“Please don’t shut me out.” I jump in front of him. Press my hands to his chest. God, his scowl is ferocious. Downright murderous. I’m treading dangerous waters, but I’ve played it safe my entire life. Despite that, I nearly got myself killed. What’s one more risk for someone I’ve…come to care about. “Havoc, please,” I whisper.
He walks forward a few steps, skidding my booted feet through the dirt. He rakes his hair with his fingers and stops again. Havoc’s angry growl reminds me of a trapped animal. Full of suppressed rage and desperation. “My twat of a mother brought the fucking devil into our lives.”
My hands slide down his chest to land on the waistband of his jeans. I don’t know if his sharp intake of breath is from his rasped confession or my touch. “Discord said she was an addict.”
“She was a fucking crackhead who overdosed because she chose her drug over her sons. She choseeverythingover us.” His snarl is vicious enough to send a chill up my spine. He stares off into the forest, a world of pain playing out in his haunted eyes. “Hopefully, she’s rotting in hell for what she put us through.”
I step closer to Havoc and snake my arms around him, expecting him to push me away. To my complete shock, he doesn’t. Instead, he crushes me to him, his tension seeping into me. His private anguish is a tangible entity taking up space around us. A beast that has its teeth sunk deep into him.
“Who was this devil?”
Because sometimes, I’ve learned, it’s best to purge the pain.
It worked for Faith after Jester broke her heart. Maybe it can help Havoc as well. I don’t expect it to work like magic, but perhaps if he takes this first step, more will follow.
“I was a scrawny little kid when Alice brought Emmett home.” Havoc’s voice is hoarse and breathless like he sprinted a mile. His heart is a rapid slam, his body strained. He rests his chin on the top of my head and holds me tighter in his arms. “He liked to play games with Discord. Games he forced me to watch, and any time I looked away, he beat the living shit out of me.”
“Oh, God, Havoc—”
“God?” He pushes me away to hold me at arm’s length. “Nay, Kerri. God had nothing to do with what went on in that house.” He closes his eyes and drags in a deep, ragged breath. When he reopens those dark eyes, they have a distant, agonized look to them. “I begged our mother to make him leave. Fuckingbegged. But Emmett kept her supplied with dope, so she did anything for that man. That meant I had to watch him hurt Discord. Again, and again, and again. Alice Taylor allowed that sick bastard to rape her son for two fucking years. But one night, Emmett got sloppy. He didn’t check how tight he tied me.”
I swallow hard, not daring to move. Am I even breathing? When I drag in a breath, the air tastes soiled with the foulness of Havoc’s memory. “Did you kill him?”
Havoc shakes his head, the movement slow and measured. “No, Duchess, I didn’t.” He eases his grip on my shoulders. “I wanted to. Fuck knows I should have. But if I had gone to jail, Discord would have been left alone with that fucking crackhead. So, I didn’t kill him. But I hurt him enough to make sure he stayed gone.”
“And now?”
Havoc’s sinister grin turns his eyes evil. “Trust me, Kerri, when I kill Emmett Johnson, I’m going to enjoy every fucking moment of it.”
When Havoc pushes past me, I don’t stop him. I let him go and watch as he strides away with his chilling declaration remaining with me. But something else stays with me as well. A gift Havoc handed me by sharing the ugliest pieces of his past.
Havoc gave me his trust.
* * *
What do I do with what he told me?
I vomit.
As if I can purge the foulness of Havoc’s confession from my soul because for the last hour, I’ve spent the time sprinting to and from the bathroom, imagining two little boys trapped in a house of horrors.
Of course, all I do is burn my esophagus. The terrible vision his words painted remains. And when I push off the floor, my limbs are weak. I flush the last of my breakfast down the toilet, then grope my way to the sink. My legs tremble and my hands shake as I brush my teeth and stare at the person in the mirror. I need to grip the edge of the white porcelain to keep from collapsing in a puddle of tears.
Havoc would hate me if I wept for him. He’d believe my tears were in pity when, in fact, I’m so angry I want to scream. I know, without a doubt, if this…creature…Emmett was here, I would kill him myself. With my bare hands. Yes, I could. I could do it—because something in me snapped. I’ve changed. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t live in Brighton anymore. I don’t belong there, with its rules, prejudices, and gilded cages. Something was set free inside me, and it can’t be shoved back inside that prison.
I don’t take more than five steps out of the bathroom when the front door bursts open. Already, my instincts have changed. Instead of panicking or freezing, I kick into survival mode and lunge for the Glock I left on the kitchen counter. I swing around. Pull the slide. Aim, and—
“Christ,” Havoc roars. “Put the goddamn thing down and lock the fucking door.”
Working on autopilot, I do exactly as he says. My arms drop as my brain works to catch up with the action. I release the slide and stow the weapon, all the while unable to stop my shocked gaping as Havoc storms in carrying an unconscious man over his shoulder. “Havoc. Who is that?”
He doesn’t miss a beat as he stalks across the cabin. “I didn’t ask for his ID before I clocked him.”
Fair enough. “Where are you taking him?”
Havoc gives me a droll stare. “No house is a home without a torture room.”
There goes my stomach again. If it flips any more, it’s going to flop right out of my abdomen. I jump in front of him—them—and put up my hands to stop Havoc. “If you don’t know who this man is, how do you know he’s here for us?”
