Shame (Ruin #3) (2 page)

And that didn’t set well with me.

If Gabe even knew, he’d flip his lid.

“I’m not above embedding a GPS unit in every article of clothing you own, including your favorite Donald Pliner sandals.” He crossed his muscled arms and leaned against the back of the couch.

Sighing, I held up my hand walked over to the table and dug through my purse, pulling out my Taser and my Mace. “Happy?”

“Bad ass.” He nodded in approval. “Your Taser’s pink.”

“I’m a girl.” I shrugged my shoulders. “It seemed… happier.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “So the person you Taser laughs instead of pisses his pants? Killer. Good thinking.”

“Gabe.” I shoved everything back into my purse and chewed my lower lip. “I swear, I’m totally and completely fine. Just stressed about starting sophomore year and all.”

His blue eyes narrowed. “When did you cut your hair?”

My hands flew to my cropped black hair; I’d just recently cut it to my chin, hoping it made me look different than the most recent pictures of me. I’d added a few streaks of blue to the front too. Holy crap! I was turning into a freak from witness protection.

“Needed a change,” I lied. “What’s with the fifth degree, Gabe? You used to dye your hair all the time.”

“I was hiding.” He threaded a few pieces of hair through his fingers. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks.” I felt my face heat. “Now, is there anything else I can do for you,
Dad
, or am I free to take a shower and run to the student center to grab my textbooks?”

“Classes started last week.” Gabe frowned. “Why the hell are you still not getting your textbooks? If you flunk your classes, I’m going to be pissed.” He started pacing in front of me. “I mean, this is your future and—”

I couldn’t fight the smile as I crossed my arms.

“Shit, I do sound like your dad.”

“Pretty soon you’re going to be waiting on my couch with a shotgun when I go out on dates.” It was out before I could stop it.

“WHAT? You’re dating someone!”

“Whoa!” I held up my hands. “Easy! I’m not dating anyone, and do you really think I’d introduce them to you first? They’d probably pass out!”

“Please, I’m not that intimidating.”

My eyes took in his golden-blond hair, fully tatted-up body, and piercing blue eyes. “Right, not at all. What was I thinking?”

“Bitch.” He winked. “And if you do start dating, make sure you tell Wes so we can get a full background check on him.”

I shook my head. “Letting both of you at the guy would cause him to run in the opposite direction, and I’m pretty sure the point is to have him stick around. That is, if I can find one at this godforsaken school.” The lie fell easy from my lips. I hadn’t had any guy stick around; I wasn’t able to stomach it, not anymore.

“Flash ‘em.” Gabe nodded encouragingly. “It’s the only way.”

“Um, weren’t you just threatening to kill a guy for even dating me?”

“Solid point.” He cursed. “I’m stuck between being your friend and your dad. Not working, not working well, Lisa.” His eyes twinkled. “Now, if there’s anything I can fix, or do, or buy, or—”

“Go home to your wife.” I pushed him toward the door. “Tell Saylor hi, and remember we have dinner this Sunday night, alright?”

He groaned aloud. “Stupid Wes and his benefit dinners.”

“Stupid Wes and his benefit dinners that bring in money for the Pacific Northwest Group Home you own?”

Gabe paused. “Fine, see ya then. Love you.” He turned quickly and kissed my cheek.

I shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Trembling, I walked over to my backpack and dug out my mail. With shaking hands, I ripped open the letter.

Come out, come out, wherever you are! I know your secret, wanna know mine? —Anonymous.

“Stupid bastards.”

I ripped the letter in half and grabbed a granola bar before heading back down to the student center. A shower could wait. I needed my books.

The last time I’d been at the center I’d seen a guy I could have sworn looked like someone from my past.

I hadn’t seen him in a week, so I knew it was my imagination… after all… Taylor? The Taylor I knew was dead.

I would know… after all.

I’d killed him.

CHAPTER TWO

One night I asked her to trip one of the other models then throw food in her face. Mel hesitated, but only for a minute, before not only doing just that, but laughing and posting a picture to Facebook and The Site. When she came back, she asked, “How’d I do?”

I gave her a smug smile and said, “Better, you can do much better.” And then I kissed her. It was a hungry kiss, a possessive one. The demons laughed in my head as she embraced my neck, and I took everything she’d been willing to give. Every. Last. Drop. —
The Journal of Taylor B.

Tristan

M
Y FINGERS DRUMMED
along the dashboard of my truck as I waited by the student center for her to walk by. Students milled about, most of them laughing, talking on their cell phones, looking excited about the school year. Campus was extremely busy since classes were about to start. It was probably useless, waiting for her like this. Every time someone walked by, I leaned over my steering wheel to get a better look, only to be left disappointed. Irritated, I shook my head at myself. She had to get books at some point. After I scared her off earlier that week, I’d been monitoring her, asking around about her. The good news? I was university staff, so it didn’t look too creepy. It just sounded that way.

I groaned.

The university had given me a week to get adjusted from the sudden move, meaning, I hadn’t even taught my first class yet. Meaning, I should probably be preparing for class, but I couldn’t, not until I saw her again, not until I knew it was her. Should I be in my truck acting like an insane person? Negative. What I should have been doing was finishing off the syllabus for first semester.

But I’d always been a procrastinator, not that I’d ever tell my students that, especially since they always assumed someone as young as I, who had a doctorate, was crazy-smart and totally by-the-lines.

If they only knew.

I checked my cell. Maybe she wasn’t coming. I’d probably missed her. I rubbed my face with my hands and cursed myself for the fiftieth time that week.

I really should have kept my mouth shut, but instead I’d said her name, scared the ever-loving crap out of her, caused her to nearly fall over, and then run in the other direction.

Honest moment. That was the first time I’d ever had a girl run away from me, and I wasn’t so sure how I felt about it. The least I could do was apologize.

I snorted. Right, how would that go?
“Um, I’m sorry I look just like him?”
Or how about,
“I’m here because of you”?

Right.

That sounded totally sane. She’d laugh, I’d laugh, I’d ask her out to coffee, she’d say yes, I’d hand over all his stuff, tell her what I thought of her — what I really thought of her — and be on my merry way.

Stick to the plan, Tristan.

The plan only included a semester at UW.

A semester to find out the truth.

Even if it hurt her.

After all, she’d been a bigger player in the mess that was his life than I’d ever realized — until it was too late.

Without even knowing it, she had pushed him until he’d finally snapped and lost his mind. I still felt the overwhelming sense of guilt when I thought of him. He’d been nothing but a kid — both of them had been kids.

I wasn’t heartless; I understood that he was a monster in the making, if his notes were anything to go by; she should have run away rather than encouraged it. What type of girl stays in an abusive relationship like that? In my mind, she should have seen the writing on the wall. All I had to go off was the journal… the journal of a lunatic, and I was only halfway through that specific piece of evidence.

“Whatever. She’s not coming,” I said to myself then started my truck, just in time to see a flash of dark hair. Pausing, I watched, praying she would turn around.

And when she did, I swear I almost choked on my tongue.

Lovely.

She was absolutely lovely.

When she’d run off the other day, she’d looked a bit stressed, and her hair was longer then. Now it was short, elongating her neck, showing off her sharp chin, full lips, and gorgeous cheekbones.

My heart started hammering against my chest; my hand hesitated on the ignition. Did I approach her now? Soften her up? Would that even lessen the blow? The plan had been to befriend her at least. I fought between being angry at her and wanting to pull her into my arms and kiss her.

Whoa! Where had that errant thought come from? My internal response wasn’t expected; it had come out of nowhere, a protective need to jump out of my truck and touch her face.

She turned around and adjusted her sandal, bending over right in front of my parking spot.

I groaned aloud.

She wasn’t just lovely — she was freaking gorgeous, beautiful, a super model walking amongst a sea of boring faces.

In that moment, I wanted her to look at me. Desperately.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she fixed her shoe and continued on her way.

I watched her for five seconds, but the seconds felt like minutes ticking by. She licked her lips, tucked her hair, and looked behind her several times as if someone was following her. Then she looked in my direction, but not long enough to make eye contact.

It was enough, but I had a strange feeling I’d need to repeat the process, not because I needed to know the girl responsible for everything — but because I felt such loss when my vision cleared and she wasn’t in it.

Which was honestly the most messed up thing I could have ever thought. It was betrayal, pure and simple. She hadn’t ever been mine.

She’d been his.

The last thing I needed was to join the same downfall.

CHAPTER THREE

The demons clawed from the inside out, dying to be free. She entertained them for a while. Hell, she entertained me for a while, but in the end, it was never enough. The first time I told her I needed more, she panicked. I explained a man of my tastes couldn’t hold on to just one girl. When fear entered her eyes, I was so turned on, I almost hated myself, so I told her to strip in front of me and walk around the hotel naked in her heels. She did it, and when she finished, I told her to take pictures of herself and send them to three of the girls who had crushes on me, telling them that clearly I wasn’t interested if I had that. She did it. She did it all. And in the end, I rewarded her for it. But the emptiness remained. Even with my body sated, my mind wasn’t free. I was never free. —
The Journal of Taylor B.

Lisa

I
WAS ALREADY
late for class, thanks to another crazy note in my mailbox, and when I’d gone to the student center to change my PO again, the student assistant had rolled her eyes and told me that maybe I should just stop having a mailbox.

Right.

Stop having a mailbox.

Like a hermit who lived in the woods and shot rabbits. I’d given her the best smile I could manage and then resorted to pleading when she didn’t budge. My heart had been in my throat the whole time, my hands shaking. She’d seen me as an ungrateful nuisance; if she only knew how scared I was.

How scared I always was.

By the time we’d straightened everything out, I was already late for my Psychology of Emotion class. It was a sophomore-level class that I needed for my teaching major. In theory, it made sense that elementary ed majors had to take a lot of psychology, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

Psychology just reminded me how messed up I was — how messed up
he’d
been.

I pulled a granola bar from my pocket and sprinted with it in hand all the way to the Social Sciences building. By the time I made it, I was six minutes late, sweating, and pretty confident I’d inhaled at least two bugs. The granola bar had softened with my tight grip. I tore open the wrapper, scarfed it down in a few bites, and anxiously looked around the building.

Room 202. I glanced at each door and finally stopped in front of the right classroom. With a huff, I pushed the door open and froze.

Every eye turned to me. With a gulp, I self-consciously tucked a piece of short hair behind my right ear, allowing the rest of my hair to curtain across my hot face.

“You’re late,” a smooth voice said.

I chewed my lip and walked straight toward an empty desk. “Sorry,” I mumbled, scooting past two students and finally stopping to turn around. “It won’t happen ag—”

The professor tilted his head.

Words caught in my throat. I couldn’t speak, was finding it hard to breathe, and even though I told my body I needed to sit down and stop making a fool out of myself, all I could do was stare.

The professor cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he examined me with cold gray eyes. “You were saying?” His hair was a dark brown with pieces of copper sewn through. His skin, tan. He was… too young to be a professor, too pretty. And totally the same guy I’d run into the week before and freaked out over. Could my day get any worse? Clearly I’d overreacted when I’d first seen him; he looked nothing like Taylor. Taylor’s hair had been darker, his face harsher.

“It won’t happen again,” I squeaked, my voice high-pitched with nerves.

“Glad to hear it,” he snapped, turning away from me and grabbing a textbook. “Now, where were we before the interruption?”

The smart ass next to me raised her hand while simultaneously giving me a haughty stare.

Like I cared.

Puffing out my cheeks, I pursed my lips and blew out slowly, seeking calm that was proving elusive, as I pulled out my textbook and placed it gently on the desk.