Shit. I paused, hating to bare any part of me, but knew I needed to get her to confide in me. “I left you in that place when it was obvious you needed out.” I paused. “Then I heard you scream and I couldn’t get back. I fuckin’ couldn’t get back.” I closed my eyes for a second. “I don’t make mistakes often, but with you, I did. I won’t make the same mistake. I can’t. It’s against my code.”
Eyes downcast, she said, “I want to be alone.” I reluctantly released her from my arms, but I wasn’t leaving her alone like this. Fuck that.
“Not happening, babe. I leave you alone, you’ll disappear on me.” I saw the indecision in her eyes whether to trust me or not. She pinched the sides of her pants like I’d seen her do in the air duct when I first met her. Someone else did that—Delara.
“Tell me about Ryker?” I urged.
The energy around her rose again and I knew, whatever it was, it would eat her alive with panic. Without asking—because if I did, she’d only refuse—I grabbed her hand and pulled her close again.
It took a good two minutes, which was a hell of a long time when I was impatient as fuck, before she spoke.
“My husband’s men watched the house for months.”
“The Scar house? My house?”
She nodded, keeping her eyes downcast. “He had Roarke—”
“Who’s Roarke?” I interrupted. Fuck, I should just let her speak.
Her body tensed and I knew she was wondering how much she should tell me. Why she needed to protect anyone from that hellhole was beyond me. He’d be dead now anyway. No one survived Quill’s blasts.
“He worked for Anton. I don’t know exactly what he did though.” She took a breath and the trembling eased. “He watched the house for weeks, giving my husband reports on each of you. I don’t know what was in the reports, just that he decided on Ryker.”
“For what?” When she hesitated, I urged, “Ryker? What did they want from him?” Here I was grilling her after giving the others shit for wanting to, but fuck, this was for her, not for me or the Scars.
She shifted her feet. “He drugged Ryker heavily.” She swallowed. “Roarke had notes on Hannah. I had to…” I caressed her back in slow, gentle strokes. “I had to pretend I was her.” Jesus Christ. “They put me in her clothes, did my hair like hers and I learned to talk like her.” A tear escaped from the corner of her eye and landed on my T-shirt. “I made Ryker believe I was Hannah. The love I saw in his drug-filled eyes, his words…” Rayne drew in a ragged breath. “It calmed him when I was her,” she whispered.
“Why did your dickhead husband want you to be Hannah?”
“I made him use his abilities,” she said. Her eyes refused to look at me and her body flinched as she said the words. She was avoiding something. “It felt like I was raping him,” Rayne said. “I hated it. I hated looking at Ryker and seeing his confusion, pain, and then his love for Hannah, and I knew… I knew he’d never see her again.” I’m going to be sick. I hate this.
I tensed as her thoughts filtered into me.
“Please, I can’t face him again. I need to get out of here.”
“Babe, Ryker doesn’t hold you responsible, and neither should you.”
Why did I have this need to protect this woman? She was everything I despised—fearful, untrustworthy, submissive, and thin as a railroad track. Christ, she was an utter mess.
But I also saw courage. That determined look in her eyes when she’d held my knife to her throat, daring me to kill her three weeks ago. That flicker of rebellion when I told her to come downstairs and eat. The problem was, she had so many issues from living in that place. Issues I might never comprehend or be able to help her with.
“Kilter?” Rayne’s voice quivered.
“What?” Nicer, asshole. “Yeah, babe,” I corrected.
“Can you tell Ryker that I had no choice? That I’m sorry he lost Hannah.”
“Shit.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Yeah, sure. But you don’t have to worry about him. He’s here, but contained in a private room. You won’t see him.”
There was no question she was hiding something. Whether anyone could reach the depths of her mind where she lay entombed, I had no fuckin’ idea. What I did know was I’d protect her from ever getting hurt again. I owed her that for leaving her behind the first time.
A niggling thought of Gemma rose, and I quickly pushed it aside. This wasn’t about my fucked-up past. Rayne had nothing to do with my failure to protect Gemma.
“Can I go upstairs now?” she asked.
I felt an ache in my chest, something I hadn’t felt in years. “This isn’t a prison.”
As soon as I let her go, she ran for the door. I wanted to bring her back, demand she stop hiding. Fuck. I wanted her to fight, damn it.
“She’s not eating,” I shouted as I paced the length of the library two days later.
It was Keir’s domain with floor-to-ceiling cherry bookshelves. A Persian carpet lay underneath the large oak desk in the corner of the room. A laptop was open on the polished surface next to a framed picture of Anstice and Finn. Keir sat in the leather swivel chair behind the desk, his eyes on the computer screen.
Anstice leaned up against the rolling ladder, hands clasped together and her foot resting on the last rail.