impressed. It’s hard to tell with the sneer on his face.
“Okay, princess. Playtime is over.”
“Who says we’ve been playing?”
I get back into a fighting position, fists raised in front of me. I don’t even have time to blink when he barrels into me, and we both go down to the mat. Hard. We become a blur of what I can only describe as a back-alley catfight. You know the ones I’m talking about. The fights on cartoon shows, where you only see a ball of smoke and dust rolling around, and maybe a couple of arms sticking out every which way.
Keane tries to pin me underneath him by flipping me over to my stomach, but I’m able to strike back with my elbow, loosening his grip. I roll over and get both knees raised so I can kick him away from me. And then I’m on him, wrapping my legs around his torso like an anaconda, and twisting his wrist back.
“Tap out,” I tell him, breathing hard because it’s taking everything that I have in me to hold on to him. Jesus, he’s strong. I apply more pressure to his wrist to the point of breaking it.
Keane goes still underneath me.
“One thing you should know,” he grits out.
“What’s that?”
And that was my fatal error.
Keane whips his head back, almost smashing it into my face. I jerk away to avoid it. I have enough bruises and cuts; I don’t want to add a broken nose to the mix.
In my distraction, Keane flips our position and pins me down. I try to buck him off, but he’s too heavy.
“I never lose.”
I watch as his chest moves in and out, and my greedy eyes follow the designs of the tattoos that span from shoulder to shoulder and down each arm. A curl of hair falls over his forehead and his green-brown eyes blaze down at me. Keane may be an asshole, but he’s a gorgeous one. My stupid body agrees, as my nipples tighten to hard peaks. Of course, Keane would notice that. A broad grin slowly spreads across his face.
I startle when a loud beeping sound emits nearby. Jax picks up his phone from a weight bench. “It’s Dom.”
“Uncle Domenico?” I ask as Keane lets me up.
He retrieves the phone from Jax. Already walking away with the phone up to his ear, Keane tells Jax and Rafe, “Take her out back.”
My muscles tense, preparing for battle once again. If they think I’m going to let them throw me into the pit again?—
“What the hell for?” I demand.
Jax runs his wicked tongue over his bottom lip and bites it in contemplation. “This should be fun.”