Mutual Release (8 page)

He needed to get the hell away from her, lest he sink deep into a weird limbo between true Dom and sub, abuser and abused. Caroline had proven too weak overall. He required something more. But that left him with a whimpering, needy woman on the other end of the phone pretty much every night. Thank God the warehouse job was done and he didn’t have to face her there. He felt like all sorts of a shithead for doing this to her but had no idea how to handle it any other way.

Damian had been quiet, avoiding the scene for the last four weeks, seeming to focus on being the nice boy his sister so desperately wanted him to be. Evan’s parents had left him alone, allowing him to come and go as he pleased, seeming to not even care. That hurt more than he was willing to admit, although he’d taken full advantage, sleeping at Caroline’s place plenty of times and cursing himself the entire next day for doing so. He would have given anything for his mom to demand he account for his whereabouts. For his dad to lecture him for staying out all night. At least then he would know they gave a rip. But why would they start now, he reasoned, when they’d spent the last eighteen years being flaky with regard to his well-being?

“What?” he growled into the phone’s receiver. “Who is this?” he demanded when there was nothing but a sort of shifting, semi-human sound on the other end. He sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the packed boxes ready to load up and take to East Lansing. The words he heard froze his heart.

“Evan?” Caroline’s voice was low. “Can you… um… help me?”

Instead of the usual eye-rolling accommodation, he felt compelled to stand and ask crisp, to-the-point questions. “Where are you? What happened? Want me to… Oh Jesus, Caroline, please tell me you’re kidding or something. No. No. I’m sorry. I’ll be there, but don’t… I mean… wait for… Fuck.” He threw the receiver against the wall and yanked on some clothes before storming out of the house.

He screeched into a parking spot in front of her now-familiar condo and ran up to the door, knocking, then shoving it open. The place was neat as a pin as usual, at least in the living room and kitchen. But his entire body was on alert, sensing real trouble the second he stepped into the hall leading to her large, well-appointed bedroom. He saw her black bra, one of his favorites, ripped, lying on the floor. He picked it up, then spotted up a scrap of silk he knew was her shirt.

“Caroline!” he bellowed when he saw the unmistakable blood stain on the wall outside her bedroom. Panic blinded him as he crashed his way into her destroyed room. The mirror over her dresser was shattered, her mattress dragged half off the bed. Her usual strict neatness was violated in so many ways it made him want to stop and throw up. Because it could only mean one thing.

He touched her bathroom door, saw the phone cord stretching from the bedside table under the door. Instead of the expected sobbing, a frightening silence met his ears. He pushed it open, slowly and carefully, half of him wanting to run back out her front door and straight to East Lansing, ignoring what he already knew lay behind it.

But he summoned the man he would one day become, gulped, and stepped into the steamy depths of hell – one purely of his own making.

* * * *

Caroline shook her head. Her long blond hair whipped around her bruised face. Evan’s stomach clenched watching her, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Honey, please, tell me exactly what happened.”

“He… came here. I asked him to so we could talk.” She gulped, gripping the cup of tea he’d made. “I mean, I wanted someone to just listen to me.”

He flinched when she put a hand on his arm. Then forced himself to look at her, to own this fucking mess. One eye was nearly swollen shut; her lip was cut and had dried blood all over it.

Her shoulders shook. “I’m sorry.” She tucked back into herself, making him hate what he’d become all over again.

“Let me take you to the emergency room, please. They need to do…” He gulped. “A rape kit, so we can prove that he…”

“No!” she shrieked, almost deafening him. “No, I can’t. He’ll… he… I’m… I asked for this. Like he said.”

He lowered his head, gripping her hands, trying not to notice the ripped fingernails on one hand. “Please, I can’t let you do this.” Because this was his. All of it – the black eye, the ripped nails, the violated body of his one-time sub. This was one hundred percent his. Because he never spoke up, never called Damian Slate out for what he was – a rapist freak posing as a “Dom.”

He gathered Caroline into his arms, felt her terror, smelled the horror of what she’d endured all over her. “He… he… h-h-he hurt me.”

“I know.” Evan kissed her hair. “Tell me all of it. So I can confront him and never let it happen to anyone ever again.”

The frail, vulnerable girl pretending to be a woman spoke, filling his ear with the exact disgust he’d felt at himself. Damian had rushed right over the instant she’d called. He’d soothed her, poured them both several glasses of bourbon. He’d been solicitous, friendly, lulling her into a false sense of security. Then, when she’d sniffled and thanked him for his time, he’d struck, hard. Declaring her no better than a whore, he’d bloodied her nose, punched her several times right in the face claiming she wanted it, then raped her, twice, in her own bedroom.

By the time Evan emerged from Caroline’s condo, blinking in the sunlight as if surprised by its invasion, a simple realization hit home. He had failed. That much was clear. In spite of her own shortcomings, personality-wise he’d had an unspoken pact with Caroline. She submitted to him, did as he said, and let him do what he wanted, in exchange for his protection. Yet he had not protected her from the one man he knew damn good and well was a class-A predator.

But Damian had crossed a line now. He was going to pay.

* * * *

Evan shoved the front door of his house open so hard he put a hole in the wall behind it. “Damian!” he shouted, not caring if the entire neighborhood heard him. “Get your ass down here now!”

His mother ran in from the kitchen, dressed in workout clothes, her eyes wide with shock. Evan ignored her, focused on his father, the one man he hoped to convince of Damian’s intrinsic evil – if for no other reason than to keep him away from Olivia.

“Dad, where is he? I just came from… a friend’s house. A friend of mine that Damian attacked last night. He raped her, Dad. Are you hearing me? The guy is fucking bad news and you need to keep him away from Olivia!” He heard his voice rise, felt the trembling panic in his limbs. Using the skills he’d learned through the summer, he forced his breathing and heartbeat to calm.

Until he spotted Damian emerge from his first floor bedroom, rubbing his eyes like a stupid toddler on Christmas morning. The abject fakery of it all, the way his own parents had coddled this creature to their bosoms, had practically shoved their own daughter into his clutches, made Evan stop and have to convince himself not to puke all over the living room floor.

“Slate,” he said, advancing on the tall, blinking boy. “You have anything to say for yourself before I beat your fucking face in and then call the cops?”

“Evan!” Olivia yelped, running down from the second floor. “What is wrong with you? Mom? Daddy? Has he lost his mind?”

“Sweetie, calm down,” his mother advised, holding out a hand. He stared at it, then over at his father, his last potential island of sanity in this sea of utter fucked-uppery.

“Dad. He – ” Evan pointed at Damian. “He raped my… my girlfriend.”

“Son,” his dad said, tugging a sweatshirt down over his bare torso. “First of all, what girlfriend? Secondly, how could you even say that? Damian is… he…”

Evan lost it then, let the months of pent-up agonizing fury at his helpless position – as the only one in the room who saw Damian Slate for what he was – overwhelm him. He launched himself at the boy, who, caught flat-footed, was forced back to the wall. Evan’s fist connected at least three really good blows to Damian’s face before his father wrestled him back.

“Evan, calm down. Please. Your need to protect your sister is admirable, but this is… unnecessary.”

“Get the fuck off me.” He yanked himself free, realizing the cause was lost already. “That boy is a sadist, a rapist. He pretended to help out the woman I’ve been… dating… all summer, then when she asked him to leave, he nearly beat her face in before raping her, twice, in her own goddamn house. But you guys will never believe me.” He looked around the room, took in the faces of his family, all of whom stared at him as if he were a rabid raccoon in their midst, something to trap and destroy.

“You are a hypocrite, Evan Adams.” Damian’s low, slightly sibilant accent made him wince. “And you know exactly what I mean, mate.” The boy gripped his arm and muscled him into the hall, out of the line of sight and hearing of his family. “I did exactly what you wanted to do to that sniveling, weak-willed cunt. Sorry you missed out on the fun. Or perhaps I should say, too bad you never were man enough to give her what she wanted.” Damian released him, ran a hand through his hair, and walked back into the living room, taking the sobbing Olivia in his arms and soothing Evan’s parents with yet more bullshit platitudes.

But before he talked himself out of it, Evan grabbed him and planted two additional punches to Damian’s jaw. Then he shoved him to the floor, disgusted with himself for even trying that hard, stalked up to his room and slammed the door.

He lay awake that night well past midnight, after spending hours alone on a long run, then at a friend’s place playing soccer – anything to avoid the rampant stupidity at his own house and relieved to be doing something that felt normal. When he checked his watch for the millionth time at two-thirty in the morning, he gave up and crept downstairs to the kitchen. After rummaging around in the well-stocked fridge he made a sandwich, poured some milk, and sat, not in the least bit hungry.

“Hey.” He heard Olivia’s voice but wouldn’t acknowledge her. All he saw when he looked at his twin sister was Caroline’s ruined face. She slid into the chair next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Evan…” she whispered.

He turned to her, anger making his vision dim. But when she held out her arms he leaned into her, let her hold him. When she spoke, her words surprised him.

“Remember when we were nine and Mom made us finally split up into separate rooms?”

He nodded. “You cried. But I told you that you had to get your pink stuff out of my room. That I wanted you to go.” He pulled away from her and watched as she bit her lip. “You know I didn’t mean that, right? That I only said it so you wouldn’t feel bad – so you’d be mad at me and want to move into your new room.”

“No, I didn’t.” She said as a tear slipped down her cheek. “But I do now, thanks.”

Panic gripped his gut again as images of her, beaten and destroyed by a man he knew was capable of such brutality, ghosted through his brain. He grabbed her arms tight, making her protest. “Listen to me, Olivia. I love you. You are too important to me to just drop this and pretend nothing is wrong, like our parents always do.”

She started to speak, but he gave her a small shake and put on his best Dom voice, praying like hell she would listen just this once. “The minute – no, the second – you feel afraid of Damian, get as far away from him as you can. Do not let him apologize if he hits you and begs your forgiveness. Do not trust him, for any reason. Please… Liv… for me?” He pulled her close, put his forehead against hers. “Promise me, Twin Promise?”

He held out his forefinger. She touched hers to it in a childish display of solidarity they’d made up once upon a time. Evan was beyond desperate at this point and would do anything to get her to at least know he was there and would help her if she needed it.

“Twin Promise, brother.” She smiled, kissed his nose, and jumped up, grabbing his milk glass and drinking half of it before heading up the back stairs, humming to herself. Evan watched her go, his heart heavy, then turned to watch the sun rise on his last day living in this house.

A few hours later he packed his car, accepted a check from his father to start his bank account in East Lansing, and drove away, eyes dry, with a soul so dark he wondered if he would ever see the light of day again.

Chapter Eight

“Why in the hell would I do that?” Evan barely glanced up at the woman handing him coffee. He re-shouldered his heavy backpack and forced his way through the gaggle of fellow law students angling for table space.

For the past five and a half years he had managed to completely sublimate everything he believed he wanted to the great god of higher learning. It wasn’t too hard, when he put his mind to it. Maintaining decent grades while working nearly thirty hours a week took all his energy. He’d made a few friends, mostly out of convenience in classes he needed help in or that required group activity. And now one of those study buddies was trying to convince him to move into a house for the summer semester before their next year at Northwestern Law School. The damn guy would not take no for a fucking answer.

“I told you, Gordon, I’m on a tight budget and my fellowship pays for housing. Why would I…?”