Page 82 of Man Possessed

“It would’ve been my fault,” he says again, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He inhales slowly, then lets it out, his face contemplative. Finally, he turns his head and I stare at myself in the reflection of his glasses. “I let my sister die.”

My heart lurches into my throat as I stare at him. I don’t know what to say to a confession like that, and judging by his expression, I know this is shaky ground. One wrong word will fuck everything up—it might make him spiral.

“How?” I ask, still unsure if that’s the right thing. His throat bobs as he swallows, then he turns forward again.

“She was my twin,” he sighs, and drops his forehead to the wheel. “We were seventeen, and these guys invited her to the beach. They always fucked with me and when I told her they were no good, she ignored me. She said that I was too possessive of her and I needed to let her have fun.” He laughs humorlessly, then looks at me again. “She was right. I was possessive of her.” He takes his glasses off and pinches his eyes. “She was too sweet and soft for this world. People always took advantage of her, our mother took advantage of her. I felt like I needed to protect her, you know? But I guess I smothered her instead.”

He takes a shaky breath as he leans back in the seat, his eyes slowly closing. I stay silent, barely breathing as I wait for the rest of the story. His brows push together in pain, and I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his.

“I told her not to go,” he rasps. “I told her they were going to just be mean to her, but she didn’t believe me. One of them, he flirted with her and she thought he liked her.” He tries to run his fingers through his hair, but they get caught on the curls. “She went with the group of them after school one day. I was late—I can’t even remember why I hadn’t walked her home. I was probably flirting with some girl. I just wasn’t with her, so Elaine went with them.”

My chest tightens. The pain in his voice makes me want to cry.

“She called me, and her voice was the same as yours last night.” He looks at me, his blue eyes red-rimmed. “She said she was hiding from them, that they convinced her to get in the water, and they stole her clothes. She was naked, and hiding, and scared. It was getting dark, and—and I was so fucking mad at her, Kens. I was fucking furious. I said things I shouldn’t have said.” His voice breaks on the last word and I unbuckle my seatbelt, uncaring that the metal hits the window as I let it fly back.

Climbing over the console, I settle myself on his lap, wincing at the pain in my stomach, and wrap my arms around him. He buries his face in my neck and lets out a broken sob. I squeeze him tighter, tears burning the back of my nose.

“What happened, baby?” I murmur. I play with his hair, twirling a curl around my finger.

“I said whatever happened to her was her fault. That she deserved whatever they did to her because she didn’t listen to me.” His arms wrap around me and he clutches me to him, his body vibrating as he struggles not to cry. “I thought they just took her clothes as a prank. I didn’t think—” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I didn’t think anything would happen, you know? I was just—I was mad at her. She always told me I let my emotions speak for me, that I never thought before I spoke.” I pull away from him and wipe his tears with my thumbs, his stubble scratching against my palms.

“You were just a kid,” I say softly. “Kids make mistakes.” He shakes his head, his eyes scrunching closed. “What happened?” I keep my palm on his cheek, and he presses into my touch, sighing softly.

“I got to the beach and found her—” His face scrunches again, and a tear leaks from his eye. I gently wipe it away, wanting to wipe the pain away. “She was bloody, and her body had cuts and bruises all over it. There was so much blood—blood on her thighs, and I knew what happened. But she was barely breathing, and—I was scared.” He uses the back of his wrist to wipe his eyes. “She died in my arms, and I didn’t know what to do, so I called my mom. She accused me of killing Elaine. She said she always knew I was sick—she always knew I was afreak.” His eyes lift to mine, the blue burning brightly, and my stomach drops. “I carved the word into my stomach the day of Elaine’s funeral. It’s all my mother called me, so I branded myself with it.”

I feel sick.

Truly fucking sick.

But there’s so much shame and rage mixed with it. Rage at his mother for ever treating him like that, for not realizing the amazing man he is. Rage at myself for ever being cruel to him. Shame for spewing the same insult at him asshedid.

“I’m so sorry, Ezra,” I murmur, and truly mean it. I would’ve never called him that if I knew the weight of the word. “I didn’t know—I’m sorry. You’re not a freak, you know that, don’t you? You’re not, Ez.” His dimpled chin trembles, but the rest of his face stays blank. “Tell me you know I don’t think you’re a freak.” He barely dips his chin in a nod.

“When the cops came and told my mom what happened, that I wasn’t involved, she still blamed me. She said it was my fault for letting her go with them. And she was right. Itwasmy fault. I should’ve done more. I should’ve walked home with her. I should’ve fought those fucking guys for ever even looking at her.” His body shakes violently, not from the pain and grief, but from anger, the pure, undiluted rage in his soul.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say again, stroking my thumb along his cheek. He tries to pull away, but I put my other hand on his face, forcing him to look at me. The look in his eyes is one that could kill. “It was not your fault, Ezra.” His eyes search mine, but he doesn’t lighten.

“I killed them,” he rasps. “There were three of them, and I killed them. They said it was an accident, but—but I didn’t believe them. Then I left New Zealand and came to The States. I’ve never been back, and I never want to go back.”

I force myself to keep my breathing steady, my heart steady, my voice steady, as I say again, “It wasn’t your fault.”

I press gently on his face, wanting him to feel my words. My heart aches for him, for all the pain he’s had to endure alone over the years. His throat bobs as he swallows, and finally, I feel like I’m getting to him.

“I know you don’t like what my club is involved in,” he says quietly. “I know you think it’s wrong. But I vowed to myself that I would kill every bad man on this fucking planet when I saw my sister’s dead body. That’s why I’m doing this, Kennedy. Not because I want to be anywhere near these sick fucks, but because I have to kill them. I have to protect everyone from them.” A giant lump forms in my throat, and I try to swallow past it, but I can’t. Not with the fierce look in his eyes, one that promises death. But, somehow, it promises safety, too.

I understand now. I understand him. Why he’s so intense about everything, why he came into my home and never left, why he’s so protective of not only me, but Ian, too.

He lost someone he loved, and he doesn’t want to lose anyone else.

“I know,” I breathe. “I know you do, Ez.” I wrap my arms around his neck again and rest my head on his shoulder, nuzzling against him. “Will you tell me about her?” His arms tighten as he clutches me to his chest.

“One day,” he whispers, his voice tight. “But not right now.” I nod against him, and he rests his cheek against my head as he rubs his hand up my back. “I’ll tell you one thing, though. She would’ve loved you. Absolutely fucking adored you.” I squeeze my eyes shut at his words. I don’t deserve them, not after everything I’ve said to him, how I’ve treated him. He’s done nothing but protect Ian and me, but love us.

“Thank you, Ez,” I whisper. He stills, his body tensing.

“What?”

“Thank you.” I pull away, finding his eyes wide as he stares at me. I brush a fallen curl from his forehead, and press a gentle kiss to it. “Thank you for everything.” When I pull away, he’s still staring at me in shock. “What?”

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