Sugar Free (5 page)

My orgasm explodes in response to his proclamations…his thrusts…fuck, I don't know what it is, but when Beck declares that I'm his, my body acknowledges it by surrendering every piece of control and ownership of feeling to him.

That orgasm didn't belong to me.

That belonged solely to Beck, and we both know it.

I can't explain the heightened sense of awareness, but I come wide awake and realize that something is wrong. I immediately know Sela's not in bed with me and the bedside clock says it's just past five
A.M.

We didn't go to sleep until nearly two, and that's because I was busy fucking reassurances into my girl.

I fucked her hard up against the bedroom wall as she requested, and when she came, I pulled out and threw her down on the bed. Put my face between her legs and made her come again.

Flipped her onto her stomach and rode her hard and fast from behind, and because she wasn't coming again fast enough for me, I pressed a finger in her ass and that did the trick. She screamed in relief…release…pleasure…all of it. Only then did I finally let loose, pouring every bit of myself into her.

Only then did we let the trauma of the day overcome us, and we fell to the mattress together, immediately succumbing to sleep.

By all accounts, I shouldn't be awake. I'm beyond exhausted from the mental stress of the situation, and yet I'm hyperalert as I realize that Sela's not here and the leaden feeling in my stomach tells me there's something wrong.

I hastily roll out of bed, grabbing my underwear from the floor and putting it on.

“Sela?” I call out, unable to bear the wait of a search through the condo.

I almost collapse with relief when she answers back softly, “I'm in the living room.”

I find her there on the couch, legs curled under her and an empty cup of tea on the coffee table. She's sitting in the warm glow of the end table light, wearing nothing but one of my T-shirts. Her new blond hair is no longer a shock to me, and because it suits her so well, I can't really even remember how gorgeous she was as a brunette.

“What's wrong?” I ask her as I sit on the middle cushion right beside her. I angle my body to face her, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

I expect her to hit me up with another plea to let her confess to the cops, because I know she's questioning our course of action. But I'm not about to let that happen, because I don't doubt it. Sela's story would be too improbable and I know the Townsends would put their weight and money behind the investigation so as to not have their son's reputation tarnished. I also know that motive is paramount and she had the ultimate reason to kill him. I just can't risk that the police would be open-minded enough to entertain a self-defense claim, when Sela went to JT's home with a weapon.

Bracing myself against her plea, I'm stunned into momentary inaction when she says, “I didn't tell you everything that happened before I killed JT.”

My mind races as I flit through the details she'd given me, but most of that involved her physical actions so that I could be sure I cleaned up everything. But past that, the story that led up to her killing JT is actually sparse. I don't put that on Sela's doorstep though, as I was rushing her into the shower so I could in turn rush to JT's house and take care of business.

Then the cops showed up.

Then we went to the Townsends'.

Then we fucked hard and went to sleep.

“What happened?” I ask encouragingly, although I know deep in my gut that what she's getting ready to tell me could be a game changer. I have to force myself to look at her with open acceptance of whatever may come out of her mouth.

She doesn't pull any punches. “JT knew you were his brother.”

A zing of adrenaline courses through me, but immediately recedes. It's an interesting fact, and one that surprises me, but I'm not sure that it's harmful or helpful to us at this point.

“The reason he called me over there…his plan was to get you to let him stay in the Sugar Bowl…was that he was going to renounce his right to a part of your father's inheritance.”

“How the fuck could he do that if he's not even in the will?” I ask astonished. At least I don't think he's in the will. My father said JT doesn't know about his paternity, so I just assumed…

Sela shrugs. “He said his mother told him years ago. Said she wanted him to know so that he could claim what was rightfully his.”

I consider the truthfulness of what JT told Sela in those moments before he died. I can accept his mom would tell him the truth, because she's a born gold digger. It's why she married Colin and I could see her wanting to make sure JT wasn't denied anything. But for him to use
those
words with Sela…

Renounce his rights?

It doesn't make sense. Just because he's a biological child of my father doesn't mean he'd inherit anything. Not if there's a will in place. That I know for a fact, and I also know without a doubt my father has a will. Not that I've seen it, but he's a financial advisor and guru. He knows the importance of estate planning. Fuck, he oversees estate planning for his clients.

He has a will, I'm sure of it.

“You think your father was lying to you, don't you?” Sela asks astutely.

“If JT used those exact words, then yeah…sounds like he knows there's a will and that he's in it.”

“Which means your dad lied when he said he hadn't told JT,” Sela concludes.

“Probably,” I mutter as I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose. I mean, it's possible my dad put JT in the will but didn't tell him. Figured it would be a surprise after he died and he wouldn't be here to deal with the negative fallout that such a bomb would cause.

Christ…I was going to have to pay my dad a visit and ask him. I think about how devastated he looked last night at the Townsends' and I wonder if he was feeling guilt removing himself from the situation with JT. The Townsends and my parents had no clue last night of the potential Vegas connection to JT, because at the time the cops had informed them of his death, they weren't aware of that connection. But still…my dad knew JT was in trouble because I told him to stay out of it without giving him any details.

“That's not the worst of what I have to tell you,” Sela whispers, and my eyes fly up to her.

She looks positively green in the face and tears swim in her eyes. She's cried so fucking much the last twenty-four hours and I can't stand it.

My hand automatically reaches out to her, but she holds her own up, palm out. “Just listen to me. What I'm getting ready to tell you is really bad, and I'm sorry for the hurt I'm getting ready to cause, but you need to know everything.”

Fuck me.

Paranoia unreasonably takes hold of me.

She's getting ready to tell me it wasn't self-defense. That she carried out her murderous plot as originally intended. Drove to JT's house with the intent to remove him from both of our lives permanently, and somehow…not sure how…but she didn't use her gun. For some reason, the letter opener was the better deal. Maybe she was going to shoot him and there was a struggle. That totally explains the bruises then.

So it
was
self-defense. I can see the fucking bruises right now from where I'm sitting. She was protecting herself and that's that.

So maybe something else happened.

Is it possible that JT did something else to her?

Raped her?

“It's about Caroline,” Sela says, and I step backward from her in surprise, my momentary paranoia completely forgotten.

“What?”

“JT told me something about Caroline, and I couldn't say anything when Caroline was here. In fact, I had no intention of telling her or you this ever, especially not her. But I think you need to know. It's eating at me and I think it's because you need to know. I can't keep the truth from you.”

Acid roils within my stomach and a feeling of dread starts at the base of my spine and crawls its way up until my hair is standing on end.

“Tell me,” I whisper, my throat raspy from the effort to keep down the backwash of bile.

Sela's fingers twist in her lap, a sure sign she's nervous, but to give her credit, she never loses eye contact with me. “When JT had me on the desk and was choking me, he told me there was one last thing I needed to know before I died.”

Oh fuck…no, no, no. No fucking way.

I push up off the couch, crack my knee on the coffee table but ignore the pain. I turn away from Sela, afraid to look at her. Afraid to hear what she's going to say.

“He's the one that raped Caroline,” she murmurs, the anguish clear in her voice.

For one brief, glorious moment, everything sort of goes white on me. I don't feel, hear, or see a thing. One tiny blessed moment of peace, where I know deep down it's my sanity refusing to acknowledge what she's just told me.

Then everything turns red and lavalike rage sizzles within my veins.

“Motherfucker!” I scream so loud I feel my vocal chords shredding. I bend down, put my hands under the heavy coffee table, and heave it up and over where it crashes loudly against the hardwood floor. “Jesus fucking Christ…just no!”

I wheel on Sela, my hands curled into fists and demand, “Tell me that's a fucking lie.”

She doesn't respond but just looks at me with sympathy. She doesn't need to defend her statement. I can see the truth in her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Beck,” is all she says.

I spin back away from her, sidestep the overturned table, and stalk across the living room to the windows. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare bleakly out over the darkened waters of the bay and let the weight of this revelation start to drown me.

JT raped my sister.

Drugged her—most likely at the Christmas party—then ambushed her.

And then that fucker smiled at me the next time I saw him, probably laughing inside over that little tidbit of information.

And Jesus…JT is Ally's
father
.

Sela's arms wrap around me from behind, her body warm as she presses into my back and squeezes me in comfort. “I'm so sorry, baby. So damn sorry.”

I drop my arms and place them over hers, locking my hands on to her to hold her in place. I hold her tightly as she holds me in sympathy and regret for all the things that are killing me right this moment.

I thought I hated JT before…when I knew what he did to Sela.

But now…I didn't know such an ugly emotion could exist inside of a human. I don't know how I'll survive this feeling, which seems to be clawing its way deeper into me. My hot rage turns into a dark form of acceptance of this truth, but it feels like oily sludge coating and dampening my soul.

I struggle against it.

“Tell me again about how you killed JT,” I murmur as I look out the windows. “Tell me exactly what it was like when you plunged that thing into his neck.”

“Beck,” Sela whispers in admonishment that I'd even let my thoughts go there.

Black, bubbling, putrid, roiling hatred for JT.

“Tell me,” I urge her. “Do you think he was in pain? Do you think he was afraid when he realized he was dying?”

She's silent for a moment but then she tells me what I need to hear, even if it's not true. “Yes. He was terrified at the end.”

My lips curl upward and the oily darkness rumbles inside of me, pleased to be reliving the vengeance Sela delivered.

“Good,” I whisper in relief. “That's real good. Now tell me more.”

My gut was telling me that Beck needed to know the truth about Caroline and JT. I was sure it was the right thing to do. But his reaction…the bleak despair mixed with helpless rage made me instantly regret my decision. It's the worst feeling to cause pain to someone you care about, but there's nothing I can do to take it back.

When Caroline was raped, Beck stepped up to the plate and took control. He was able to use his love and strength to help her get through it. While it could never remove the pain that event caused, Beck's ability to support his sister also provided an amount of inherent healing for himself.

But now that he knows it was JT who did it?

He has no way to purge the feelings or make things better in his mind. The most I could offer him was the security of my arms around him and a retelling of the grisly way in which I murdered his sister's rapist. It was a momentary balm to him, but it just wasn't good enough.

Beck left the apartment soon after, forgoing a shower and throwing on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt, saying he had things to do.

I didn't like the sound of that so I asked, “What kinds of things?”

He was distracted as he shoved his wallet into a back pocket and headed toward the foyer for his keys. He didn't answer me.

“Beck,” I said firmly as I followed him. “Are you okay?”

He stopped in his tracks and wheeled on me, and the misery in his eyes was almost too much for me to bear. “No, I'm not okay. But I've got to get rid of that letter opener and the bloody clothes.”

There was no opportunity to do it last night once he saw the police at JT's house and realized they could be showing up at his place at any moment to tell him about JT. The items were in the trunk of his Audi, and the thought of the police showing up with a search warrant makes me tremble with fear. There was no chance of that happening last night, of course, because his body had just been found, and even I know that a warrant would never come that quickly. They'd have to have a solid suspect, and last night, they did not.

But today?

Well, we don't know what to expect, so we have to get rid of the incriminating stuff.

“I'll come with you,” I told him with a smile, because I did not like the way he was behaving. I threw him for a terrible loop with my revelation of JT and Caroline, and his frame of mind was fragile at best. Besides, that was my murder evidence and I should be taking responsibility for it.

“No,” he told me, and turned away, grabbing his keys from the foyer table. “I don't want you anywhere near this shit. If I were to get stopped before I can ditch it—”

“You'd go down for a murder you didn't commit,” I pointed out reasonably.

“Better me than you,” he retorted as he looked over his shoulder at me briefly before reaching for the front door.

“The difference is,” I said softly, and it stopped him cold. “I committed the murder and you didn't.”

Beck's shoulders sagged a bit and he huffed out a pained breath. “Stop calling it murder. It was self-defense.”

He turned to me, shoving his key into his front pocket and taking me by the shoulders. It was a tender move when he bent toward me and touched his nose alongside mine. “You've been through enough, Sela. Since you were sixteen years old, you've been through too much shit. Now let me handle this, okay?”

He pulled back, and for a blessed moment, the pain of what I revealed to him fifteen minutes ago is gone and he's looking at me the way a man looks at the woman he loves, in a way that shows her he will die protecting her.

It humbled me as nothing has ever done, and equally as much made me very sad that Beck even has to protect me in this manner. I didn't deserve his consideration or his security, but he was making it very clear I was going to accept it.

I nodded at him and he gave me a soft kiss goodbye, saying, “Be back later.”

I didn't ask him what his plan was. No clue if he was going to chuck the letter opener off the Golden Gate Bridge or bury it deep in the woods. I trusted he'd do it right though, and those items were never going to be found. It brought him one step deeper into the pile of shit I'd created for us, and made him more complicit in my crime.

Which means my guilt compounded even more.

Beck took off and I was left with the prospect of sitting in an empty condo and worrying myself about all the ways in which this whole house of cards could come tumbling down at any minute. I didn't even have the benefit of school to keep me occupied, as I was on break. However, the spring semester was due to start in two days and I had no clue if I'd be attending or in jail. The thought was abysmally depressing.

But it was only one thing upon me that was depressing, and even if I didn't have that, I'd have a million other things. Which meant I needed to square up my shoulders, assume that Beck would be fine today, and do something that would make a difference to myself.

Maybe another.

I called Caroline and asked if she could have lunch with me today.

We met at Willie's Seafood and Raw Bar, which was only a few blocks from where Caroline worked in Healdsburg, where she and Ally live. She looked lovely and chic in a camel wool skirt that came down to her knees, a cream turtleneck, and plaid scarf. I didn't look chic at all in a pair of well-worn jeans, a turtleneck from Old Navy—again to hide the bruises—and cheap black vinyl riding boots. She didn't seem to care, so neither did I.

I watch as Caroline peruses the menu and takes a delicate sip of water. We made some pleasant small talk until now, and as I look at her, it's hard to believe less than twenty-four hours ago, she was scrubbing the shower down with bleach to erase away any evidence of JT that I brought into her brother's condo.

She closes the menu, sets it down in front of her, and gives me a sympathetic smile. “How're you holding up?”

I shrug, needing to talk things through but dreading it at the same time. “It is what it is.”

Caroline nods in understanding.

So much understanding.

“I'm sorry what happened to you,” I tell her. “We didn't get a chance to talk…with everything that happened last night.”

She reaches her hand across the table and takes hold of mine. “We've both been through something horrific. No one can ever know what that feels like. But I'm glad we now have each other.”

“If you ever need to talk about it,” I say to her candidly. While I can't ever let her know the identity of her rapist, I can offer her everything else under the sun if it will help her.

She nods. “Same here.”

We both smile at each other, understanding the tentative friendship we first formed at Thanksgiving a little over a month ago is now infinitely stronger by the bond we now share.

“But getting back to my original question,” Caroline says wisely—and by that I mean she was wise to the fact I was evading—and gives me a very pointed look. “How are
you
holding up?”

I reach for my water, trying desperately to still the shaking of my hand, but it won't cooperate and Caroline notices. I take a small sip, set it down, and clear my throat. “I don't know whether to feel guilt or vindication,” I tell her truthfully.

“I'm going to suggest vindication,” she says pertly. And if there's one thing I can be happy about, it's that I've avenged Caroline although she'll never know it.

“For the longest time, I felt it was my fault, you know?” I say pointedly, knowing Caroline will understand I'm talking about my rape. Although Caroline and I have not compared details, I think I have a pretty good idea of the emotions a rape victim goes through, and I bet she feels the same.

“Yes,” she says with a sad smile. “Always wondering what I could have done to avoid it.”

“It haunted me for a long time.”

“Me, not so long,” she says matter-of-factly. “Beck wouldn't let me, and I made peace with it, especially after Ally was born. She was something so good that came out of something so bad, I had to believe that it was supposed to happen because I was supposed to have her.”

I duck my head, make pretense of rearranging my napkin on my lap so I can furiously blink my eyes, which are welling up with tears brought on by such a well-balanced and loving perspective. When I have myself under control, I look back up at her to find her staring at me with understanding and empathy.

Empathy that perhaps I didn't find peace as easily as she did.

“You know my original intention was to kill JT,” I say as I lean forward across the table and lower my voice. “I was going to torture him for the other attackers' identities, and then I was going to shoot him between the eyes.”

She blinks at me in surprise.

I nod. “Months ago, when I learned his identity…I had plotted to murder him.”

“Oh wow,” she mutters in dismay, but leans toward me to hear more.

“I had a gun in my purse and walked into a Sugar Bowl Mixer. I was going to entrance him and get him alone, then I was going to kill him. Simple as that.”

“But nothing is ever that simple,” she hypothesizes.

I give a short laugh. “Exactly. Beck North intercepted me and then sidetracked me, and then eventually made me realize it wasn't the way.”

“Well, I'm his sister, so you don't need to convince me how great he is,” she chuckles.

“No, I think I do,” I say urgently as I bend in closer and whisper. “He's out right now, disposing of murder evidence to protect me. I can't let this go on, Caroline. I need to go to the cops and confess what I did. Beck has been protecting me from the moment we met, but this is too much. Too dangerous. Risky. I can't let him put himself out there for me like that.”

Caroline leans back, crosses her arms over her stomach, and examines me in a shrewd manner. “You love my brother?”

“More than anything,” I breathe out in affirmation.

“Then you should trust in him,” she says simply, and then winks at me.

Before I can respond, Caroline's attention is caught by the waiter walking up to us. “Are you ladies ready to order?”

“I'm going to have the lobster roll with a side of fruit,” she says, and hands her menu over.

“I'll have the same,” I say, also giving up my menu, not having bothered to even open it. Food isn't high on my priority list.

Once the waiter turns to leave us, Caroline continues. “He's a smart guy, Sela. He's doing what's best, and yeah…while my initial gut instinct was to go to the cops, in hindsight I think this is right. You went to your rapist's house with a gun.”

“Because he invited me there,” I point out.

“And JT's going to confirm that to the police how?” she asks sarcastically, and then ignores my narrowed gaze because she's not playing along with me. While I wanted to come here and solidify the bond Caroline and I have as rape victims, my number-one priority is getting her on board with me to convince Beck I need to go to the police and put an end to all of this.

But she's not playing nicely.

“This is your brother we are talking about, Caroline,” I tell her harshly. “He could get in serious trouble. He as much as told me that they'll be looking closely at him because they always look to those closest to the victim.”

“But he didn't do it,” she points out. “There's no evidence tying him to the murder.”

“But—”

“Just let it go, Sela,” Caroline says softly. “I get why you feel the way you do. Trust me…Beck does too. But this is stressful enough without you constantly worrying about the correct course of action to take or second-guessing Beck. I'm telling you…let it ride. Give Beck this one and stand by his side now that the decision has been made.”

I want to argue. I want to argue until I'm blue in the face, until she agrees with me. Hell, just last night she thought we should go to the police. But now she's firmly in support of what's going down, and that was clearly evidenced by the way she jumped into action to help conceal the crime because her brother—her savior—asked her to. She's not going to change now.