“Got that right,” I agree. “I wouldn’t step foot in Brighton for all the money in the world.”
Her gaze flickers over my arms, burning through the fabric. Straight to the neat rows of cuts hidden beneath my clothing. Shame is a fist around my heart, turning each cut into a scarlet letter.
Kerri knows—because she’s not stupid. Same as Faith realized, years ago, that I mutilate myself. Discord, Jester, Wraith—hell, even Malice and Crow—know. It’s an open secret. But what none of them understand is that this is the only safe method to release the rage inside me. If I didn’t hurt myself, I’d leave a trail of victims in my wake that would rival Discord’s body count.
I pull my hand away. Flex my fingers to erase the sensation of her palm against mine because every disgusting memory is a ruin on my soul. They’re sharp and painful, blinding behind my eyes.
“That wood won’t chop itself.”
Her eager expression fucking levels me. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”
“Nah, I got it, Duchess,” I drawl.
I need to put distance between us, if for no other reason than to take a breath. Give myself a beat to get right because what I want to do—what’s become a compulsion—is to throw Kerri-fucking-Ward on the ground and drive my cock in her until I eradicate every thought of Emmett Johnson.
Since that can’t happen, I punish my body with the backbreaking task of cutting wood. Kerri stays close, exploring the immediate area like a child venturing out into the world for the first time. Collecting rocks. Rocks, for fuck’s sake. And I can’t take my eyes off her as she examines each one as if it’s a diamond and not a dirt-covered stone.
Each time she finds the perfect one, she sets it near the cabin’s front door, then hurries back into the brush for more. All the while, she scans the distance as if expecting danger to leap out at her.
But she’s also watching me.
Her gaze is a liquid fire that pours over me, making me sweat more than the excursion of chopping a fourth of a cord of wood. Which isn’t exactly safe, given the fact I’m swinging an axe.
Now she’s kneeling in the dirt, rock in hand, inspecting it from every angle. The tip of her pert nose is red, and blonde wisps of hair are billowing around her heart-shaped face. She tucks those errant strands behind her ear, glances at the horizon, then returns to her task of making sure she’s found the best stone.
“You surprise me.” I didn’t mean for the admission to tumble out of my face, but when she stands and tilts her head askance, I own my words.
“Pardon?” She strides past me to add her newest prize to her collection.
I rest the head of the axe on the battered chopping stump and lean my weight on the top of the handle. A casual stance, even though I’m tense as a motherfucker. “You heard me, Duchess.”
She walks toward me but thankfully stops a few feet away. Any closer, and she’ll see how every muscle in my body is straining to keep me from giving in to the feral need to put my hands on her. “In what way?”
“You’re from Brighton.” There. That should explain everything. Except it doesn’t because she’s staring at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head.
“Meaning…?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I expected you to freak out by now.”
“Ah, I see,” she says with a knowing nod. “Well, Havoc, I’ll let you in on a secret. Iamfreaking out. But not for the reason you think. I’m worried about my father, but it won’t do either of us any good if I’m an emotional wreck.”
This woman is unreal. Makes me want her more, as if that’s possible.
“True.” I motion to the rocks. “What’s with those?”
She glances over her shoulder, and when she looks back at me, she’s smiling. A genuine smile, and it’s so damn pretty. “My father invested a tremendous amount of time building Ward & Caldwell. Whenever he could take time away from the business, he took my brother and me hiking.” Her expression is excruciatingly wistful. “We were young, I couldn’t have been older than ten, and he’d make them grand adventures by pointing out rocks and pretending they were lost pirate treasure.” Her cheeks bloom red, and she blinks a few times. Her throat bobs on a hard breath. Those memories are reflected in her captivating blue eyes. “It’s silly, but I’ve been collecting rocks ever since.”
Christ, how I envy her perfect fucking family. Resent her a little for the dichotomy of our childhoods, even though my shitty life isn’t her fault. Logically, I understand this, but it still leaves the bitter taste of resentment in my mouth.
“It’s cute.” I lift the axe, relishing the weapon’s weight. Needing to push myself harder. Punish myself more. “Let me know when you get hungry.”
I don’t wait for her reply before I return to splitting wood with grotesque images tearing me to shreds. My mother passed out on the sofa, literally drooling. Makeup smeared across her once attractive face. A crack pipe dangling from her grimy fingers. Discord crying, thinking she died because he was so young and always believedthistime was the one that finally killed her. I’d check her pulse to make sure she was alive. Maneuver around her skeletal frame to clean her mess, and after I tended to her, I’d put my little brother to sleep in our shared bedroom.
Same routine, over and over.
Those were the extent of the good times. I try not to think about the bad years. Nothing good comes from me dwelling on what happened after Alice Taylor brought Emmett Johnson into our lives. Their relationship might have lasted nineteen months, almost to the exact day, but it caused a lifetime of damage.
“Havoc?”
