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I hesitated. Not because of any misplaced loyalty to Brent. No, I hated that man with every bone in my body. It was more that I didn’t want Cole to go off on some misguided vendetta.
Pursuing Brent was dangerous. For all of us. Brent was cunning, and as a cop, he had a lot of contacts he could leverage. I knew from overhearing things when he had friends over to the house that he was involved in illegal shit. From the phone calls I’d listened to, he was on the payroll of some gang or other.
I wasn’t sure exactly what he did for them, but if he could get away with stuff like that as a serving police officer, he would have no problems covering up more crimes.
Such as the murder of three guys who were not part of mainstream society. Sure, the guys were shifters and strong, but wolves were not bullet-proof. Brent had won awards for his marksmanship. I was under no illusions about how dangerous my former guardian was.
Nothing could take away my past. These scars were part of me now. All I could do was move on. Make a new life for myself. One where I didn’t rely on anyone, least of all a man.
“It doesn’t matter.” I refused to look him in the eye.
“It does to me. Was it your guardian?”
I nodded.
Cole’s jaw ticked with tension and he clenched his fist, sucking in air like it pained him to breathe. “Go get in the shower, sweetheart. Dinner will be ready in 30 minutes. I made venison stew.”
“Oh…OK.”
He closed his eyes for a second and then kissed me gently on the cheek. Then he left, closing the door on his way out.
I did as I was told and got in the shower, my mind buzzing. I’d expected him to say how sorry he was, how awful it must have been. The fact he’d asked me a couple of questions and then left was surprising, but I could deal with that kind of reaction. I would much rather we all ignored my scars and how I got them.
What happened to me before I arrived here was not something I liked to think about.
So far, I’d done a great job of pushing all the trauma into a locked box in my head. The more time that passed, the less I thought about Brent. He was always there, lurking in the back of my head, taunting me, but when I was busy with Cole and Silas, I could go for hours without a single thought of Brent.
It was liberating after years of Brent occupying the entirety of my headspace. Back then, every thought I had related to Brent. Was he in a good mood today? Would he let me eat? Sleep?
It was exhausting.
I was exhausted.
Being here, I didn’t have to think about anything. Cole fed me. Silas made sure I never got bored or lonely. Tanner…he occupied way too many of my thoughts for comfort. He was a confusing enigma. He’d stayed out of my way since the incident where he lashed out. The bruises had faded, but the memories hadn’t.
Hot water sluiced down my back as I thought about what had happened. His hand around my neck had been shocking, frightening even, but somewhere deep inside, it had also been exciting.
What kind of dysfunctional person was I if I enjoyed what he did to me?
I knew deep down Tanner didn’t want to hurt me. He was hurting, and because he didn’t know how to handle the difficult emotions, he lashed out.
The other two times we’d been alone, it was obvious he liked exerting control over me. I shouldn’t have enjoyed it, but I did. There was something strangely intoxicating about handing over control to a man like Tanner. Instinctively, I recognized that letting him be in control was good for both of us. He needed it and so did I.
But there was no way he was touching me ever again. The two times we’d crossed paths since he got back from his three-day disappearance, he’d refused to even look at me. It was as if he’d decided it was easier to pretend I didn’t exist.
Mealtimes, I ate with Cole and Silas, but Tanner ate in his office. I’d heard him moving around late at night, but I stayed in my room. I figured it was better for both of us. Besides, in a few weeks, I’d be gone.
No doubt he was looking forward to seeing the back of me for good.
I just wished I was as happy about the thought of leaving here.
Cole
“Not like you to drink,” Silas observed as I knocked back a healthy measure of bourbon.
“Yeah, well.” He watched with one eyebrow raised as I refilled my glass and knocked that back, too.
He was right. I wasn’t a drinker. It was kinda pointless when our metabolisms burned off the alcohol so fast the buzz never lasted long. But desperate times called for desperate measures and I had nothing stronger. It was a choice between sinking a bottle of bourbon or punching a hole in the wall. And since I liked the wall, I chose bourbon.
