Shattered by You Read online

“Didn’t think so.” He grabbed a yellow raincoat from a hook beside the tack room and tossed it to me. “Wear this. It will hide the mud.”

  I caught it, the flimsy rubber material crinkling in my hand. “Crisis?”

  He opened the barn door and the wind tore inside, causing the lightbulb hanging from the cord to sway back and forth. “Yeah, babe.”

  “If he knew . . . it would kill him.” I don’t really know why I said it, maybe because I needed him to get that what happened to me was bad and Ream knowing . . . it would destroy him; I saw my brother brutally kill Gerard after he found out what had been going on.

  Now, Olaf was dead too.

  I had a slice of peace knowing my brother was happy. I wasn’t taking that away by being that little girl he tried to shield. I had my own shields.

  The light illuminated his face for a second as it swung by him then bathed him in darkness again. But I caught a glimpse of that crease between his eyes.

  “I know,” he said.

  I pulled on the coat while he shut off the light, and we ran through the storm for the house.

  Do cucumbers have any usefulness besides tasting like shit and looking like cock? Why the hell do they have to put them in every salad? Tomatoes, okay. Cucumbers are sliced up dicks, fuck no.

  These were the texts from Crisis I was supposed to respond to.

  The band, along with Emily and Kat, had been gone a month, and Crisis kept his word and texted me daily. I kept mine and responded with mundane one or two word replies, although it was becoming a little more difficult to do when he sent me random texts like this.

  Ream called me daily and I think that was Crisis’ doing, so I didn’t have to be the one to call him. After that night in the storm, my brother told me Deck had called him. Told him Olaf was ‘looked after.’ Of course, Ream had no idea about the club, but Olaf being dead was probably the deciding factor on them leaving me while they went on tour.

  Deck had called me too, told me they had a lead on the club’s location. Since I’d been blindfolded every time we went there, I had no clue where it was.

  I asked him never to call me again.

  I didn’t want to know. That part of my life was over.

  My conversations with Ream were mostly one-sided as I had nothing to contribute or rather didn’t care to contribute. But after the first few awkward silences, I looked forward to hearing his voice and the way he went on about the concerts and Kat. It cemented my deal with Crisis—I used that term loosely because I still considered it blackmail. My brother also bitched about Crisis’ antics, but I was getting that was more of a habit between brothers.

  I ran in the mornings, and the running was with an extra appendage—Luke. The security guy kept his distance, but I had tried to outrun him the first few days. I realized pretty fast that it was impossible. The guy didn’t tire. The saving grace was that he didn’t talk either, so we ignored one another and ended up getting along fine.

  I carpooled to school with a girl, Dana, who I found on the internet through the university website. Luke of course checked into her, but he still followed us in his car to campus. I wanted normal and going to school with a bodyguard was not normal, but neither was carrying a gun everywhere I went.

  I went to class, said little to anyone except when forced to, came home, repeat and recycle, five days a week. The weekends consisted of running and homework. It was productive. It was what I wanted and I hadn’t done anything I wanted for twelve years.

  But Crisis . . . he was something I hadn’t been prepared for. He liked to talk and because of our deal, it was in text. And after a month of texts from him, I found myself thawing to his playfulness.

  You’re comparing cucumbers to dicks?

  Yeah.

  What about carrots?

  Since when do cocks have pointy ends?

  So, you don’t like cucumbers in your salad because they look like cut up dicks and it gives you nightmares?

  Yeah, Ice. That’s what I said. But we’re talking about big cucumbers, not those baby ones. And I don’t fuckin’ like them and they always put them in my salad. I’m here picking them out one by one and I know I’m still going to taste them after all this fuckin’ work.

  Picking cucumbers out of your salad is work?

  He must be bored because he rambled when he was bored. I leaned over and placed my books in my knapsack then zipped it up and stood, grabbing my phone off my desk.

  My fingers have been playing all night, I don’t need this shit.

  I was uncertain what he meant by that. It wasn’t a secret that Crisis often fooled around with chicks after the concerts, maybe before them, too. I hadn’t thought about it much—we texted. It was an arrangement. But after a month of talking to him every day, I started to think about it.

  And from your silence, your mind is in the gutter again. Jesus, babe. I meant the guitar. We had a gig last night.

  I bit my lip to keep from smiling. There was that tiny smile emerging again. It had been happening more often lately when I texted with Crisis. It was odd because he casually talked about stuff like this and I thought I’d be revolted or disgusted, and the first few times he mentioned his cock in text, I’d numbed out, but now I didn’t even think about it. It was Crisis and he was just talking. It had nothing to do with sex or wanting sex with me.

  Was it good?

  I knew it had gone well. I checked when I got up this morning and the reviews raved about Tear Asunder, just like all the other venues they’d been to. It had become my habit to scroll the internet to keep track of the band.

  Of course, Crisis dominated the pictures, the media loved him and, from his ease around the cameras, he did too. Often there were pictures with his arm around a random girl and I knew they were random because it was never the same girl twice. He soaked up the attention with his cocky grin. I found myself rolling my eyes and smiling when I saw a new girl in a picture because it was mildly absurd. I suspected each girl thought they were special to him. That they’d be ‘the one.’

  But Prince charming was a fucking fairy tale. No guy was going to save you. You had to save yourself.

  It rocked. But Logan was off. Emily did a demo yesterday afternoon and a voter came at her. She got clear, but Logan saw it. It screwed with his head all night.

  Voter?

  Fuck no, horse.

  Oh.

  She can handle it. Logan, not so much. You in class?

  Yes.

  Technically, I was leaving class.

  What class?

  Sex Ed. We learned how to put condoms on cucumbers today.

  I don’t know why I said it; Crisis brought out a side of me I didn’t know I had. I waited for my phone to light up, holding it in my palm as I walked from the lecture hall.

  LOL . . . Shit, babe, you’re really fuckin’ adorable. I may have to make you mine.

  Adorable? I was anything but adorable. I ate adorable. I couldn’t believe he just said that. Yes, I could, it was Crisis. It was easy text chatting with him. It was safe behind the phone and he couldn’t see inside me this way. I moved to the side to let students by me as I walked slowly and typed back.

  And disappoint the reporters and girls?

  True. But I’d be more worried about your brother’s reaction. He’d slingshot my balls with a fuckin’ rock.

  I hadn’t mentioned to Ream that I talked to Crisis and neither had Crisis.

  A dart is more his style.

  My balls just fucked off up into my abdomen.

  A bubbling rose in my chest and I stopped in the middle of the hallway. It was an odd sensation with my insides tightening and my stomach fluttering. Laughter. I wanted to laugh, but that sound had been trapped inside me for a really long time.

  Going now.

  Okay, later, Ice. Be good.

  I huffed at his nickname for me. I was uncertain whether it was because of that night when he found me freezing cold or because of my icy personality. I shoved my phone in my pocket and rushed to
my next class.

  My routine remained steady over the next month and I became accustomed to seeing Luke around. He wasn’t there to protect me from anyone, rather to protect me from myself, so he didn’t follow me from class to class, but I suspected he was reporting to Crisis on my emotional status.

  My phone vibrated in my zippered pocket of my stretch pants and I stopped on the side of the road, fished it out and looked at the screen.

  Mom saw my naked ass on Twitter. *face palm*

  I plopped down on my butt on the shoulder of the road near the ditch, breathing hard after the five miles I’d just run. I glanced behind me and saw Luke stop; he didn’t even look out of breath—goddamn machine. He walked over to a tree and leaned against it, his head tilted down, not looking like he was watching me, but I knew he was.

  The dirt road I was on was good to run on as cars rarely passed by and it backed onto one of the horse fields I’d cut through on my way home.

  I lay back and the pebbles were like tiny pin pricks as they dug into my spine. I shifted a bit until it didn’t hurt, bent my knees and held my phone up in front of me as I texted back.

  Was she impressed?

  He’d been gone two months and I realized that whenever my phone vibrated now, a whoosh went through me. There were no filters with Crisis, and I liked that he said whatever was on his mind.

  A breeze ruffled the few strands of hair that weren’t drenched in sweat and glued to my forehead. The wind was calm today and warm, nothing chasing me. I’d only had a few instances where my ice cracked and the memories invaded, but I adapted just like I had before. I escaped before I let it in.

  LOL, no. But what freaks me out more is that she’s following me on Twitter. The bullshit I spew on there is not for a mom to read.

  His mom, who was also my brother’s foster mom, as Crisis’ parents’ took Ream in when child services had him in custody, had tried to get me to come to dinner numerous times since the boys left on tour.

  I refused. The last thing I wanted was a mother figure around, telling me what to do. All I wanted was to go to school, get a degree, then a job and live without boundaries.

  I’d lived like an abused animal, hit and kicked, mostly by Alexa, but Olaf was a low-life piece of shit and did his fair share when I fought the clients.

  Babe, you there?

  I quickly slammed down the wall blocking the memory and typed back.

  How did she know it was yours?

  Tattoo.

  She knows you have a tattoo on your butt?

  Yeah. The woman hates my tats. So, whenever I’m about to get a new one, I send her a pic of the design and ask her opinion.

  Cruel.

  You think? I was going more for clever. You get your license yet?

  No.

  Good.

  Good?

  Yeah, I want to teach you.

  I did want to get my driver’s license, but hadn’t liked the idea of sitting in a car with a stranger. My phone vibrated again.

  So, what are you doing?

  I was running. Now, I’m lying on the side of the road texting you.

  WTF. Get off the road.

  No one drives down here. That dead-end dirt road behind the farm.

  Calling.

  NO.

  I lowered my phone to my lap and closed my eyes as the morning sun beamed down on my face. He’d called me twice since he left, but both times I didn’t answer then texted him that I was at school and couldn’t talk. It wasn’t a lie. I’d been at school, but talking to Crisis felt different than texting. Texting was . . . impersonal.

  My phone sang “Part of Me” by Katy Perry.

  He knew I wasn’t in class and was perfectly capable of answering. Shit, I had to pick it up or knowing Crisis, he’d keep calling until I did and if I never did, he’d probably call Luke.

  I answered but didn’t say anything.

  “Get off the road,” he said. “Where the fuck is Luke?”

  “Around.” I sat up, curled one arm around my legs while I held the phone to my ear. The sound of his voice sent a thrum of shivers across my skin and a flutter in my belly. Crisis had a sexy voice, kind of husky with a slight deep burr that carried into his singing. Logan, aka Sculpt to the general public, was the lead singer, but often Crisis or Ream had parts of songs they sang too.

  “Are you off the road? I don’t hear you moving.”

  The gravel shifted beneath my feet as I stood and started walking. “Why are you calling?”

  “You’re lying on the road. Of course, I’d call. No risks, remember.”

  “Side of the road. Like the shoulder. And if it was a risk, I’m sure the badger you put on me would have something to say about it. He’s currently”—I cranked my neck to glance in Luke’s direction—“leaning against a tree not looking at me, but I’m betting he has supersonic eyes and ears and knows exactly what I’m saying and doing.”

  “Luke was part of the deal. And he does.”

  “He does what?”

  “Have supersonic everything. He owns Shield Security and is the best.”

  “I understood Deck was the best.”

  He chuckled. “Deck and his men are the best, but they don’t do celebrity protection. They are a whole other facet.” He quieted and I heard him take a breath before he said, “You doing okay, Haven?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sound pissed I called.”

  Was I? Not exactly pissed, more like defensive because I was unsettled by the fact that I liked that he called. “Out of breath.”

  “Bullshit. If I heard you panting in the phone, I’d be hard right now.”

  I couldn’t believe he said that. Yes, I could. “Do you want me to pant, so your nightly chick has something to ride?”

  Despite what I went through, I wasn’t afraid of the sexual references. It was freeing to be able to casually text about whatever—even sex. He didn’t know my past, but he knew it was ugly and yet there was no tiptoeing around me.

  The band was in Vancouver and with the time difference, it was the middle of the night there, so according to what the media published, Crisis should have a chick with him after the concert.

  Crisis never hid his playboy status and I was sure that was what made me feel comfortable with him because there was no pressure to pretend between us. No expectations. He flirted sometimes because that was just what he did, but that was all.

  “Not doing that shit.”

  “Girls are shit now?”

  He laughed. “Nah, you’re not.” The phone crackled as if he was moving and then he grunted. “Owe. Fuck.”

  “What happened?”

  “Banged into the ice machine. Fuckin’ thing is in the middle of the hallway.” I huffed because I knew it wasn’t and he obviously hadn’t been watching where he was going. “I’m going to my suite so I can lie down and talk to you. Been one fuck of a long night.”

  “Was the concert good?”

  “Babe, I told you, a concert to me is like an orgasm for two hours.”

  I smiled. Whenever he or Ream talked about music, it was as if a spark of energy came alive in them. I suspected all the guys in the band were like that, although Kite, the drummer, I had trouble reading.

  “Haven?”

  “Yeah?”

  He sighed. “Thought you hung up on me.” I heard a beep. “Fuck. Kite. Seriously, man? Use your room.”

  “What?” I heard Kite say.

  “Haven, one sec.” His voice sounded further away as he spoke to Kite.

  Then Kite shouted in his faint Irish accent, “You into two guys, Missy?”

  Jolted, my hand tightened around the phone.

  “Sure,” a faint muffled girl’s voice yelled. “Is it Crisis?”

  The phone crackled and I heard muted voices, but was unable to decipher what was being said. A door slammed.

  “Fuck, Ice. Sorry. Kite’s being an ass.”

  “Or generous.” I hadn’t expected to hear that Kite and Crisi
s shared chicks.

  “Fuck no. We don’t do that shit. He’s into . . . well, we just don’t.” He paused and I stayed silent. “He knew I was talking to you and was fucking with me. He knows we text.”

  “Oh.” I was uncertain how I felt about that. I didn’t know Kite that well, but he was always courteous and a gentleman. He was kind of mysterious and kept his personal life out of the media. A little dark maybe, with an overabundance of confidence as if nothing could unsettle him. From what my brother told me, he handled all business aspects of the band with the manager.

  “Give me ten and I’ll call you back.”

  It was Saturday and I had no plans except homework and maybe go to the barn to groom one of the horses. But chatting on the phone with Crisis . . . it wasn’t part of the deal and hearing his voice was far different than reading words. “I don’t think—”

  “Answer your phone.”

  I heard the dial tone and sighed as I shoved it back in my pocket. One thing I was getting about Crisis is he did what he said and he’d call me. Except it wouldn’t be in ten minutes because I was also getting that he was characteristically late.

  I climbed through the fence, picked up a light jog and made my way back to the house, hearing Luke’s feet trailing behind. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge like I always did, tossed one to Luke like I always did, then went outside and sat on the porch swing. Twenty minutes later, Crisis called.

  16 years old

  Take my hand. Tonight you will believe. Believe in me.

  The warmth of your touch. The taste of your lips.

  Keeps me coming back to you.

  So believe. Believe in me and take my hand.

  I’m here to love you forever.

  Forever you’re mine.

  I ROCKED BACK and forth on the floor as I sang quietly to myself with my arms curled tightly around my legs, cheek resting on the knobby bone of my knee. My tattered nightgown barely covered my slim thighs, but it had flimsy sleeves to keep the bruises on my arms concealed.

  Chills ran through me as I quivered and trembled, while beads of sweat trickled from my hairline to slide down my face. Sleep eluded me, my stomach and limbs cramped so badly that I had trouble moving. I even bailed on going to school. My body no longer belonged to me as the uncontrollable need for the drug held me in its vicious grip.