Truth (Scandals of Banner-Hill Book 1) Page 12

  He likes Dash well enough. It wouldn't be the first time he's had to step in on my boyfriend's behalf.

  Dash likes trouble more than I do.

  The words are too muffled to hear, but my ears perk again when a guttural moan echos into the hallway. I feel like I'm moving through a fog as I lean forward to peak into the office. It's brighter than in the hall, and for a second, I don't trust my own eyes as they adjust to the harsh lighting.

  I blink like it might erase what I’m seeing.

  Dash.

  Bent over Banner's desk.

  And Banner.

  Railing him from behind.

  I step into the doorway. "What the fuck?"

  Banner jerks back, his pathetic, pale dick bouncing against his balls as he pulls out of my boyfriend's ass. Dash doesn't even get up from the desk. His head tilts up toward me, but his unfocused eyes seem to struggle to meet mine.

  "Are you high right now?" My voice rises an octave.

  The whole reason we came back here together was so Dash could get his shit together for the football recruits. He has an easy ticket to the best college football program in the country so long as he proves he can leave here sober.

  I stand there—frozen in shock—as Banner comes around the desk, shoving himself back into his pants as he approaches me. I pointedly keep my eyes on Dash, trying to judge how the fuck he ended up like this. Banner grabs me by the pocket of Dash's hoodie that I'm wearing. He's careful not to make any actual contact with me as he jerks me inside the office and then slams the door closed behind me.

  He's breathing hard. I shudder as I side-step him, putting distance between us.

  The three of us form a silent triangle. Dash still struggling with his high as Banner and I size each other up.

  "Do the others know you've been fucking a patient?"

  He blinks.

  The calm in my voice surprises me, too.

  "Sit down, Miss Adams." His voice shakes as he points toward the chair in front of his desk. We both flinch when we realize at the same time that the chair would put me directly in front of Dash—who’s still hanging over the desk with his pants around his ankles.

  I shut my eyes and shake my head. I've seen a lot of shit. This is a whole other world of fucked up.

  "Where did he get the drugs?"

  "He's not... He didn't... I don't..." Banner splutters a whole range of sentence starters that he doesn't finish. That's an answer in itself.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?" My eyes fly open, and I shove Banner back with both hands. "He's getting drug tested every day. If the coaches find out—“

  "I administer the drug test. It'll be fine. I'll take care of it."

  "Yeah because I have so much faith in your ability to 'take care of it'." I turn away from him because if I look at the green tint of his pale skin any longer, I'm going to punch him right in his crooked nose.

  I move to Dash instead, worry making my eyebrows pinch together badly enough that I'm sure my mother will inevitably be dragging me off for mother-daughter Botox when I get home. I grit my teeth as I move behind Banner's desk to work Dash's sweatpants up his thick legs.

  "Babe, can you stand?"

  I keep my voice low, knowing my anger won't help matters right now. Dash is too far gone to even focus his eyes, much less have a conversation about what the hell I just saw in this office. Still, his whole body spasms when I lay a gentle hand on his back.

  "Get off me," he mumbles.

  "It's just me."

  His voice comes out stronger the second time. "Get off of me, Natalie."

  “Dammit, Ian,” I murmur under my breath.

  I manage to move back out of the danger zone as he leaps to his feet, his eyes scrambling to look around as if he has no idea where he is all of a sudden. His right arm takes a swing at thin air.

  He blinks, eyes twitching from side to side like he’s trying to steady what’s in front of him. He’s seeing double. I try to reach for his arm to steady him as he sways on his feet, but he rips his whole body away from me, backing into the desk so hard it scoots a few inches across the floor.

  I swallow the lump in my throat as I watch him.

  This is Dash on ketamine.

  I could have handled almost anything else. Killian likes to bump lines. Logan will try anything once. Hell, even I’ve dropped ecstasy to spice up a party.

  But ketamine is next level shit. The kind Dash has already proven he can’t handle. He’s had three hospital trips this year alone from the overdoses. And Dash is fucking mean on Special K. It’s also not the kind of drug that should be floating around a rehab. This is a party drug. The kind of thing someone takes if they’re trying to forget reality.

  “What is wrong with you?” I whirl on Banner again, the full weight of my anger directed at him. “Not only is he a patient, but anyone could see he’s completely out of it. You just raped him.”

  The green tint to his face finally disappears as he goes pale white, instead.

  “Natalie, you need to shut the fuck up right now,” he snaps. His eyes dart nervously toward the clock hanging on the wall above his desk.

  “Expecting more company?” I wouldn’t put it past him, the guy’s clearly a fucking predator.

  “This is all a misunderstanding. I know what it looks like, but...”

  He trails off, and I really look at him for the first time. He’s struggling to keep his eyes focused, too. He’s not as high as Dash—no one else ever is—but all the signs are here. I don’t want to read too much into it, but I know Dash. He has no boundaries. A serious lack of moral code. Partying with the head of a rehab? That’s the kind of thing he’d readily cross off his bucket list.

  I set my jaw and take stock of this situation.

  There’s nothing I can do until Dash is safe in bed.

  Nothing I can do until I unravel whatever the hell has happened tonight.

  I should have known something was up when Dash said he was taking a day pass. He’s never given a shit about his sister’s dance recitals before. I knew better, but I’d let him get away with the lie.

  Lying to each other is much easier than facing reality. That we’re not fifteen anymore. Not invincible. Not untouchable.

  “I’m taking Dash back to his room,” I announce.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Banner says, his eyes still bouncing all over the place. He’s clearly in no position to stop me. At this point, I’m surprised he hasn’t tucked his pathetic dick between his legs and taken off.

  “I’m not asking.” I move next to Dash and put my arm around his middle. I can’t actually support his weight, but experience has taught me that he only needs to be the littlest bit lucid to manage not to take both of us tumbling to the ground.

  His nickname—Dash—is equal parts taken from his last name, Dashner, and his ability to be light on his feet in a football game.

  That talent mercifully kicks in even when he’s high as a damn kite.

  “What about me?” Banner asks as I guide my wasted boyfriend toward the door. Here I am half-carrying Dash out of here, and all this man cares about is his own fate.

  Fucking prick.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” I tell him, the threat clear in my voice. Because this is going to be dealt with. Kevin Banner doesn’t get to walk away from this.

  I keep Dash moving toward the door. He doesn’t say anything to protest, but he does groan like I’m beating him half to death. He must be coming off of his high. I shush him and send up a silent prayer to the universe that we won’t run into any of the staff.

  We pass a couple other patients but they turn their heads. They won’t say anything. There’s a code of silence here at Banner-Hill.

  Dash grows more agitated as we turn into the hall toward his room.

  “I don’t need your help,” Dash groans as he grows even more lucid. Thankfully, it also means he takes more of his weight off me.

  “Finding you bent over Banner’s desk kin
d of tells me different,” I mutter.

  The image is now burned in my brain and destined to haunt me forever.

  “Just leave me alone, you dumb cunt.”

  “Dash, you know I’m not going to do that.” I know he’s mean on K, but he’s never been quite this cruel before. Not aimed at me, at least.

  He sneers. "You don't belong to me anymore, so just fuck off."

  "What? What the hell does that even mean, Dash?" This has to be the drugs talking. He's not making any sense. None of this is making any sense.

  "We played for you. I had a full house. Wilder had a flush. So go find him if you need to be dicked so bad." He brushes my hand away like a gnat. “He owns you fair and square. You’re not my problem anymore.”

  My head reels back. “What?”

  “You heard me,” he mutters sullenly.

  “You played for me.” My voice is flat. “You played for me like I’m just an object to pass around?”

  He snorts. “Aren’t you?”

  I’ve done a damn good job of reigning in my anger towards him up until this point. I just found him high as a kite, taking a dick up the ass. And not just any dick, but a dick attached to Kevin Banner, one of the owners of this fucking place and a man that takes pleasure in every chance he gets to ruin our fun.

  And now he’s admitting to using me as ante in a poker game. He doesn’t get to take the moral high ground here.

  “Are you seriously mad at me right now? You begged me to fuck your friends. I was fine with the way things were before—you were the one who was so adamant that sharing me was such a turn-on. You don’t get to be mad at me now for enjoying it.”

  I shove his bedroom door open with my shoulder, pushing with enough force that it hits the wall hard enough to make me cringe. I glance back to make sure I haven’t put a damn hole in the wall.

  He lets go of me and stumbles into the room. He’s at least conscious enough now to drop onto the bed on his back rather than his front. I would have had to get help turning him over if he’d collapsed face-down. I’m more worried about him suffocating himself against the mattress than choking on his own vomit at the moment. Just to be safe, I pull a chair up next to his bed anyway.

  There’s no way in hell I’m crawling into bed next to him tonight.

  Dash blows out a big gush of air and turns his head toward me. His eyes actually manage to meet mine, so the double vision must be wearing off. He moves his fingers to beckon me closer. I answer with a heavy sigh, but I lean over with my elbows on my knees to get closer to him.

  He reaches out and strokes a hand over my hair. A tender gesture leftover from when we were younger. Back when we were kids and there was no pressure. No TV show. No football scouts. Just us, trying to survive the chaos of our parents together.

  His voice is quiet but steady when he speaks this time.

  “Kevin didn’t rape me, Nat. We’ve been fucking for months. You were just too self-absorbed to see it.” He moves his hand to stroke my cheek with more surprising tenderness. “Why do you think I wanted us all back here? I wanted Kevin, and my friends wanted you. Everybody wins.”

  “That’s not fair.” I push his hand away.

  “What’s not fair is watching you fall for the only two people I’ve been friends with longer than you. It was only supposed to be sex.”

  “It is just sex,” I insist.

  He laughs humorlessly. “No. No, it’s not just sex. I see that look in your eyes when they’re stuffing their dicks into you. And Natalie?”

  “What?” I snap. I have no idea what he’s talking about. What look?

  “I’m never going to fucking forgive you for it. I wanted you to fuck them—not love them.”

  His eyes shut and his breathing evens out just seconds later. As if he didn’t just drop a bomb on my entire life. I let him sleep, burying my face in my hands to sob quietly while no one is around to see my moment of weakness.

  I cry until I finally manage to fall asleep in the uncomfortable chair. Even as heartbroken as I feel in this moment, I don’t abandon Dash. I stay to the very end.

  10

  We’re back in the cafeteria for dinner when Siobhan sits across from me and slides the corner of a sheet of paper across the table. Two names are written in neat, block handwriting.

  BILL MORRISON

  JACK LUNSFORD.

  Siobhan reaches out and taps the top name. “This guy was a temp. Apparently he left a couple hours ago without giving notice.” She taps the second name. “And this guy is a patient. He got here a couple hours after you did. The guy’s a prick. He seems to think that coming from old money overrides all the new money here. It also means—”

  “He’s not in the tabloids,” I finish for her.

  Old money people might pop up in the society pages or get a special on their philanthropy, but they’re not flashy. Most people that come to Banner-Hill fucking sparkle.

  “So then, who is Jack Lunsford?” I raise my head to scan the room as if I’ll know the answer off instinct alone.

  Surprise, surprise. It really is that easy.

  Near the door, an unfamiliar man sits surrounded by women clamoring for his attention. It would look kind of like Juliet with her harem if the women panting after Jack didn’t look so desperate. I know it’s him because I recognize the build of his body. He’s built like a fighter. Exactly the kind of guy Murphy likes to keep in his corner.

  I knew that bastard wouldn’t leave me in here unsupervised.

  Trust, my ass.

  I crumple the corner of paper and abandon it on my food tray. I’ll remember the names. I stand and pick my tray up as Siobhan watches me with a confused smile.

  “Where are you going?” Sadie asks as she shows up and slides into my abandoned seat.

  “Our mysterious friend here is being watched,” Siobhan answers for me.

  She’s perceptive. I shouldn’t be surprised. I would expect no less from the daughter of a man who spent decades killing people with meticulous precision. Even now, people say he was only caught because he wanted to be. And then because that wasn’t infamy enough, Arlo Romas disappeared from the courthouse in broad daylight, never to be seen again.

  There are plenty of theories.

  His corpse is rotting in the courthouse basement.

  He paid a federal agent to take him out through a secret tunnel.

  A billionaire sent a helicopter to the roof for him in exchange for the deaths of his enemies.

  I shake off those thoughts. Siobhan hasn’t judged me for my reputation. I’m sure as hell not going to judge her by her father’s.

  “Yeah, my uncle seems to be confused about how old I am. For some reason, he still thinks I need a babysitter.” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jack looking my way. I know I’m right on this. It’s not a coincidence that he showed up here the same day I did. Or that my uncle was so quick to let me know he’d take his guy out of here.

  Murphy underestimated my intelligence.

  “I’ll see you all later,” I tell them, already halfway to the trash to dump my half-eaten lunch.

  I edge closer to Jack’s table, studying the women around him. I know all of them by name thanks to their reputations outside of this place. I haven’t interacted directly with any of them. Though I am sure at least two of them were in the room when Killian all but accused me of killing Dash four years ago.

  “Hey, Beth,” I call out to the woman in the group who looks the most invested in keeping Jack’s attention. She’s hanging all over his lap, impossible for him to miss as she snuggles closer to his chest even as she looks at me.

  Old money might not be flashy—but it is desirable. Any woman that marries into old money establishes herself for life.

  Every heiress’ dream.

  “What’s up?” she asks, her voice high and perky as if she hasn’t outgrown her years as a high school cheerleader.

  “See you at yoga later?” I say with as much innocence as I can muster.

 
; She nods, too stupid to have any idea I’m using her as a pawn. “Definitely. Twice a day, five times a week!”

  I’m sure she’ll use that now as an excuse to show Jack how flexible she is, but I’m long gone before it reaches that. If Jack Lunsford is who I think he is, I have no doubt I’ve handed him all the rope he needs to hang himself with.

  It is a universal fact that men are easily distracted.

  Nick and Jack turn almost in sync to stare as I stroll across the lawn in short shorts and a sports bra. I made sure to time my arrival outdoors so that I’d be the last one there. I wanted to leave no doubt that Jack is here to spy.

  Until he sees me, he looks ready to flee. I’m sure if I didn’t show up he would have been long gone.

  Murphy has to realize I would have seen this guy from a mile away. I imagine the only reason I didn’t notice him sooner was because I spent so much time hiding out in my room this week trying to avoid Logan and Killian.

  Nick steps away from the group, blocking my view of Jack.

  “This is highly inappropriate,” he says, eyes darting down to my chest but quickly back again.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t worry—the outfit’s not for you.”

  I brush past him and head straight for the mat in front of Jack’s. Beth and some other woman have planted themselves on either side of him. That’s short-sighted. He’s going to be looking ahead, which means he’s going to have no choice but to look at me. Though my guess is he would have been doing that anyway. I’m just adding a little fuel to the fire.

  I’m careful not to let Jack catch my eye as I bend over to touch my toes as if stretching my muscles. I can feel his eyes on me.

  Nick takes his place at the front of the group. He hesitates for a second before shedding his shirt. A murmur builds from the women around me. He sure as hell didn’t take his shirt off the last time. I have a feeling he didn’t believe me when I said the outfit wasn’t for him. Call it a hunch, or call it the fact that he makes intense eye contact with me as he drops his shirt to the ground.