Wicked Pleasures (35 page)

Chase moved back into the study and watched as Congressman Roberts was loaded onto a gurney and investigators moved around the room, securing it.

He was sure that all traces of Cam, Jaci, and Ian had been cleared from the apartment. He and Carl Allen had made certain of it. And if anything showed up? Well, it would disappear just as easily. Allen was a member of the club, and in this case at least, it was a case of the old boys' club. Not exactly legal, but there was no reason to complicate the situation with the lies and half truths they would have to tell.

"Moriah was never stable," Annalee told another investigator from where she sat on the low couch across the room. "She blamed Richard because we wouldn't let her move into our home. She was very dependent on me." Annalee's face twisted in grief as more tears flowed from her swollen eyes. "She was like my child. I loved her."

Chase wiped his hand over his face and turned back to the sight he didn't want to see.

Moriah.

Her parents had hidden her mental problems well. Her psychiatrist, the drugs, the close tabs they had kept on her, kept the truth carefully hidden. Beautiful, fairylike Moriah.

He stepped over to her, sat on his haunches, and stared into her peaceful face. She looked as though she were sleeping, except for the bruised wound in the center of her forehead.

His bullet had struck. Carl's hadn't. Her life had been extinguished before her insanity could destroy anyone else; and she had been determined to destroy Cameron, simply because he protected Jaci. And Cam would have let her, because of Chase.

He had felt that. The torn emotions his twin had felt in that moment. They had been on his face, had twisted across their bond. He would have taken a bullet, rather than see Chase lose someone he cared for.

He
had
cared for her.

He brushed a wisp of hair back from her lips and felt his heart squeeze tight at the memory of his fingers pulling that trigger. Unlike Cam, he hadn't hesitated.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, gazing into her doll-like features as he tried to push aside the guilt and the anger. "I'm so sorry, Moriah."

He pressed his lips together as the leg of Carl's slacks came into view.

"The investigator is finished with Mrs. Roberts. She wants to talk to you before she leaves for the hospital to be with her husband. She's in the kitchen waiting for you."

Carl stepped back as Chase rose slowly to his feet.

"Did you know about her problems?" he asked the other man as he nodded to Moriah.

Carl sighed heavily. "I've had to cover several incidents for her. Her dad's old college buddies with the chief. You don't say no when that happens. Besides, she was a good kid when she wasn't crazy."

Yeah, when she wasn't crazy.

Shaking his head, Chase moved through the apartment and into the sunlit kitchen.

Annalee Roberts sat at the kitchen table. Her face was ravaged by her tears and her pain. He had never liked her, but right now he felt sorry as hell for her.

"Thank you for coming, Chase." Her voice was rough, hoarse from her tears. "I gather you and Cam heard the entire event."

He nodded sharply. He wasn't thinking about it right now. He couldn't. If he was going to hold onto his control and keep from strangling his baby brother, then he had to forget, at least for a little while, the information he had learned.

Annalee nodded slowly. "Moriah's at peace now." She swallowed tightly. "Her parents have feared an episode like this for years. It's why I've been careful to stay away from her as much as possible. She was becoming very possessive of me." Her face twisted with grief.

"She knew about that night with Jaci. Did you tell her?" He needed to know where to place the blame. He had to find someplace for it, to be able to deal with it.

But Annalee shook her head slowly. "I would never have told her. She wasn't strong enough to handle it. Until today, I was unaware that she even knew of the reasons for the animosity between Jaci and me. When she called, she said Jaci had told her, and wanted to meet with us to discuss it." She shook her head as she pressed her fingers to her lips. "Once we arrived she was enraged. She said she had known all along. That she had overheard Margie and I discussing it years before. And that we were to take care of it this time or she would. Sweet God, she told Jaci we had molested her." Annalee broke down again. She lay her head on the table, sobbing pitifully as Chase moved beside her and sat on his haunches by her chair.

"She wasn't sane," he said softly. "You can't blame yourself."

She shook her head in the cradle of her arms. "I blame myself. I always shall. I tried so many times to help her, to love her, because she was like my own." She lifted her head and stared back at him desperately. "I can't have children. So I loved Moriah like my own child. And I tried so hard to do what was best. All I did was destroy her."

He shook his head and rose to his feet once more. "Her insanity destroyed her, Annalee, not you. Dry your face and go to your husband. You can help
him
now. Moriah's at peace. You don't have to help her any longer."

He walked away from her. He had to. He could feel the rage and pain growing inside him, the pure, fucking fury, a red-hot lance of it driving into his brain, as he thought of the years his brother had lied to him.

Lied to him. To his face, over and over, lied to him.

He left the apartment, feeling something akin to pure, icy, blood fury burning inside him.

Fifteen. That demented bitch of an aunt of theirs had sold his brother to her depraved friends—had somehow forced him to allow her to whore him out for sex. And not once, not one time had he come to Chase. He hadn't asked for his help. He had never goddamned asked him for help.

He bolted out of the apartment house and stalked to the car Cam had left behind. He tried to tell himself his brother was an adult. He couldn't just beat the shit out of him for being a fucking bastard, and not asking for help. Could he?

He slammed the car door behind him and stared through the windshield. Fuck that. Hell yes, he could beat the shit out of him, and that was exactly what he would do.

Jaci forced herself to stop crying before they reached Cam and Chase's home. She dried her face and stayed in Cam's arms—and refused to speak the thoughts on her mind.

When the limo pulled into the garage, she let him lift her from the car, safe in his arms, and she let him carry her up to the apartment. She didn't want him to let her go. She was terrified that if he did, then he would never hold her again.

He got the door open while she kept her face buried in his shoulder. She felt weak. She felt as though she should be on her own two feet, rather than depending on him, but she couldn't. She couldn't let him go. She had to hold onto him.

And he didn't seem inclined to let her go. He moved into the apartment, the door closing softly behind them as he moved to the couch.

"Here." He placed her on the couch, but she didn't let go of him. She couldn't.

"It's okay. I'm not going far. I promise." He forced her arms from behind his neck, pulled back, and turned away. She shivered.

The ice was still in his eyes, despite the gentle tone of his voice, and the sight of it had a shiver racing up her spine.

She couldn't take her eyes off him. She watched him miserably as he moved across the room to the kitchen, opened the cabinet, and dragged out a fifth of whisky and two glasses.

When he returned, he sat down beside her, poured a small amount into a glass, and handed it to her. When he turned to the next glass, he seemed to give it a second thought—then he pulled the bottle back and tipped it to his lips.

He didn't even grimace. Then he lowered the bottle and held it loosely between his thighs.

"I haven't seen you drink whisky since I've been here," she whispered, her voice raw.

She had only seen him drink beer, and he rarely finished those.

He brought the bottle up, tipped it again, and took a long drink before lowering it and staring at the label thoughtfully. "I used to drink a lot of it." He finally shrugged. "Sometimes I drank too much of it."

She read between the lines easily. He had been so wild as a young man, so filled with bitterness and hatred—and whisky.

She sat the glass carefully on the table before them, and stared at the amber liquid in it. She didn't want the drink. She didn't want to dull the pain raging through her, or the sickness that roiled in her stomach. He had lived his life, survived it, and now he was being forced to reveal it. She wasn't going to dull her own emotions, she wasn't going to dull the love and aching grief she felt for him.

He took another long drink, then set the bottle on the table.

"The whisky stopped working a long time ago," he finally said. "When I realized it was going to take something stronger to dull the pain, I picked up a pistol, got in my pickup, and drove out to the most deserted place I could find at the time."

Her heart leapt in her throat.

"The day you were on the back road of the farm," she whispered.

He nodded slowly, his lips pursing. "I'd had enough. Enough sick shame, enough banging my head against a wall, trying to hide what was happening and trying to find a way out at the same time."

She couldn't cry again. Not yet. He would stop talking if she did, and she needed to know, to understand.

"Then you showed up." He reached out and caressed the dark label of the whisky bottle with the back of a finger. "And there was this innocent little face and pretty eyes. And you told me you would take the pain away. I almost believed you could." He shook his head at the thought. "You were just a kid, but the only person in that fucking town that seemed to believe in me, besides Chase. And hell, all he wanted was answers. Answers I couldn't give him."

He pulled his hand back and wiped his hand over his face before he let it hang with the other between his spread knees.

"He loved you," Jaci whispered, "just as I did."

He lifted his head and stared across the room, his expression so distant, his eyes so cold she wanted to scream out at him. She wanted to hit him. Wanted to rage at him for carrying this alone for so damned long.

"I went to the sheriff the next day," he finally said. "You see, Jaci, I almost killed one of those old bitches. They insisted I spend the night, that they lie against me. One night, I messed up. I dozed. And I felt her touch me. The next thing I felt was my hand around her throat."

He looked down at the hand he clenched slowly, then shook his head tightly again.

Jaci had to force back a cry of pain. Eighteen. He had been eighteen. Too young to face such violence inside himself.

"Anyway," he breathed out roughly, "I went to Sheriff Bridges. I told him what happened." He jerked the bottle up, tilted it, and consumed an amount that had Jaci covering her mouth again to hold back a tortured cry.

When he put the bottle down again, it thumped on the table.

"Right after my aunt arrived at the house, she drugged me with some shit. It messed up my head. Made me horny as hell. No matter what she did to me. And she did like to play with those adult toys she had. She pushed as many of them as she could inside me and took pictures of it. Enough pictures, enough poses, that it looked like I was enjoying the hell out of it."

Jaci was going to throw up. She had to force back the gagging reflex as she thought of the horror, the humiliation he must have felt.

"And here was the deal," he continued. "I could do what she told me to, when she told me to, or she would make sure Chase got those pictures. Chase and every friend I had. See, she wasn't in the pictures. And who would believe sweet Davinda Morris had done something so vile?" His laugh was bitter, furious. "The fucking bitch."

Her soul was writhing inside her, shrieking with pain, as she somehow managed to stay silent. Managed to hold back her screams of agony.

"I went to the sheriff and I made him swear on Dad's grave to keep the secret I was about to tell him. He and Dad were friends." He shrugged again, his voice nearly a monotone, cold and unemotional. "I told him what happened. He came to the house, found the pictures, and forced her to leave. But I had to tell him what happened." His jaw bunched then. "I had to sit in front of a man that loved my father like a brother, and I had to tell him what I allowed to happen. And I saw the pity in his eyes. The pity and the shame. And I swore I'd never see that in another living soul's eyes again." He turned to her, stared at her. "I was a whore, Jaci. For three years. Now, do you feel any better knowing?"

The tears slipped from her eyes. "I love you, Cam. I love you no matter what. I don't pity you, and I don't feel shame. You survived." Her voice broke as she reached out to touch him. His strong jaw, the corners of his icy eyes. "You waited for me." She had prayed he would.

A grimace twisted his face as he turned his away from her again, and he reached for the whisky once more.

"You don't need the whisky." She slapped his hand back. "Does getting drunk make it easier to face, Cam?"

"Getting drunk?" He flicked her a harsh look. "That shit doesn't do anything to take my mind off the fact that I fucked up," he snarled, that edge of fury showing again. "I fucked up, Jaci. I let her use me, and I was too damned brick-dumb to stop it. And too fucking weak to kill the bitch."

"Try too fucking filled with false pride to live!" Chase's voice was demented with anger, and it echoed through the sudden silence of the apartment as Jaci and Cam both jumped to their feet and turned to him.

And Jaci knew he had heard it all, as Cam stared at the keys in his brother's hands before lifting his gaze to the fire burning in Chase's eyes.

"Find another entrance in," Cam said coldly. "I'm fucking sick of you sneaking in this house and butting your nose in my damned business."

Testosterone and fury filled the air now. Jaci watched the metamorphosis as Cam and Chase stared back at each other, as animosity, anger, pain, and some kind of driving need to smash things seemed to pump up their bodies.

She had heard of the fights these two had as young men. It hadn't been an unusual occurrence to see their faces bruised or to hear that they had fought each other, rather than others.

"Cam." She touched his arm warningly, feeling the bunched muscles and vibrating fury.

He wasn't angry with Chase, not really. He was angry with himself, with Davinda, and with the pride that was so much a part of him. The guilt and the pain had eaten at him for so many years, and now that it was out in the open, she could feel the fight burning between both men.

"Step away from him, Jaci," Chase growled. "You don't want to get between the two of us right now."

"And I don't want you fighting, either," she snapped back at him. "Sit down and discuss this."

Cam's gaze swung toward her, disbelief and astonishment filling his expression.

"Discuss what?" he bit out. "The eavesdropping bastard can't seem to keep his nose in his own business. I'm going to break it for him."

He turned back to Chase, a hard, mocking smile on his face as his fists bunched at his side.

"You two are not going to fight."

"The hell we're not." Cam lifted her and set her aside.

The smile on his face was tight, but something in his eyes caught hers. A lifting of the ice, a resolution. A part of him glorying at the chance to use his fists to pound out the rage inside him.

God, men were so dumb sometimes.

"Chase." She turned to his brother desperately. "Now isn't the time to fight. This is wrong."

"No, this isn't wrong," he snarled. "Wrong was when he kept his yap shut and didn't let me help him. Wrong was leaving me alone and shutting down that bond I needed at the time. Fuck him, Jaci. Wrong was when he ignored the fact that he had a fucking brother." The last sentence was a war cry, as they rushed each other.

Fists, steel hard and filled with male rage, slammed. Chase's head went back with Cam's first blow; Cam stumbled back after a particularly brutal blow to his ribs.

And they were off and fighting. Bar stools slammed to the floor and slid across the hardwood floor as they wrestled each other onto the kitchen island and Jaci screamed as Chase's next punch sent Cam to the floor.

Oh God, they were going to kill each other. Wide-eyed and shocked, she watched them fight as she reached to the table and grabbed the glass of whisky Cam had poured for her earlier.

She took it in one drink and wheezed in reaction. It caused her to miss several seconds of the blood and curses flying around the room.

"Bastard!" Chase cursed, after Cam managed to land another blow to his jaw. "I ought to kill you for that."

"Yeah, for protecting you?" Cam's voice was savage as he dodged a blow to his jaw, but he was a hair too slow to dodge the fist to his hard abdomen.

"Didn't fucking need protecting." Chase jumped at him and the fists were flying again.

Jaci winced and cried out, then she picked up the bottle of whisky and took Cam's earlier example. She lifted it to her lips and drank straight from the bottle.

There had to be a way to stop this. They were going to kill each other. Cam had ripped the shirt off Chase's back already, and his own was hanging in tatters. Both their lips were bleeding, and oh boy, were they going to have some bruises later.

When Chase's fist connected with Cam's face again, she'd had enough. This was ridiculous, she decided as the whisky began to warm her stomach and take the edge off the pure horror of watching these two fight.

There had to be a way of stopping it. Sometime before they killed each other, maybe?

But a little part of her that the liquor had released had to admit it was damned sexy, almost erotic, watching them fight. They were powerful, muscular. Sweat gleamed on broad chests and dampened chest hairs. Blood smeared their faces and their eyes were lit—with savage pleasure. They were enjoying the fight.

There was something they would enjoy just as much, though.

She took another drink of the whisky. Too much. She wheezed and choked as it went down, tears coming to her eyes as she fought to catch her breath.

Okay, that drink hurt. How the hell did Cam do that?

Chase managed to throw Cam into one of the hard steel beams centered around the room, and at that point she'd enough.

She slapped the whisky to the table and moved to the other side of the couch. The niggling idea moving through her head would never work if they couldn't see her clearly.

She toed off her shoes first and pushed them to the side. She released the button to her slacks, then slid the zipper down, wincing again as Cam slammed his fist into Chase's jaw, driving his brother's head backward.

She was going to kill both of them.

She slid the jeans down her legs, then pulled off the stylish T-shirt she wore. She wore nothing now but the white, lacy panties and the flimsy bra she had put on that morning.

She was unclipping the bra, when a tense silence suddenly enveloped the room.

Jaci kept her smile hidden and her eyes on the little clip of the bra between her breasts. She released it slowly, then peeled the cups away from her breasts before dropping the silken lace to the floor.

She had their attention. It was complete, undivided, two sets of male eyes trained on her, devouring her. She ran her hands up her midriff, then cupped the mounds, her fingers running over her stiff nipples, before she lifted her head and stared back at them, allowing the lust, desire, and the pure love she felt for Cam to show on her face.