Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) (11 page)

“I got that card,” he said quietly. It was one of the very few times he’d heard from her. “I wrote you back.”

She blinked, startled. “I never got anything.” Then she looked down. “But that doesn’t surprise me. I wouldn’t have even known there was a wedding going on if the invitation hadn’t been sent via special courier. The courier ended up finding me while I was out shopping. I never did anything but shop. The job contracts had stopped coming. That summer, we’d gone to Italy and I didn’t get registered for the upcoming school year … William acted like it wasn’t a problem—maybe I should just plan on learning the
other things
I’d need to know.” She paused and then muttered disgustedly. “What other things?
Shopping
? That was all I did. Twice a week, I’d go out, go shopping—I owned more clothes than I’d ever wear and I only went out just to
get
out.… William seemed to think it was cute and he liked it when I’d show off the clothes. Like I was a fucking doll. I’d go out of the house with his driver. who would walk me into the store and wait for me … and that was where the courier found me. In a damn store.”

A watery laugh escaped her and she looked at him. “Do you know what he said?”

Gideon just waited.

The anger, the horror, all of it was just as fresh now as it had been then.

“This guy tells me he’s been trying to speak with me for nearly a week. Whether or not I wanted to accept the letter, could I at least have the courtesy to sign that I’d refused delivery?” Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a breath, then another.

That night was the first time William ever struck her. She’d demanded to know why she hadn’t been told her sister had written to her, and he’d just backhanded her.

The next day while he was at work, she’d left. She’d just packed up her belongings and left.

Her first stop had been to file a police report. The officer had stared at her with such skepticism—then he asked if she was
sure
she wanted to do that.

William, after all, was quite the name in London, famous and well respected. He was a barrister and handled contracts for one of the most high-end fashion designers in the world. He often spoke out for human rights and was on the board of several well-known charitable organizations.

Surely he’d never strike a woman.

It took him less than a day to find the hotel where she’d registered. She’d refused to answer the door, but the next day, she was asked to leave.

He’d been waiting for her outside and he’d begged, pleaded with her to forgive him.

He just didn’t understand why she’d consider leaving, going back to a family who’d ignored her for the past few years, people who had never once bothered to call, people who didn’t even bother to send a Christmas card or a birthday card.

He’d struck at every vulnerability she had.

Why would you run back simply to attend a wedding? She only wants you there because it’s
proper
.

I’m the one who’s been here for you … I’m the one who loves you … I’m the only one who loves you.

“I stayed.”

*   *   *

Gideon was two steps from flipping over his desk, two steps from punching his fist through something.

This wasn’t the first time he’d listened to an abused woman tell her story. He heard it—too often—even here in this small town. Too many victims were never able to leave. Either they had no place to go or they felt like they had no place to go. The system too often worked against them, and in many cases it did just as much to protect an abuser as it did to protect the victim.
Well, he has rights.
Shit like that sometimes made him sick to even carry a badge.

But this was deeply personal. He’d known Neve for too long. Had sometimes held her when he’d find her crying, tears she rarely gave in to around anybody else. He’d been her self-appointed guardian since he was nineteen.

Gideon had been the one to find the car that night. He’d been on his motorcycle, speeding away from the McKay estate after yet another stolen night out in the pool house with Moira.

Although that night had been different.

That night, he’d made her his, just as she made him hers. It had been their first night together and he’d been satiated and all but glowing with the love he had for Moira McKay.

Knowing he wouldn’t sleep for a while, he’d pulled his bike over by the roadside and pulled out the cigarettes Moira hated. Because she hated them, he only smoked them at night, after he’d left her, knowing there would be time for the smell to fade before he saw her again.

As he stood there blowing smoke rings into the air, he’d heard the sound. Faint and soft in the velvety darkness, he almost hadn’t heard it at all.

But it had come again.

Broken and soft, like a kitten’s mewling.

He’d wheeled his bike around, pointing the single headlight toward the trees across the road from him, and he’d seen the car. Dread had crushed him from the very first moment, because he’d recognized the car, even upside down and mangled.

Somebody had driven by in that moment, and he’d almost gotten run down by the sheriff who practically lived to throw his ass in jail. Only the sheer terror in his voice had made Sheriff Jacobs listen to him.

The man’s fondness for donuts had allowed Gideon to reach the car well ahead of him. He’d gone to his knees to approach that mewling sound ripping at his heart. Then he’d seen her, curled up in a ball on the far side of the car by her mother’s body. Covered in blood. Her mother’s blood.

He’d never forget the way she’d clung to him as he pulled her out of the wreckage, and he knew he’d never forget how she looked now.

She’d been in trouble, all this time.

And not a fucking one of them had known.

“When did you leave?”

She was quiet for a long while and he started to think she was done talking. But finally, she turned from the window and came to sit down, her face pale, tired, and strained. She looked weary—the kind of weariness that came from carrying the weight of the world for far too long.

“Four years ago … three months. Six days.” She paused, and he had a feeling she was mentally calculating it even down to the hour. “After that first time, he didn’t raise a hand to me again for more than a year, and that was after I’d gotten home from meeting Brannon for lunch. He just … showed up. Brannon, I mean. He showed up at the door and I knew if I just shooed him away, he’d come back. If he came back when William was there, he’d…”

“He’d know,” Gideon finished for her when her voice trailed away. “Brannon would have known, and your brother would have killed the son of a bitch.”

Neve just looked away.

“Damn it, Neve, why didn’t you tell him then? He would have gotten you away!” Fury ripped through the professional distance he’d been trying to maintain. “If you realized that Brannon would care enough to kill the son of a bitch, then why didn’t you…”

He made himself stop when he saw the bruised look in her eyes.

“I can’t give you a reason. I barely even knew myself at that point.” Her voice was flat. “I can’t even explain it
now
. Except … there was too much of
him
inside me. Part of me believed everything William had been feeding into my head over the past couple of years. My only value was to
him
. He was the only one who was there for me.… I didn’t have anybody else. It didn’t matter that Brannon was there
then
. Nobody else had been there for years. They didn’t answer the few letters I sent—the birthday cards, nothing. And”—she blew out a rough, unsteady sigh—“I was afraid. William told me that if I left, he’d find me. I was his, after all. He’d always find me.”

The words were haunted. Her hands were fisted in her lap, so tight her knuckles pressed white against her skin. He heard her swallow in the silence and dread gripped him as she continued. “He was home before I was. I’d left Brannon at the restaurant. Picked a fight with him when he started pushing about why I hadn’t come home, when I’d
bother
to come home … It was getting late and I’d been waiting for something to chase him off with. That was the perfect reason. I threw one of my finest tantrums and raced off, left him there alone. And when I got home … William was there.”

She reached up, touched her cheek, trailing her fingers down it. Gideon could see the echo of memory in her eyes. Unable to sit still, he rose and moved to her, crouching down in front of her. He reached up, touched her cheek, angled her head to the side. There was no scar there but she tried to twist away. He didn’t let her. Instead, he continued his visual search. When he saw nothing, he pushed his fingers into her hair—there.

A long, thin line along the right side of her head, just above her ear.

“What happened?”

“He knocked me into a table.” Her voice was tight, but steady. “I don’t remember what else, but…” She sucked in a breath. “I couldn’t see well when I woke up—my vision was blurred and … my clothes were torn off. I hurt everywhere. I got dressed as best as I could, grabbed my purse, and snuck out the back door. The servants were all over—they called him at the drop of a hat. I called for a taxi but when the driver got there, I didn’t know what to tell him, where to go … he ended up taking me to the hospital.”

“Remember his name? If I’m ever in London, I want to buy him a drink.”

Neve smiled tiredly. “He died of a heart attack last year. But … yeah. He … um.” She rubbed the heel of her hand over her heart. “He was there waiting when they released me and he asked me what I was going to do. I didn’t know what he was talking about, told him to leave me alone. He took my hand, stopped me from leaving. Then he said something that probably saved my life. He said that maybe if somebody hadn’t left his mother alone, maybe she’d still be alive. Then he took me to a shelter for women and children, told me that if I let them, they could help me.”

*   *   *

Neve went quiet, thinking about Ned Satterfield. She’d gone to the shelter, told herself she’d stay a night. Just a night. She didn’t belong there, in a
shelter
of all places.

But in those faces, she saw an echo of her own. At least, the faces of those who’d
look
at anybody.

She’d become a woman who couldn’t stand to meet the eyes of another.

She had allowed William to
make
her into that woman.

It sickened her, shamed her, humiliated her.

She could have curled into a ball and just died, she was so ashamed.

Sometimes she still felt like that terrified, miserable excuse for a human.

She might have even stayed that way—if William hadn’t discovered where she was and forced her to act.

In the end, it had been William’s own arrogance, his own certainty that he could outmaneuver her that had pushed her to stand. “He threatened to have the shelter’s funding messed with.” She shrugged. “I … I still don’t know how the funding for things works in the UK, but he kept saying that if I didn’t leave with him he’d have the place shut down. He knew people, after all.” A tight smile curled her lips. With her arms wrapped around herself to buffer a chill only she could feel, Neve said softly, “
I
know people, too. He thought I was some weak little nobody. But I’m a McKay, damn it.”

Feeling Gideon watching her, she looked up and caught the glint of pride in his eyes. It made her blush. Jerking her gaze away, she swiped her damp hands down her jeans. “I called the family law firm. They’ve got contacts all over the place—I mean, we’ve got businesses, or at least partnerships, scattered from here to kingdom come. Short of contacting the Lord Almighty, I figured one of the lawyers would have an idea of what to do.”

“Wait a minute.” Tension underscored his voice. “You contacted one of the lawyers. Who was it?”

She didn’t let herself flinch as she responded. “Amy Jo McCarty.”

She watched as he rubbed his forehead, knowing a memory had surfaced. “You dated her for a little while when Moira and you were fighting.”

“I dated her to make Moira jealous,” he pointed out.

“Moira knew that. She laughed about it. Said Amy Jo had a laugh like a hyena and would drive you nuts.”

“She was right,” Gideon muttered. His eyes narrowed on her. “She’s like a hyena in court, too. All sharp and predatory. And if your sister learns you contacted
her
while you were in trouble, but didn’t call home? She’ll have poor Amy Jo begging for mercy.”

“Then don’t
tell
her,” Neve retorted.

“Fuck,” he half snarled, standing up to pace. He stopped at the window, hands braced on his hips. “So what happened?”

“I don’t know the specifics, but they had a barrister they knew in London step in, plus I made a donation to the shelter. The next time he came to the door, the head of the shelter laughed at him. I was in the doorway—I heard her.” Neve swallowed, recalling the look of sheer fury she’d seen on his face as he left. “He … left.”

“What happened after that?”

She closed her eyes. “Lots of things.” The scars under her shirt itched, burned, although she knew that was all in her head. They’d long since healed. Physically, at least. “I ended up getting an apartment close by. Started to volunteer there. I felt safe there. Or safer. They—the shelter—tried to get me to press charges. I wouldn’t. I was too afraid. But I didn’t go back to him. Wouldn’t. I started writing home a lot. Told Moira and Brannon what had happened—I kept waiting for them to show up. I wanted…” She stopped, waited for her voice to steady. “I kept hoping somebody would rescue me. Save me.”

Taut, uneasy moments passed and she spoke again just to break that silence, just to fill the empty, aching void that seemed to echo what she felt inside. “William was always there, every time I turned around it seemed. I finally did try to get a restraining order—his name, his family—everybody laughed at me. But then, one day, he came into a store where I’d gone. I was just grabbing something for my head—I had headaches all the time. He’d waited until I was in the back, tried to force me out the rear exit, covering my mouth, dragging me out even as I was fighting him. There were cameras. And a couple of guys were unloading a delivery truck—they chased him off. I got the restraining order and he left me alone for a while. I decided I’d leave London.” She smiled a little. “I moved north, went to Scotland for a while. Stayed in this pretty little village—Carrbridge. It was near the Cairngorms and I could see the mountains.” Wistfully, she sighed. “It was so beautiful … and peaceful. I worked in a pub in a ski town a few miles away. I was there for almost a year before…”