Truth (Scandals of Banner-Hill Book 1) Read online

  I focus my eyes in front of me, using child’s logic that if I don’t look at him then he somehow won’t see me.

  The music stops and so does my breathing, but I keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  “Natalie.”

  I pretend I don’t hear him and keep walking. All that does is bring him to the doorway.

  “Natalie,” he says my name again, more firmly the second time.

  I hesitate before turning to face him because I know this is dangerous. I also know I was very, very wrong to assume I wouldn’t run into anyone that cared about what I was wearing. The second I face him, his eyes zero in on my chest.

  Never in a million years would I have guessed Killian would recognize this shirt.

  “So you’re fucking him and wearing his clothes. How romantic.” The venom in his voice is sharp. The sweet silk and honey tone of his music is nowhere to be found.

  “It’s just a shirt.”

  “It’s not just anything. Logan’s the reason you haven’t breathed a word to us in four fucking years, and now you’re walking around like a desperate slut throwing yourself at him.”

  Killian is too good at throwing gasoline on a fire.

  “The only thing I’d like to throw at Logan is a live grenade. If he’s telling you otherwise, he’s lying.” I glance down at the t-shirt advertising Logan’s high school all-stars team. “And I’ve had this shirt forever. It doesn’t mean anything other than the fact that it’s comfortable.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Natalie. Everyone knows you fucked him.”

  “Because of a stupid game.” My voice leaks frustration. I sound like a whiney fucking brat.

  Killian works his jaw from side-to-side, his eyes keeping me pinned in place even though I’m half-tempted to retreat back to my room.

  I cannot afford to waste another day here without at least attempting to find some hint about what I came for.

  “Come here,” he says finally, jerking his head toward his room.

  “That’s probably not a good idea.”

  “Scared?”

  “More like not stupid.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. He never did like the banter as much as Logan did. Killian’s spent too much of his life being told yes.

  “Get in the fucking room.” His voice is deadly quiet now, barely carrying across the hallway between us.

  I’ve never been scared of Killian, so I swallow down a spike of fear now. Killian might be all lanky, lean muscle, but he’s still bigger than me. If he wanted to throw his weight around like Logan, he could. The fact that he doesn’t gives me a false sense of security that tugs me into the room.

  He closes the door behind us.

  I turn away to try to give myself a second to try to regain my composure, but it’s a mistake. My eyes pass right over the mess of sheet music still in the floor to land on the lines of white powder decorating the top of Killian’s dresser.

  Four lines.

  Too many for him to do alone.

  I shake my head before he can make the offer. This isn’t who I am. Maybe once, briefly, but certainly not anymore.

  “What, are you too good to snort a line with a songwriter? Athletes always were more your thing. Not sure I get the appeal. I make a hell of a lot more money than a fucking hockey player.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised Killian’s seen those pictures of me with Rodney. I’m sure the second they knew I was here Logan and him went fishing for information of their own. Those pictures would have been everywhere by then.

  Anger burns low in my stomach.

  “How about you stop calling yourself a songwriter as if you’re some tortured artist playing in smokey dive bars?” I gesture wildly towards the cocaine. “You’re a manufactured popstar still riding the high of a hit song from three years ago, Killian. You’re not Bob Dylan.”

  He blinks at me, his face eerily calm.

  “Truth or dare, Natalie?”

  I would throw myself out the window right now if only it were a high enough drop to kill me.

  “If this is all you called me in here for, I’m leaving. I’m not interested in this stupid game you all made up clearly just to get laid.”

  Killian leans his back against the door, raising an eyebrow in a silent dare.

  “Do you really think I need any help getting laid?” he asks in a dry voice.

  I watched grown women throw their panties onstage to him when he was barely fifteen. So, no. No, I don’t think he needs any help getting laid. But that doesn’t really matter.

  Wealthy playboys always have a way of turning sex into a game.

  A threat.

  A power move.

  “I’m sure Logan was too busy plowing you to really help you understand the stakes, so let me do the honor. You chose to enter the game, so for once in your fucking life, you’re going to take the consequences. If you don’t play, I’m going to walk out of here tomorrow and give interviews on every network that will have me to tell them Dash didn’t die of an overdose—and he didn’t die alone.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut as if that alone could block out his words.

  It’s one thing to suspect the overdose story was a fraud, it’s another thing to hear someone else finally say the words. I’m sure Killian would have said it four years ago if my father hadn’t shown up to usher me out of here.

  “How well do you think your fans are going to take it when they find out you sat in the room and did nothing while your high school sweetheart slit his wrists and bled out on the bed?” His upper lip curls. “And before you get any ideas about running to dear old dad again, you should probably know he’s out of the country with his wannabe stepford wife right now. Even if he answers your calls, there’s not much he can do from twelve thousand miles away.”

  Killian shrugs one shoulder before adding, “Well, not before the damage is already done, anyway.”

  It’s hard to keep my face passive.

  There’s not a chance in hell I want to run to my father about anything, but something Killian said did unexpectedly strike a chord. Why the hell would my father be vacationing right now? While I’ve just very publicly entered treatment? The optics of that are… not great.

  Aside from that, I also can’t take the risk that Killian is serious. My vendetta against my father could be put on indefinite hold if I came under that much scrutiny.

  I cannot give Killian a truth.

  “Dare.”

  He jerks his chin at the dresser. “I dare you to do a line.”

  “Killian—”

  “That’s the dare.” He swipes his thumb over his bottom lip. “You want to play rehab? Then play the fucking part.”

  He’s trying to punish me.

  I’ve never liked being high. Growing up under the control of my father and a TV production team doesn’t exactly inspire me to want to hand over anymore control given the choice.

  Killian knows I can’t do this.

  My father has the drug problem. Not me.

  But we both know what the alternative is. I glance at the bed and weigh my options. Can I really fuck Killian with the kind of detachment I need to survive? I managed it with Logan, but that asshole makes it easy.

  “You’re really going to punish me for fucking Logan?” If I’d known sex with Logan would be the punishment that would keep on giving, maybe I would have taken the orgasm after all.

  Killian stalks across the room to me, grabbing me by the upper arms to haul me close to him. He stares at me with wild eyes. It would be so easy to assume he’s high already, but I know better. His feelings are getting the better of him, making him emotionally messy.

  “Logan, the yoga dipshit, and god only knows who else. If everyone else is getting a piece of you, why can’t I?”

  “The yoga—?” I make a sound of disgust. “I did not fuck Nick. Siobhan and Sadie talked me into yoga because of what you did during group. And I’m not a goddamn sex doll getting passed around, Killian. I only fucked Logan because there
was no other choice.”

  I study his face but he’s shuttered, icing me out.

  There’s no humanity on his face right now. Even if I wanted to have sex with Killian again, it wouldn’t be while he’s looking at me like this. Like I’m some kind of monster he doesn’t recognize. I pull away from him and walk toward the dresser.

  Ten years ago, I’d picked up a minor shoplifting habit. A side-effect of being a poor little rich kid whose parents didn’t pay attention to her.

  I pull out the old sleight of hand now as I pick up the thin straw lying between two white lines.

  Angling myself so that all Killian sees is my back, I discreetly lick my palm. Leaning over the dresser, I snort air as I carefully palm the powder across the slick spot on my hand. It sticks, leaving behind only the slightest trace of residue, but I don’t get even a moment of satisfaction.

  Killian pins me against the dresser, his body vibrating with rage.

  He grabs my hand and jerks my fingers open so hard it makes my knuckles crack. I wince as he wraps his hand around my wrist and holds my hand up so that we’re both staring at the damp drug mess across my palm.

  He reaches around me with his other hand to run his index finger over my palm. He comes away with part of the line on his finger.

  I jerk my head back when he presses his finger to my lips, but there’s nowhere for me to go with his body holding me pinned to the dresser. I try to turn my head but he lets go of my hand to grip my chin painfully, holding me in place.

  “Open your mouth,” he growls.

  I keep my lips firmly shut until he thrusts his lower body against me, forcing me harder against the dresser so that the drawer handle at waist-height digs into me. I gasp out at the pain before I can help myself. He shoves his finger into my mouth, dragging it along my gums. Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back.

  Crying never saved anyone.

  I take a steady breath in through my nose and make myself stand passive. I’m in no position to stop him, but I’m not about to cater to him either.

  Even without snorting the coke, drainage runs down the back of my throat. It’s one of the things I always hated the most about the drug. I try to clear my throat but it only makes it worse.

  He takes his sweet time exploring my mouth with his finger even after the drugs are thoroughly dissolved. There’s nothing sexy about it as far as I’m concerned, but he starts to grow hard. I try to force the panic down.

  It wasn’t that much coke. Probably not enough to get even a mild high. This isn’t about the drugs making it into my system; it’s about Killian forcing me to bend to his will. Sometimes I think there must be a neon light over my head beckoning domineering men in my direction.

  “Can I go now?” I ask the second he pulls his hands from my face.

  He barks out a laugh that jostles his whole body, pushing me up against the handle again. It fucking hurts but I don’t open my mouth to complain.

  “You’re not going anywhere. You didn’t do your dare.”

  “Really? Because you finger-fucking my mouth with drugs says otherwise.”

  He snorts. “Consider that your penalty for trying to lie your way out of this. Not that I’m surprised. That’s what you are, right? A fucking liar.”

  He leans over my shoulder to study my face. I’ve got no idea what he’s looking for, but whatever he sees only seems to make him angrier. He takes a step back, grabbing me by the hair before I have time to even process the momentary distance.

  This time I can’t control the tears that spring to my eyes. He keeps ahold of my hair, jerking at the roots painfully, as he starts to move us toward the bathroom.

  I try to plant my feet but that only makes me stumble and makes the grip on my hair worse. I try again, reaching out for the doorframe as he pulls me into the room, but I can’t get a grip. My hands scramble against the surface but slip away.

  He drags me into the walk-in shower and flips the water on. I splutter against the burst of freezing water that lands square in my face. For a second, he holds me still under the spray.

  The water mercifully warms quickly, easing the chattering of my teeth. Killian’s gaze drops down to my nipples pebbling through Logan’s t-shirt.

  Killian grips the hem of the t-shirt and pulls, leaving me no real choice but to lift my arms or risk angering him even more. I let him slip it over my head and leave me standing there in wet jeans and a thin sports bra that I like to sleep in.

  His eyelids droop heavily as he slips his fingers into the waistband of my jeans. His thumb easily flicks open the button. His other fingers slip just under my panty line, caressing me like a lover. Like I walked in here of my own free will and asked for this.

  “Isn’t forcing your way into women’s pants more Logan’s speed?” I ask him.

  “If you really want to act like you’re not gagging for him, you might want to stop wearing his clothes and bringing him up every chance you get.” Killian wraps an arm around me and pulls me to his chest, abandoning his grip under my jeans.

  I have to tilt my head all the way back to look up into his face.

  “Jealousy is a weird look on someone who’s spent the past three years as a frequent flyer in high-profile sex clubs.” I curse myself silently. Killian’s already cracked, I don’t exactly need to add fuel to the fire by admitting I’ve been keeping up with the gossip about him.

  But if I expected him to deny it, I’m disappointed. He gives me a sharp grin.

  “You know what’s great about a sex club? You can ask for anything.” He snakes a hand up into my hair, holding my head firmly in place. “Which means no one even blinks an eye when I go in to fuck a woman chained up, calling her by your name.”

  I blanche.

  “What? Didn’t do your research, did you?” He smirks.

  I try to squirm away from him but he’s holding me too tight. “You do not go to a sex club and fuck women pretending they’re me.” I shake my head. That’s gross, even for him.

  He dips his head closer to my face, but I don’t realize his intentions until it’s too late. His mouth meets mine, lips pressing firmly against me as he holds my head tight so I have no choice but to receive the kiss. I try not to kiss him back—wanting the same distance I kept between Logan and I—but he tilts my head so my mouth moves anyway. It’s not exactly me kissing him back, but it’s as close as he can get to forcing me to participate.

  When he pulls back, he laughs.

  “Do you have any fucking idea how hard it is to find a woman that looks like you? They dye their hair. Buy the same clothes. Anything to convince me they’ll fulfill the fucked up thing in me that needs to punish you. But it’s not the same as the real thing, Natalie.”

  I put both hands against his chest and shove him as hard as I can. He’s not expecting it, so I manage to make him reel back directly under the spray of the water. I try to scramble away, but he’s still quicker than me.

  He grabs one of the belt-loops of my jeans and tugs, sliding them a couple inches down as he works to get a better grip.

  “Natalie,” he snaps at me. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to take you out into the hall and fuck you there instead. Don’t underestimate me just because my hand isn’t around your throat.”

  The words make me shudder. Did Logan really tell him every fucking detail of our interactions? Because that’s the only reason he’d be saying that shit. To make sure I know that he knows. It makes me hate them both a little more, but it also keeps me begrudgingly still.

  I’m not about to risk letting Killian follow me into the hallway to see if he’s bluffing.

  “That’s better,” he mutters as my body goes limp.

  I hold back another shudder as he peels my jeans down my legs. I consider refusing to step out of them, but it’s not even an option. He tucks his shoulder against my thighs and lifts me, using his one free hand to yank them over my feet and leaving me in only my panties.

  He stands again and steps back to shed his ow
n clothes. He tosses them out of the shower, letting them drop with a wet plop on the bathroom floor.

  It’s only once he’s completely undressed that he turns his attention back to me. I stand there feeling a lot like the sex doll that I adamantly don’t want to be. I can’t outrun him. And I can’t outsmart him or distract him because at the moment he has one singular focus.

  My decision is already made. All I can do is grit my teeth and survive this. The same way I did with Logan.

  Killian mutters a half-dozen complaints about my lack of participation as he strips me out of my bra and panties. I stand there naked with him and try to ignore all the little digs he makes about me. About how much I’ve gotten around since high school. That sex is all I’m useful for. How I look better with my mouth shut.

  Yeah, I’m obviously not doing a very good job of ignoring.

  “Turn around,” he says.

  I’m all too happy to oblige him on that one. Partially because it’s easier to imagine myself with someone else if I don’t have to look at those famous baby blues of his. And partly because I really, really don’t want him to kiss me again. That felt too intimate for what this is. It’s why I avoided letting Logan kiss me or give me an orgasm. The more removed I feel from all of this the easier it is to shut up and bear it.

  He runs his hands up my sides, fingertips grazing the edges of my breasts. I grind my teeth and force my body to be still.

  “Loosen up,” he says. He grabs my hips and forces me to shake them like I’m clubbing as if that’s really going to make me less tense. I stiffen back up the second he releases me.

  He sighs, dropping his mouth against the back of my neck and sinking his teeth into my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut and use every bit of willpower I have not to moan. In four years, and who knows how many other women, Killian has managed not to forget my sweet spot.

  “Are you high, Killian?” I whisper the question because I can’t hold it in any longer.

  I don’t think I can survive this if he’s high, flooded by the memories of how cruel Dash could be in the bedroom when he was on something. I swore I would never fuck anyone like that again. I know those lines sat untouched on his dresser, but that doesn’t guarantee he didn’t do a little pregaming before I happened along.