Love the Way You Lie (Stripped #1) (18 page)

“Go back to sleep,” she says, and something cool and soft brushes over my forehead. It feels important, her saying that. It feels important the way she’s taking care of me, keeping me safe. Isn’t that my job?

Safe.

I have to make sure she’s safe. I fight against the water, but it’s so heavy and thick. The only things I can see are a sterile white ceiling. The only thing I can smell is the sharp tang of cleaning solution. I’m in a hospital bed.

“Everything’s fine.” Her voice is soothing. “Just rest.”

But I can’t rest if I’m worried about her. I could never rest.
So tired.
“Are you okay?” The words are still garbled but she answers me.

“I’m fine. And you are too. We made it out okay, because of you.”

Only then can I relax again. Only then can I breathe.

It’s like breaking the surface, coming up for air.
Safe.

Her hand grasps mine, warm where I’m cold. I soak in her heat, basking in the rays of her. “I know you’re hurting,” she says softly. And even in my delirium I know she isn’t just talking about the physical pain. She’s talking about every cold glance on my body and every cruel word. She’s talking about being afraid. And I am afraid, just not for the same reasons I was before.

“Kip?” I ask, my voice rough.

“He’s not here right now. If you wait a minute I can—”

But the pull of the drugs and the pain and the tiredness are too strong. They drag me under, like an anchor tied to my ankles. I sink to the bottom, barely aware. I only know one thing. I may have lost Kip. I may not have ever really had him. But I have Clara back.

I set her free.

I
wake up
like coming up for air—suddenly and with a jolt. I’m upright in a bed, and there’s an ache in my side. The bullet. Byron.
Kip.

It comes back to me in a rush, and I lie back down in the bed.

Close my eyes.

Wish I could be asleep again.

That ship has sailed. I peek one eye open and look around at the pale yellow curtains and the painting of ballet dancers on a barre. The floor is the color of cinnamon, the walls a soft taupe. The elements of the room chatter together, that’s how it feels. They’re friends and confidantes of each other, and my presence here feels intimate, not intrusive.

I’m not sure how much time passes like that, drifting, communing with doorknobs and drywall. I turn my head and face the window—and then I see it. Silhouetted by the orange glow is the Madonna from our motel room.

“Clara,” I whisper.

Something moves from the corner of the room.
Kip.

My head is still a little woozy from whatever drugs I have in me, but I would recognize him anywhere. Even though he looks rougher for the wear, his eyes shadowed, his scruff darker. He’s blinking away sleep just like I am, except he was on a hard chair in the corner, and I was on the bed.

“You’re up,” he says, his voice gruff. “It’s time for another dose.”

“No.” I shake my head, ignoring the pain even that small movement causes. My hand is aching and bandaged. My side is on fire. “No drugs.”

His expression is stern. “It’s medicine for the pain. You can take two pills every six hours, and it’s been—”

“I don’t want it. At least, not right now.” I have to speak slowly, carefully, but I’m gaining more focus with every word I say. I have hazy memories of a hospital bed with thin sheets and a warm, strong hand holding mine. I remember being discharged and coming here… Has he been taking care of me?

It’s all too unreal, like something I dreamed instead of lived. That’s the drugs.

He doesn’t look thrilled about the deviation from my schedule. “You’re in pain,” he says flatly.

“I’ll live.”

No smile either. “Honor—”

“Oh, I’m Honor now? I thought you liked me better as Honey.”

Pain flashes over his face. “You were shot a week ago. You need rest. You need to take your pills.”

A week? How many more days will I lose if I swallow more pills? No. No more delays. I went too long without knowing the truth. Especially the truth about him. I can deal with a lot of bad things. Hell, everyone has a past. Including me. But I need answers now. I need to know.

“Where’s Clara?”

He meets my gaze. “She’s here. She’s safe.”

Relief is cool and wide, an open space so I can breathe again. “And she’s your sister?”

His eyes are solemn. “Yes.”

So what does that make us? “Tell me everything.”

He runs a hand through his hair and blows out a breath. “Okay. That’s fair. But before I tell you that…” He paces away and comes back. “Just know I’m not proud of what I did. Maybe I had my reasons. Like being a selfish bastard. That’s a reason. But I’m not proud.”

I already feel sick to my stomach just thinking of it, and I’ve only been conscious for a few minutes. “You told me the story of how the tiger got his stripes. Now tell me how you got yours.”

I’m asking for more than the story of his tattoos. I’m asking for his life, his pain.

I deserve that much.

He sits on the edge of the bed and takes my hand in his.

“I told you my father left us, my mother and me,” he begins. “What I didn’t say is that he left to be with another woman. He worked security for a wealthy family. He had an affair with the woman. They ran away together.”

I didn’t kill her. No one did. She’s still alive.
“My mother.”

He hesitates. Then nods. “Yes.”

“But you and I aren’t…”

Kip’s brow furrows. “Related? No.”

“Thank God.” I hadn’t thought so because of the timeline. But then I hadn’t thought Kip was Clara’s half-brother either. It feels damn good to be sure…

A ghost of a smile brushes over his lips. “Clara is your half-sister. And she’s my half-sister. If our parents had managed to get married, that would make us stepsiblings. But they didn’t. And so we’re nothing.”

Nothing. The word clangs in my hollow chest.

Maybe he feels the loss too, because he paces away and then walks back. He runs a hand over his face. Every anxious movement increases my fear tenfold. I thought I was safe now. The monster was slain—both my father and Byron. I’m out of my childhood mansion. I’m no longer in the Grand. I’ve escaped everything I’ve ever been running from. Only I don’t know where to go next. And I’ve come to need a man I shouldn’t have.

Turns out what I had to fear the most was the man I ran toward.

“I got involved with some bad stuff when I was a kid. Dealing on the street. Shaking down other dealers. It paid well and kept food on the table.”

I nod because that’s all I can do. For all the darkness I grew up in, I never knew hunger.

“I knew I didn’t want that life forever, so I went into the military.” He shakes his head. “All that time and the only useful skills I have are shooting and fighting. My only local contacts were criminals. And Byron was a fucking cop. We were on opposite sides of the law, only he was the one hurting people.”

I shudder. That much I knew. The upstanding cop, who rose through the ranks. Who had moved to Las Vegas and already made a name for himself.
The next police commissioner.
That’s what people were saying. How honorable he was, how tough on crime. And meanwhile he was arranging deals in backrooms, setting up busts and taking the credit—and the true criminals were making bank.

And I was engaged to him. Fucking him. The brother of my sister.
Not my brother.

“And Clara?”

He looks pensive. “For a long time I hated her. Only when I got older did I really question them leaving her behind. But I knew she had money and a family. I figured what did she need a bastard half-brother for?”

I flinch at his assessment of himself. “Kip.”

He waves away my attempt at sympathy. “But then I got word she’d run, that Byron was looking for her. And you too. I knew I had to do something. I wasn’t even sure what I’d do when I found her.”

I remember our time in the VIP room, on the roof. In the alley. I remember every time we’ve been together. He started out almost sweet. Conflicted. And then he’d turned hard. He fucked me with his boot and pushed me against a brick wall. And even though it had felt good, it hadn’t been kind.

“If you came for Clara, to protect her, why didn’t you tell me who you were? Why did you…?”

I can’t finish my question. I regret even starting it.

His expression is as grave as I’ve ever seen it. It feels like an apology. It feels like goodbye. “When I found you in the Grand, I realized you might have the clues to find the jewelry. That’s what Byron’s been looking for all this time.”

My eyes fill with tears. “And you wanted to find it first.”

“Maybe. Yes. Call it sibling rivalry. Call it stupidity.”

“Sibling rivalry.” I can’t see him now. There’s only tears. The dark ruddy colors of him in a wavy abstract painting. “Is that why you fucked me too? Because you knew he already had?”

Silence. That’s my answer.

I close my eyes tight, squeezing a tear onto my cheek. And then another. I didn’t want to cry in front of him, but it’s too late. I already am. I didn’t want to fall for him.

I already did. “You must have thought I was so stupid,” I whisper.

“Never,” he says roughly. “Brave. Strong. Beautiful. That’s what you are to me.”

“But you didn’t help me, when you found me. Even knowing who was after me. Even knowing I didn’t have a choice.”

“I thought I could use you to get close to Clara but keep you at a distance. I thought I could fuck you and not care about you.” His eyes are a dark sea, his anguish like waves. They batter me. They break me. “I was wrong.”

It’s everything I’d known and feared, that Clara is the only one worth saving.

Not me.

I don’t even hate Kip in that moment. I hate myself. “I’d like to be alone,” I whisper.

There is a long second where I think he might not go. Might ignore my request, like he ignored so many before. Then I hear his booted footsteps on the hardwood.

Then the quiet
click
of the door.

*     *     *

I don’t know
how much time passes. A few minutes. A few hours.

The door opens again, and my heart lurches. I don’t want to see him again. But I do. I’m torn.

But it isn’t Kip who walks through the door. “
Clara!
”

She runs to me, crying, and I cling to her, ignoring the pain of it, sobbing for everything—for our broken family, for Kip. For every goddamn dollar I’d picked up off the stage. We hold each other for hours, two sisters, safe together, adrift in a sea of cold men and colder women.

Clara will always be my sister.

I don’t care if we have different fathers. I don’t care about the color of her eyes or the alleles that would sway a DNA test. She’s my sister because I kissed her fat cheeks as a baby. She would blink up at me with those blue eyes, and I think she knew who I was to her then. I was the one holding her. I was the one changing her diaper when our mother was gone.

I blame her for that—but I also know how it feels to need love.

Clara is more than my sister. I took care of her after our mother left. I never wanted her to be alone or afraid. I never wanted her to have to take care of me.

That changes today. Once I cry and hug her until my side aches, she turns the tables. “Get back in bed. You’ll tear your stitches like that.”

I give her my best stern look. “I’m fine.”

The effect is possibly ruined by the gasp that escapes me. An arc of pain is like fire through my body.

“Bed,” she repeats, her voice hard but her hands soft as she guides me under the covers.

I close my eyes as I wait for the pain and nausea to pass. When I open them again Clara is holding a glass of water and two white pills in her palm. “No,” I say. “No more of that.”

“The doctor said—”

“I don’t care what he said. They mess with my head. I haven’t been sure if I’m awake or asleep. I wasn’t even sure if I was dead or alive.”

Clara’s eyes fill with tears. Her hand closes around the pills as her lip trembles. “Oh, Honor.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, immediately contrite. I’m still not taking the pills though.

“Don’t apologize,” she says, sniffing. “I’m the one who left you there. I can’t believe I left you. How can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m glad you left.” The image of Clara tied to that bed, being beaten by a belt, is one that will never leave my head. I feel sick with it.

With a sigh, she drops the pills onto the table. They roll until one falls off the edge. The other one comes to a stop. “At least have a sip of water. You need liquids. And rest.”

“I’m fine now that you’re here.” Not exactly fine, not with a million miles between me and Kip. I’m staying in his house, but there’s more distance between us now than ever. “Speaking of which, how did you know it was safe to come back?”

“I never left. Not really. You know our neighbor on the right side?”

“The one with the mullet?”

“No, the other side. The one cooking meth on that hot plate. Anyway he came and warned me about some guys poking around. It was sweet actually.”

Wait. Her expression is way too appreciative. “Please tell me you don’t have a crush on Meth Guy.”

She rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t sure they were there for us. There are a lot of shady people in that place, you know. But I figured it would be safer to leave. I took the statue out of the window so if you came back before me you’d know it wasn’t safe.”

“And then you left town.” That was the plan anyway, but I’m starting to have suspicions. Especially with that faintly guilty expression on her usually open face.

“Not exactly.” She makes an exasperated sound. “I didn’t want to leave without you, okay? Is that a crime?”

“So where did you go?” Suddenly the ceiling becomes the most interesting thing in the world to her. “Clara?”

She still won’t meet my eyes. “I went looking for you, that’s all.”

Oh no. My eyes narrow. “Where would you possibly look for me?”

“I went to the Grand, okay?” The words are ripped from her. “I went there, and I know you’re going to freak out but don’t. It was fine.”