Behind the Secrets (Behind the Lives #4) (35 page)

“What did you say?”

Dante turned over at his brother’s
voice, seeing Ash staring down at him with wide eyes, a touch of fear colouring
them.

“Why did you yell for Chaz to stop?” Ash
asked. “And why didja say you weren’t me?”

Dante rubbed his eyes, still seeing the
images behind his eyelids, and still feeling the weight against his body. But
it was only in his mind—no more than a memory. No, it wasn’t a memory; it was
just a nightmare,
not
real,
not
having happened.

“Dante?!”

Dante looked up, seeing his brother’s
upset expression.

“Did Chaz touch you?” Ash asked.

Dante shook his head, again reminding
himself it was only a nightmare.

“Then why didja say that?”

“Because Chaz
did
hurt him,” Kara
cut in. “L told me that Dante confided in him about being raped.”

“It’s true,” a soft voice said.

Dante’s eyes shot to the redhead standing
in the doorway. “You know nuthin’ ’bout me, so don’t go spreading shit around.”

L pushed her long hair behind an ear. “I
know more than you realise, Dante. Do you remember talking to me at Claydon
Beach?”

He shook his head. “I only saw you at my
house.”

“And at the beach.”

A vague memory of drinking by the water
came to mind, and of the sweet redhead sitting next to him. He shook his head
again, needing to push it back into its box, where he could make it disappear
like all his other painful memories.

“When did Chaz rape you?” Ash asked.

Dante’s focus shifted to his brother. “It
didn’t happen.”

“When?!”

“It didn’t happen!” Dante pushed up and headed
for the door, stopping in front of L. “Get the fuck outta my way!”

Although she was shaking, she didn’t
budge. “You won’t be able to move forward if you keep denying your past.”

He glared at her. “You know nuthin’
’bout me, you li’l bitch, so stop pretending you do.”

“I’m not the one pretending. You need to
stop lying to yourself, Dante, or your secret will kill you, like mine almost
killed me. What happened to you wasn’t your fault; it was your stepfather’s.
You were too small to fight him. You couldn’t have stopped it anymore than I
could’ve stopped Ant from raping me.”

Dante clenched his hands. “It wuz just a
dream,
a fuckin’ dream!”

Despite looking scared, L kept her
ground. “Dreams don’t leave scars on your soul, and your soul is riddled with
them.”

A hand touched his shoulder from behind.
“Tell me the truth,” Ash said.

Dante spun around, his hands going to
his head. “Why do you all want me to remember? Why can’t I forget?! I don’t wanna
say it, it’ll make it real, and it’s not. It’s not!”

Ash pulled Dante to him, wrapping his
arm around him in a bear hug. Dante struggled to get free. Ash held onto him
tight. “I’m so sorry.”

Dante stopped struggling, not
understanding why Ash was apologising. He’d caused Ash’s pain by not speaking out
about his own, by keeping his ... rape a secret. A breath shuddered out of his
body, like a demon was escaping, his acknowledgement of the rape making it
real, taking away the block in his mind. Pieces of that night swirled around in
his head, no longer confined, his thirteen-year-old self begging for his
stepfather to stop. He started shaking, making Ash grip onto him tighter. Dante
buried his face into Ash’s shoulder, his heart broken, knowing he’d let
everyone he loved down. Ash, his mother, Beth, and now he was doing it to Kara.
God, he was even hurting Jade, the man like family. He was hurting them all,
because he didn’t want to admit what had happened ten years ago in his bedroom.

Like ripping a bandage off a festering
wound, Dante began talking, blurting it all out before he could bottle it up
again: “Chaz wuz so drunk he didn’t even remember what he did, didn’t have a
fuckin’ clue why I hated him so much after that night.”

“When did it happen?” Ash lowered his face
onto Dante’s shoulder, both of them taking comfort from one another, both
crying for all they’d lost.

Dante’s mind went to that day almost
eleven years ago. “You and the others went up north for Baba’s birthday,” he
said, mentioning their grandmother. “I wuz too sick to go, so Chaz stayed home
to look after me. He came into my room when I wuz sleeping, calling me your
name. I couldn’t tell anyone what he did to me, I couldn’t. No one would’ve
believed me, especially since I lied so much. They would’ve thought I wuz lying
to get rid of him. I tried to pretend it wuz a bad dream. After all, I wuz sick
and had a high temperature. I forced myself not to believe it, gettin’ it into
my head that it couldn’t have happened—
not to me
. Then he hurt you, and it
all came back. I couldn’t handle it, wuz tormented with guilt. Just to get
through the day I pushed it further back into my mind, too scared to tell
anyone, cos I could’ve stopped you from bein’ hurt if I’d just said sumpthin’.”
A sob escaped. “I don’t wanna remember, I don’t, I can’t, it hurts too much.
Why does everything hafta hurt? Now more people are gettin’ hurt.
Beth
.”
He let out a shuddering breath, wishing he could forget again, to forget
everything.

“This isn’t your fault,” Ash said.
“Others are responsible,
not
you. Stop blaming yourself for everything
when
you’re
the victim.” Ash pulled back and cupped Dante’s face. “Also,
don’t blame yourself for what happened to me, you were a kid. Christ, Dante,
you’ve had no support like I have. You’ve lived all these years with this
debilitating secret, blaming yourself for sumpthin’ you didn’t cause. Please
don’t do this with Beth’s accident, too.”

Dante dropped his gaze, unable to let it
go.

“Look at me.”

Dante shook his head.

Ash lifted Dante’s chin, forcing him to
look up. “Stop. Blaming. Yourself.”  He pulled Dante into another hug, holding
him tight. “I can’t stand seeing you like this. You’re killing yourself, which
is killing me. I love you, brother. I need you to live.”

Dante felt someone else wrap their arms
around him. He turned his head, seeing Kara, his woman in tears. His eyes moved
to a different person’s touch. Jade’s. The small guy was crying too, nothing
but sorrow in his eyes. Instead of yelling at him not to touch him, Dante
buried his face into Ash’s shoulder again, feeling another hand settle on his
back. He knew it was L without even looking. Everyone was here for him, and he needed
them all, because without a doubt, the next few months were going to be some of
the hardest he was ever going to face, and he wasn’t strong enough to survive
them alone.

29

Corey

Three months later

Corey’s father pulled the bed sheet up
to Beth’s neck, Corey’s once beautiful sister looking deathly thin. Her cheeks
were hollowed, while her belly was flat from the caesarean, Beth having given
birth to a healthy seven pound baby girl.

Corey’s mother handed Beth’s baby over
to Ash, who took the little bundle into his arms, the normally rough man gently
cradling his newborn child to his chest. He straightened and looked down at
Beth. “I will be the best father I can be for our daughter.” His gaze moved
across the hospital bed to Dante, who was sitting next to Corey, holding Beth’s
hand. “Lily is your child as much as mine, brother. Just remember that.”

Dante nodded at Ash, his face grief-stricken.
The birth of Lily Beth Rata wasn’t a day of celebration, because they were
going to lose Beth. One life entering the world—another leaving it.

Ash turned to Beth’s mother and father.
“My grandparents are very important to me; I would like you to be just as
important to Lily. If you want to visit her, don’t hesitate in coming over.
You’re now part of my family.”

Corey’s mother reached up and touched
his arm, tears flowing down her cheeks. His father nodded at Ash, then turned
back to Beth, taking hold of her other hand.

Ash left the room, whisking Corey’s
niece away, leaving behind Corey, his parents, Dante, and Josie, along with her
own parents. Corey’s uncle and auntie were framing his cousin, both of them
holding one of Josie’s hands. She had her shoulders hunched over, looking so frail
and tiny. She’d lost a lot of weight since she was viciously attacked by the
man Saul had killed. Not only that, she had a prominent scar running down her
right cheek, which right now was covered in tears. Josie’s attention moved to
him. He nodded at her, even more determined to testify against Ant Torres,
wanting the psycho to pay for everything he’d done to his family. He just
needed to keep lying to Ant until the trial, making sure the psycho didn’t know
he was going to take the stand...

...but he was, no matter how much it terrified
him.

Corey’s mother started sobbing. “I can’t
do it, I can’t.” She went to get up, but Corey’s father grabbed her, pulling
her to him. She shook in his hold, her agony killing Corey even more. Tears
flowed down his own cheeks, Corey not even trying to stop them. He couldn’t
even if he wanted to, the grief and loss he felt overpowering, his big sister
soon to be gone from his life.

Pushing to his feet, he walked around to
the other side of the bed and placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder, wishing
Naf was here, his brother still missing. His family had lost so much in the
past year—too much. “I’ll do it, Mum.”

She looked up at him, her expression tortured.
“I don’t want you to. I don’t want to lose her.” She started crying again, her
body shaking violently. “She’s my baby, my little girl.”

Corey’s father turned her face towards
his chest, his expression a mask of sorrow. He nodded at Corey, a sign to do
what needed to be done, Beth’s soul already gone, only her heart beating weakly
in her chest.

Corey
turned to his sister. “I love you, Beth.” He bent down and kissed her on the forehead,
his tears falling onto her face. He straightened and reached for her life
support machine, switching it off.

THE END

BEHIND
THE BARS

1

Saul

Saul shifted the barbell to his left
hand, working his bicep. Behind him a fellow prisoner continued talking, making
him wish he could ram the barbell into the bigmouth’s pie-hole. Instead, he continued
pumping the weight, not wanting to get an even longer sentence. He’d been
convicted of manslaughter, his lawyer managing to get him off the murder charge.
Although it
had
been murder, because he’d had every intention of killing
Morris, something he didn’t regret, the prick getting what he deserved.

“Why are you in the secure wing?” the prisoner
asked, referring to the small prison area housing them. It had ten cells, which
framed a common room—where they hung out for most of the day, pumping weights,
reading, eating, and not much else, Saul already going stir crazy. He’d heard
that they got time outside, but were under lockdown at the moment due to a riot
in gen pop, aka, general population.

“C’mon, mate, you might as well spill
the beans, ’cause I’ll eventually find out,” the prisoner said. He was a thin
bastard, with enough teeth to fill a horse’s mouth.

Saul ignored him.

“My guess is you’re the cop the prison
guards have been talking ’bout. They said we were getting one in ’ere.”

Saul continued pumping the weight, not
saying a word. He’d been transferred back to Auckland after two inmates had
tried to kill him in the Christchurch prison. He’d knocked them both out, but
not before they’d stabbed him in the side. He’d spent a month in hospital, the shank
having done a lot of damage. After he’d recovered, they’d shifted him to
another prison, one back in his home town.

The prisoner babbled on, not missing a
beat. “Yeah, you’re the cop, all right. You don’t look soft like the other
pricks in here.” He pointed to a blond man, who was brushing his fingers
through his hair. “Marty over there is in for ripping off pensioners.” He
shifted his finger to an average-looking guy, who was sitting at the common
room table, reading a book. “While Phelps is in for getting too cosy with some
kids, and last but not least, the bruiser doing a CSI on you is a dirty prison
guard. He got busted for bringing in drugs and other contraband. And don’t
think you’re special; he stares at all of us. He totally wigs me out.”

Saul’s eyes moved to the man, who was
leaning against the wall just outside his cell, paying him and bigmouth far too
much attention. He was about Saul’s height, just with less muscle, but a much
harder face, the guy looking more like a thug than someone who’d once held
authority.

Saul grimaced at him and resumed pumping
his barbell, knowing he needed to keep an eye on the prick, the dude looking
dodgy.

Bigmouth continued talking, “...while
I’m in here ’cause I narked on the King family.”

Saul stopped pumping, now interested.
“You know Sarah Spader?” he asked, wondering whether the guy had helped her
take down the Kings.

“Yeah.” He grimaced. “That bitch did the
dirty on me. She promised to get me off and look where I am...” he spread his
arms, “living in Shanksville. That bird deserves to get smashed over for what
she did to me. I would so...”

Saul grabbed the guy’s shirt and yanked
his face close to his. “She’s my best friend.”

The guy’s eyes widened. “I’m full of
shit, man, totally full of it. My arse ain’t below, it’s up ’ere.” He pointed
to his mouth. “If I breathe on you you’d smell shit, and I don’t blame her for
leaving me high and dry, I really don’t. I deserve it for being such a
dumbarse. And I would never hurt her; I don’t smash birds, I’m all talk and no
action, not only that I’d be signing my death warrant if I touched Ace King’s missus.
He may hate her now, but I’d end up fish food if I touched even one blonde hair
on her head.”

Saul pushed him away and resumed pumping
the barbell. “I don’t want to hear another word from you, unless you don’t want
to keep your tongue.”

The guy scurried away from Saul, finally
giving his ears some much needed rest.

The door on the far side opened. A
prison guard stepped through the opening, yelling, “Mitchell!”

The prisoner who’d been talking to Saul
answered, “What do you want, screw?”

“You have an appointment with the doc.”

“What for?”

“A check-up, so move your greasy arse, I
don’t have all day. Marty and Phelps, you losers need to come too.” The guard
paused as they filed out. “Oh yeah, Johnson, I almost forgot about you. Out.”

Saul stopped pumping the barbell and
looked up as the ex screw disappeared through the doorway, leaving only him and
the prison guard, the situation setting off alarm bells in his head. Hiding the
barbell behind his back, he rose to his feet, his eyes locked on the guard. “Why
am I the only one left behind?” he asked, hoping like fuck this wasn’t what he
thought it was.

“Dead men walking don’t need medical
check-ups,” the guard said, backing out of the room.

Three bruisers pushed past him, their orange
pants and white singlets telling Saul they were prisoners from gen pop.

The guard shut the door behind them,
locking Saul in with the goons.

The first bruiser headed for him,
grinning from ear to ear. “We have a message for you from Ant Torres, copper.
Eat shit and die!” He launched himself at Saul.

Saul whipped the barbell around,
smashing it against his head. The bruiser collapsed to the floor, either dead
or unconscious, either way Saul had one less bastard to fight.

The other two approached him more
cautiously, coming in from different angles. Saul threw the barbell at the closet
one, then spun around, throwing a punch at the other prisoner. But the guy shot
to the side, landing a punch against Saul’s cheek. Saul went with the blow,
lessening the impact. Another punch came his way. He ducked and launched
himself at the prisoner, wrapping his arms around the man’s wide torso. He drove
him backwards into the wall, letting go just before impact. The man’s head
bounced off the hard surface, a loud crack accompanying it. He dropped to the
floor, out like a light.

Saul turned his full attention to the
remaining bruiser, knowing his mate wasn’t going to be getting up.

With a sneer, the prisoner removed a
shank from his pants. He was bigger than the other two, with a belly the size
of a basketball. “I’m not so easy to take out, copper.”

In a blur, he slashed out at Saul’s face,
moving fast for a man of his size. Saul jumped to the side, barely avoiding the
shank’s jagged edge. He went for the man’s wrist, intending on breaking it. The
bruiser yanked the shank back, slicing it across Saul’s forearm. Not feeling
it, Saul dropped to the floor and swept his attacker’s feet out from under him,
the adrenalin rushing through his system acting like cocaine, wiping out all
pain. The bruiser landed hard on his back, dropping the shank. Saul swiped it
up and kicked the prick in the balls. The man yelled out in agony and curled up
into a foetal position, Saul’s boot probably doing some serious damage.

Saul sneered down at him. “Looks like you
were
easy to take out.” He bobbed down and placed a hand on the man’s
head, jamming it hard against the floor. “Tell Ant if he sends any more of you
losers my way I’ll make sure my mates come after
him
.”

“Cops won’t do shit,” the bruiser
gritted out, his voice pained.

“They’re not cops, they’re cartel
connections. Your boss forgets I was his father’s right-hand man for a long
time.
Not only that, I’m owed a lot of favours. Maybe I’ll collect on a few of them. Do
you have loved ones on the outside? No, don’t tell me, my
mates
will
find out.”

“You’re bluffing!”

“I’m in here for killing one of Ant’s
goons. I also wouldn’t be surprised if those two morons you came with are dead.
Do you think that sounds like someone who’s bluffing?” Using the bruiser’s head
as leverage, he pushed up, intending on giving him one more kick. The main door
burst open, stopping him.

The prison guard reappeared, aiming a
gun at Saul. “Drop the weapon or I’ll shoot!”

Saul dropped the shank and raised his
hands. His eyes widened as the guard fired off a shot, hitting him in the
shoulder. He staggered back, getting another bullet in the chest, sending him to
his knees. The guard stalked towards him, aiming the gun at Saul’s head. Saul fell
forward, out cold before he could shoot.