Shattered - the Secret Life of Trystan Scott #4

  SHATTERED

  The Secret Life of Trystan Scott

  Vol. 4

  H.M. Ward

  www.SexyAwesomeBooks.com

  Laree Bailey Press

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by H.M. Ward

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

  Laree Bailey Press

  First Edition: March 2013

  SHATTERED

  The Secret Life of

  Trystan Scott

  Vol. 4

  CHAPTER 1

  ~MARI~

  I run. I run out the front door of my house sobbing. I don’t know what I think or what I need. I just know that I want Trystan, but when I get to his house, something’s wrong. When Trystan pulls the door open, it seems like he is going to walk out, which is strange since he’s not wearing a shirt and his hair is damp. I glance at his face—his blue eyes are wild. They’re too big, like he has no idea what to do, like I’m the last person he expected on his doorstep.

  Trystan hesitates. He looks over his shoulder with panic in his eyes. He tells me to leave in a rush of air. I can hardly make out the word. My heart is pounding. My skin prickles. Something is wrong, but I don’t understand. Before I have a chance to ask, someone slams into Trystan. The door snaps shut as their bodies collide and fall into the wall.

  I scream. My hands fly to my face as the sound rips out of the back of my throat. Someone is hurting him. Now it makes sense. Now the look on his face, the fear in his eyes, means something. Trystan was going to run out the front door, but I was standing there blocking his way. If he tried to run past, whoever is fighting with Trystan could have come after me instead.

  Trystan threw himself in the middle. He knew someone was behind him.

  Glancing around frantically, I try to figure out what to do. I’m tiny. I can’t do anything, but I know what I saw. Someone is hurting Trystan. I pull my cell phone from my pocket and call 911. I’m not even sure what I’m saying. I repeat myself and say the name of the condo unit one more time. They ask me too many questions. They try to keep me in place, but I can’t just stand there. I put the phone down without hanging up. They can find me.

  That’s when things get worse. I hear Trystan’s voice through the front window. It’s a strangled yelp and then a crash. Glass shatters inside the house. Horrors are taking place behind that door. My heart thumps in my chest so furiously that I think it might crack my ribs. My muscles tense. Every part of me knows that I’ll get my ass kicked—maybe worse—if I walk through that door, but I have to. I can’t leave him in there. I can’t wait for the police. Trystan needs me. Someone’s hurting him.

  I can’t just stand here and cower. But I have nothing to fight with. I glance around and see a busted up brick in the parking lot. I run and grab it. Then, I do the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life—I open the door and go inside.

  The sight makes me stop in my tracks. My mouth gapes open. A man in a white dress shirt has Trystan by the throat and is pressing him into the wall. Trystan’s hands are wrapped tightly around the man’s wrists. Every muscle in Trystan’s body is corded tight, like they could snap at any second. His face is a mixture of pain and terror, and is the wrong color. He can’t breathe. Trystan doesn’t see me. The other man doesn’t hear me. He’s screaming at Trystan, blaming him for something that I can’t understand. Every time the man screams, he shoves Trystan back into the wall, harder and harder, choking him.

  Rage courses through my veins. My muscles tense and I don’t think. I feel the rock burning a hole in my hand. I feel the pull toward the man’s back, as if the broken brick wants to collide with his head. I launch myself across the room and swing my arm. My hand comes down hard and the brick slams into the man’s head. But, I realize my mistake too late. I’m too short, too weak. I didn’t hit him hard enough.

  Instead of falling to the ground, the man drops Trystan to the floor and rounds on me. His eyes burn like acid, overflowing with hatred. I know I’m going to die. The way he looks at me, the way his hands float up so slowly, makes every hair on my body stand on end. I slide one shoe back. My senses are all hypersensitive, but it doesn’t help. I know what he’s going to do. I see him coming toward me, slowly fixating his focus on my neck. I know he wants to snap me like a twig. My lips are parted, but I can’t speak. Someone has stolen my voice.

  “What the fuck gives you the right to attack me in my own home?” His voice is like gravel and nails. Venom is laced thickly through every word. His shoulders are hunched forward like he’s ready to pounce and bury me in the ground.

  My heart hammers harder. I don’t understand. I blink, even though I don’t want to take my eyes off the man. “You were hurting him.” The words come out of my mouth in a huff of air as though he’s already choking me.

  “It’s none of your damn business what I do to him.” The man’s jaw shifts back and forth. He steps toward me and grabs my wrist. I scream and he shoves me back into the wall. I claw at my arm, at that one wrist that he has pinned, but I’m not strong enough.

  The man hisses in my face, “He’s my kid, not yours. I should break your hand for this. You came into my home and attacked me. No one would blame me, you know. No one would know what happened here. They’d say you were lucky that I didn’t shoot you.” He twists my wrist slowly, twisting it farther and farther.

  My heart pounds frantically, as pain shoots up my arm. I try to pull away from him, but I can’t. I scratch at his hand, the one holding me, and kick his shins, but he just laughs. It’s like I’m a fly. I can’t do anything to stop him. Fear makes my body shake. He smiles like he’s enjoying hurting me, like he’ll really do it.

  I freak out. My brain snaps. Trystan is battered and bloody on the floor and this lunatic is his father. This is the person responsible. Before I know what I’m doing, my mouth lands on his shoulder and I bite. He screams and throws me back. The floor hits me hard and I roll onto my side. There’s no time—there’s no time to run or crawl away. Before I can blink, his foot connects with my stomach. Pain shoots through me as tears burst from my eyes. A raw scream rips from my throat. I try to curl into a ball, but the man doesn’t stop. It’s like he can’t stop, like he has to finish this. I scream louder as the foot comes at me again, but it doesn’t connect.

  Trystan is yelling, his voice is mangled, but I still understand him. “Don’t touch her!” He’s standing. There are angry marks around his neck and his lip is split. A trail of blood runs down his cheek. That wound from the other day, the one that Tucker was upset about, opened up.

  Tucker. Tucker knew something was wrong. My eyes dart to Trystan. His dad has been beating the shit out of him. I didn’t know. Horror washes over me in a frigid wave. How did I not know?

  Trystan’s dad has a strange look on his face. I get to my feet even though my middle feels like it’s been smashed to bits. Trystan stands between us. His shoulders are tense, corded with muscle, ready to fight. I don’t breathe. I can’t. Everything happens so quickly, but it feels like forever, like we’re moving through a vat of Vaseline.

  Trystan’s dad takes a swing at his son. Angry words come pouring out of his mouth and his fist follows. Trystan remains between us, dodges the hit, and swings his arm straight up. Trystan’s fist connects under his dad’s jaw. The punch is solid. The man’s bones make a cracking sound be
fore he gets a strange look on his face and falls backwards. His body hits the floor.

  Trystan stands over his father, breathing hard, his fingers still clenched into a fist. Neither of us moves. Trystan’s shaking, looking at his hand like he’s some kind of monster. When he turns back to me, I nearly die. His expression is horrible. All the anguish is plainly painted across his face for me to see.

  We both stare at each other for a second. It feels like time stops, but in a bad way. I finally remember I have feet and lunge at him, throwing myself into his arms. Trystan’s chest is slick, covered in sweat. I feel every muscle in his body as he wraps his arms around me. He buries his face in my hair and we stay like that until the lights and voices tear us apart. Trystan releases me and looks up confused. Their words sound like far away echoes. They say to drop to the floor, to let go of me. Neither of us moves. We both shiver as the men run at us. One pulls me from Trystan, while the other knocks him to the floor and pulls his arms behind his back.

  A police officer speaks to me. “Are you all right? Are you the one who called? Miss…” he continues to talk, but I’m shaking. I can’t understand why they’re hurting Trystan. I can’t understand anything.

  I blurt out, “He didn’t hurt me! That man did. What are you doing?” I try to pull away from the cop, but he keeps me back. More police are there. Another cop car. They say that I should calm down. They ask my name, my parent’s names. They want to know what happened, if I’m all right. But I can’t speak, they don’t listen when I tell them that Trystan is hurt. They pull Trystan away from me and I can’t see him. It feels like there’s a foot on my chest and I can’t breathe.

  CHAPTER 2

  ~TRYSTAN~

  Something inside of him snapped this time. When Trystan saw Mari fall and his father’s foot connect with her stomach, his brain broke. Red hot rage ran behind his eyes, blinding him. Before Trystan knew what happened, his father was on the floor. He remembers the steps toward his dad. He remembers the way it felt when his fist collided with the old man’s jaw. Maybe dad deserved it. Maybe, but that isn’t the emotion rolling over his skin. Trystan looks at his hand, still clenched tight. That fist. Oh god. He didn’t want to fight back. Fighting back makes it worse. Fighting back makes him like his father. Trystan’s stomach twists as he stares at nothing.

  After a moment, he sees her—Mari. She moves toward him. Shame covers him like a thick blanket. He didn’t defend her fast enough. He didn’t prevent this. He should have. When Mari falls against him, Trystan pulls her to him, touching her back and lacing his fingers through her hair. He saw the kick and knows how much she hurts. Trystan is careful not to make it worse, but he doesn’t want to let go. Closing his eyes, he buries his face in her hair and breathes. It seems like hours pass this way.

  His life is so fucked up, so far beyond repair—and Mari walked straight into it. She saw him when he opened the door, but she didn’t run. Mari came inside. She must have done something after he blacked out. The last thing Trystan remembers is his father’s fingers around his throat and the liquid fire filling his lungs.

  Then, Trystan opened his eyes and the world was on its side. Mari was on the floor. It was too much. Trystan was too late. He didn’t save her. He walked her into this mess, led her straight into it.

  Mari’s hands are warm and hold onto him tightly. She doesn’t hold back. It isn’t until the cops arrive that they part, and it isn’t willingly. Before Trystan knows what’s happening, he’s forced to the floor with a knee in his back. They say things to him, but the pain is making it hard to focus. He can’t swallow. His entire throat burns and aches at the same time. It’s like his neck was in a vice, but it wasn’t. It was in his father’s hands.

  They pull Trystan up and drag him into the kitchen. The wall blocks his view of Mari. Anger is coursing so wildly through his body that he can barely control it. The cops ask him questions, but he can’t really speak. Each word is like a nail through his throat. The only things he can manage is, “It’s not her fault. I did this.” They shove paper at him. Trystan knows better than to write anything down. He shakes his head.

  “Don’t be a dumbass kid. Write down what happened.” The cop pushes the paper back at Trystan, but he doesn’t take it. “You’re old man beat you one too many times. We know this story kid. The girl showed up and tried to help. Things got out of hand. I know how this goes. Tell us something.” But Trystan is quiet.

  The cop glances through the doorway to the cops in the other room. He shakes his head once, and turns his attention back to Trystan. Another cop comes into the room. He’s shaking his head, like he can’t believe Trystan’s so stupid.

  “Are you a minor, kid?” the new cop asks. Trystan shakes his head and wishes he didn’t. It makes his head throb more. He mutters curse words under his breathe and looks back at Trystan’s dad who is still lying on the floor.

  A few minutes later the paramedics arrive. Trystan doesn’t want them to look at him, but the cops insist. There’s no way to pay for this, but they look him over anyway.

  They tell Trystan that he’ll be all right. They tell him that his father is awake and unharmed, but they are taking him in anyway. They repeat a question, “You sure you didn’t pass out? Not even for a second?”

  Trystan mouths no. He lies. He isn’t going to the damn emergency room. Trystan knows exactly where he’s going as soon as the paramedics leave.

  “Kid, we’re going to have to bring you to the jail if you don’t go with them. Blacking out would be normal. It’s nothing to do with how much of a man you are.” The cop looks at him. He doesn’t understand. It isn’t blacking out. It’s that his private life is suddenly exposed. All those years of misery are out in the open. The only thing Trystan wanted was to get through the next couple of months and then go out on his own. This wasn’t part of the plan.

  Mari appears in the doorway. “I’m not pressing charges.” Trystan perks up in his chair, but the cop places a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. There are two officers with Mari, walking her out to the car. She screamed the words as she passed by.

  Trystan says, “But her father will.”

  “Smart boy. Come on. Let’s get going. You’re going to have a long night.” The cop gestures for Trystan to stand and hold out his wrists. Cold metal bites into Trystan’s skin when the handcuffs tighten. He blinks slowly, wondering how he ended up with this life.

  CHAPTER 3

  ~MARI~

  Tear stains streak my cheeks. When the cop car pulls up in front of my parent’s house, I nearly die. One of the officers goes ahead to the door, while the other one fishes me out of the backseat.

  “They aren’t home,” I say.

  The two cops look at me. They’re both young with no wrinkles around their eyes. One has dark skin and the other one is so pale that he’s practically glowing. They’re like a law enforcement ying-yang.

  The pasty guy asks, “Where are they?”

  “Work,” I say. They’re always at work. And if these guys call them, I’m going to get my ass handed to me. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t my fault. “My dad’s a surgeon. My mom’s a nurse. Is there any way you could take care of this with them in the morning?” They both shake their heads. I reach for the door and stick in the key. “Fine, come inside.” I keep talking as I walk in. They follow me. Their heads swivel on their shoulders as they take in the house. Everyone does that. It’s too posh, too pretty. It’s a status symbol in the extreme.

  “Do you want coffee or something?”

  “No, thank you, Miss,” the cop with the super-tan says. His name is Marcello. I squint to read it on his chest. “We’ll just wait for your parents. What time do you expect them?”

  “In the morning. They both work the night shift.” I quickly add, “And if you call them, and I’m not dead, I will be when they get home.” I can’t say more. I hope to God that they understand what I mean and take me seriously.

  The pasty cop furrows his brow. He steps toward me. �
��Is someone hurting you here?”

  I say nothing. I just stare at them. No one is hurting me. No one is ever here. It’s not like what Trystan was enduring. My God. My stomach clenches thinking about him, about the pain in his eyes. He hid it from me all these years. There were times he seemed off, but I couldn’t figure him out. Now I know why. I feel sick.

  Pressing my lips together, I ask, “What’d you do with Trystan?”

  “He’s been taken in for questioning. They should let him go, because of what it is. You’re the wild card in this equation. Your parents need to be notified. If they want to press charges, we’ll be forced to comply.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask looking at both of them. “Why would they press charges?”

  Marcello takes a deep breath. His eyes shift and he looks at his partner. Neither of them wants to tell me, but they both know the answer. “Just be glad things didn’t get worse, okay. And stay away from that complex. There’s some low-life scum in that part of town.”

  “Trystan’s not like that,” I say, automatically defending him. “He’s a good guy. His dad beat the shit out him.”

  Marcello doesn’t want to say it. His eyes shift to the side and then back to me. “Listen, kid. Guys like that don’t get second chances. His dad may have been the one that messed him up, but there’s no saving him. You understand? There’s nothing left to save. He’s already gone. Stay away from guys like that if you want to be happy.”

  The cop stares at me like I’m his little sister, like he’s remembering something. He blinks and looks away. His partner is at the door. They’re leaving to find my parents. I hope to God that my parents aren’t at work—that somehow they fail to be notified—because I know how this will end. My throat constricts and my heart pounds harder. I say nothing else. They nod and leave. Once again, I am alone.