He chuckles. But my teasing halts as Trevor reaches his destination—the indoor pool.
“Shit,” I mutter, Falk glancing at me as he stops where Trevor directs him to.
He has Trips placed to the side, like he’s the audience to a play Trevor’s in, and I know this pageantry is going to be where he tries to regain his power. And that the water will be his weapon.
This is going to suck—I really hate getting water up my nose.
Chapter 29
Trips
God, I want to be furious with Clara, but I can’t be. When I’d gone for Trevor, I hadn’t been thinking. I’d been too close to the edge, almost past the point where I could keep it together. Only my concern about crushing Walker’s work kept me present, leaving me awkwardly propping myself up on the console, my legs half folded in front of me.
Logically, Clara had the opening. Logically, we needed an excuse to start something, and Trevor gave it to us on a goddamn silver platter. Logically, this worked out perfectly.
Illogically, I want to simultaneously wring her neck and throw her over my shoulder, get her somewhere safe, then fuck her silly until she comes so loudly I forget that I’m mad at her. Instead, I’m stuck with my arms zip-tied behind my back while my half-brother verbally terrorizes the woman I'm pretty sure I love.
Trevor stalks around Clara, explaining in that pedantic way of his how he misses her tears, how he wishes she were more like the girl he ‘knew.’ He never knew her—he watched videos of her, assuming she was younger than she is, and got off on some of the worst moments in her life.
Sick.
So fucking sick.
Clara stands there, staring out one of the many picture windows at the tumble of snow outside the poolroom, letting his words wash over her like background music. And it infuriates Trevor—as she knows it will.
He might not know her, but she has my brother figured out. And while she appears to be in control and unbothered, her right hand digs into the heavy fabric of her sweater dress at the back of her hip, twice, as he rants.
She’s holding it together, but not for much longer. Will she cry to get him to stop? She has to know that won’t work, especially after he brought us down to the pool for his show. I hate it, but I know what’s coming. Clara does too. The guards around me have probably guessed it as well. Using the moment I have to take their measure, I note which ones I can take down to get what I’ll need. Then, I’m resting my weight on the balls of my feet, pushing back against anticipated horror.
No marks, no permanent damage, at least none that will be seen outside of gasping terror in the middle of the night.
A creeping memory, one so deeply hidden that I’m not even certain is real, comes to me. A hot summer day, swimming out back with Trevor while the house was still in the midstof the decade of renovations it took to turn this resort into a ‘home.’ The sun was hot and the saws loud.
Trevor had asked me if I wanted to play a game. As he usually wanted nothing to do with me, too busy with his camera and adolescent rage, I jumped at the chance to do something, anything, with my brother. Fuck. I was such an idiot kid.
He’d scooped me up, letting me jump off his knees while he flung me into the deep end. But the third time I came back to him, when he flung me into the water, he’d dove after me and held my head beneath the surface.
I’d struggled, but he had six years on me and the upper hand. When he finally let me up, I was coughing up water but not crying. Never crying. Even at eight, I knew that crying wouldn’t get me a damn thing. He’d said it was a joke and chided me for not laughing. When we got out, I’d tackled him, trying to hurt him the way he’d hurt me. But I was the one who’d got in trouble, my skinned knees and bruised pride not enough of a lesson for my father.
So, I know better than anyone what it feels like when Trevor holds your head under water, when your best fight isn’t worth shit. It’s the last thing I want for the brave girl just out of reach.
Trevor whispers in Clara’s ear, and the longer he whispers, the tighter the line of her lips. And then, with a flash of the fury I helped her find, she snaps.
She spits in his face, her hands clenched where they’re locked behind her back, fists formed with no place to go. I watch the glob slide off his forehead and into his eye, theroom freezing as it slips farther still, off his cheekbone and onto the tile floor.
A moment later, I’m nothing but panic and instinct.
Chapter 30
Clara
Iknew spitting in his face was a bad call the second I did it. I could handle his taunts, his promises that if he had his way, he’d sell me to the highest bidder just to watch me break, nonsensical things I could push aside even as my fury burned. But he’d switched to insulting Trips, and I couldn’t leave it well enough alone.
God, I know better than this.
Swimming with my arms tied behind my back isn’t something I trained for, and Trevor pushing me back under when I flail to the surface leaves nothing but a shock of terror in my bones to work with.
I knew this was coming.
