Shattered: A Dark Romance Read online

  SHATTERED

  Copyright © 2020 Natalia Lourose

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected]

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

  Cover Design: Books & Moods

  Editing: Sisters Get Lit.erary

  ASIN: B08HPKCJZ5

  I'M BARELY AWAKE WHEN THEY come for me. I had drifted to sleep only hours earlier after the images of her flashed through my head like a fucked up slideshow. The aftermath has left me limp and tired. I don't have a chance to calm my puffy eyes, the clear indicator of my tears, when my dorm room door is flung open.

  I don't need words to know why they’re here. The two men stand in the entrance to my bedroom like they own the place, and in some way maybe they do. Vaughn’s family donates a lot of money to my small state college. He could set a building on fire and the staff would smile and wave, not one would bat an eye.

  They dwarf the place, tall and lean bodies hovering over me, making my dorm room feel small and crowded.

  I always feel small around them.

  “It's time, Mik.” Vaughn says. Thick arms cross his body as he fills my doorway. He’s intimidating in his black slacks and button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His ripped forearms are showing, he displays them as if the sight alone is enough of a message to tell me to behave.

  The sheet falls off my body when I stand, exposing my pale and bare legs to them. I tug at the hem of the oversized sleep shirt, attempting the smallest amount of modesty and failing.

  I’m glad that it’s just the two of them, a small miracle. There should be four, but half of the pack is much more manageable. Beckett stands behind Vaughn, leaning his own large body against the frame of the door. I’m thankful for his presence, he was always the nicest.

  “Can I pack a bag?” I ask sheepishly. I'm surprised I wasn’t hauled over a shoulder and dragged from my apartment kicking and screaming, so even though my heart is clenched and my stomach is threatening to betray me, I feel just the smallest amount of gratitude.

  “Quickly.” Vaughn spits.

  “Shower?” I try. Why stop when I’m ahead?

  Beckett rolls his eyes but it’s Vaughn who answers me. “Not enough time, Mikaela.”

  I nod solemnly and head to my dresser. I pull a pair of skinny jeans up my legs, a feeble attempt to hide some skin from them, not that they haven’t seen it before. They’ve seen every inch of my body, and now I feel their eyes watching me as I grab a duffle bag from my closet and throw clothes from my dresser into it.

  Footsteps thud behind me, a glance over my shoulder shows Beckett pacing through the small room. He jabs a finger at a framed needlepoint reading: be someone who makes you happy. “What’s with all the quotes?” he asks, a single brow lifting in amusement.

  “My mom.” I mutter. Beckett only laughs and moves on from the needlepoint to the corkboard filled with inspirational quotes printed out on paper and secured to the board with thumbtacks.

  Every cliché you could think of is pinned there.

  You got this, girl.

  You can do anything you set your mind to!

  You are a strong, independent woman.

  My mother has scattered the quotes all through my dorm room. Little sayings she finds online and prints out with an old inkjet printer. When that wasn’t enough, she started the cross stitching and then framed the finished products. She hangs them on the walls, sets the frames up on bare surfaces, pins a quote to the fridge with a magnet. She fills the blank spaces of my room with her little bits of positivity.

  Anything she can do to keep me hanging on.

  My mother is a firm believer that what you think becomes your reality. She lives in the world of The Secret and tries her hardest to drag me along with her.

  But she doesn’t know these men the way I do.

  She thinks there's a war to be won here, that the truth always comes out in the end, but she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know this family like I do.

  “Let’s go.” Vaughn demands.

  I take one last glance at myself. Dark, oversized hoodie, tight jeans, no makeup. My hair was wet when I went to sleep, so now it hangs in messy unbrushed waves.

  He’s not going to like what he sees.

  Maybe he’ll let me go then.

  It’s a silly thought though, because Noah Bancroft will never let me go.

  Halloween Night, One Year Earlier

  AUDEN IS THE GOLDEN CHILD.

  My mother’s face lights up when she descends the stairs in her chiffon gown. Her hair is twisted back in a low bun with loose tendrils curled at the front. The gown is pink and flowing and Auden looks like a princess, which I guess is the intention.

  My mother casts me a sideways glance as I crunch a potato chip sitting on the sofa with my feet kicked up on the coffee table.

  I didn’t go to prom or any school sanctioned dance, ruining my mother's fantasy of seeing me in a frilly gown. She jumped at the chance to buy Auden a fancy dress, even if only for a Halloween costume.

  That’s the difference between Auden and I.

  We’re polar opposites. She’s the good child. She plays soccer, gets straight A’s, and wears the cutest dresses my mother fawns over. I smoke too much and barely got into college. The only good thing about me is the boy who loves me—the town’s golden boy.

  “You look beautiful.” Mom gushes, placing each of her hands on Auden’s shoulders in that loving way that mothers do.

  Auden’s lips, covered in pink gloss, tug up into a smile. She really does look beautiful, it’s a fact that I can’t deny. I can’t quite place where my annoyance at my little sister is coming from.

  It could be the fact that she’s living the ultimate high school experience, the one they show in movies, the one you’re supposed to want. Athlete, honor roll, popularity.

  Or it could be the way my mother looks at her with love and amazement. It brings a pang to my stomach, makes me feel sick.

  Mom poses Auden on the stairway, adjusting her dress and snapping far too many pictures. After each click of the shutter, she leans back from the camera and admires her daughter for another moment.

  She doesn’t look at me that way.

  My bare feet drop from the coffee table with a thud, grabbing the empty bag of chips I head to the kitchen. Crumpling the garbage and throwing it into the can, I take a deep breath, clearing out my head.

  My therapist would tell me to breath through it, to remember all the good things in my life. I have a nice life. My family is normal. We have a home, and cars, and food on the table. I count my blessings, remind myself that I’m okay.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  I’m okay.

  What she forgets is that my anxiety doesn’t see things the way ‘normal’ people do. I have a good life, but I cling to the bad, to the hopeless. I let myself spiral in situations that have never happened. I cling to the what-ifs. Forcing myself to live in an anxiety filled world that only exists within the walls of my mind.

  “What are you up to tonight, champ?” I cringe at the nickname my father uses. Judah Wilder comes into the kitchen at 8 PM, dropping his briefcase on the table and patting me on the shoulder. He’s home late, which is his normal routine since we moved here.

  I think he really wanted boys, he doesn’t know how to adjust to only having women in the house. For 20 years, he’s ca
lled me Champ. A silly nickname considering I’ve never won anything in my whole life and definitely not a sport.

  “Party at Noah’s.” I tell him, spinning on my heel to face him as he pulls off his blazer, tossing it over the back of a chair and loosens his tie. He’s quick to lose everything that puts him in work mode when he gets home. It’s like he needs to rid himself of the office. I think he feels like scum working there, but the pay is too much to pass up, so he dons the suit and tie and puts on a brave face.

  My father was an artist before mom got pregnant with me. Now he’s just a dad and lobbies for things he doesn’t care about, working for one of the richest men in the country. He tries to keep the two separate, but with the long hours the two things have begun to bleed together.

  “Bad day?” I ask.

  Wrinkles line his eyes as he tries to answer me with a lie. “Nah,” he shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.” He walks back over to me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Noah’s good to you?” he asks, narrowing his eyes and changing the subject. He doesn’t want to talk about work, the people he works for, or the things he does. It’s soul sucking for him, I can tell.

  I snort a laugh. “Yeah, Dad, he’s good.”

  If he wasn’t, Dad wouldn’t do a damn thing about it. Not that he wouldn’t want to, he can’t.

  “Good.” He pulls away, peeking into the living room where mom is still taking pictures of Auden in her princess costume. What seventeen year old dresses up as a princess for Halloween anyway?

  He chuckles when he sees her, then stalks to the fridge to grab a beer. He’s been drinking more since we moved to Aspen Falls two years ago for this job. Before that, we lived in North Carolina where he still worked a mind-numbing job, just one that got him home on time for dinner.

  I don’t say anything as he cracks the top and takes a chug from the can.

  “You driving Auden to her party?”

  “Unfortunately,” I mumble.

  “Hey,” he comes closer to me again, resting a hand on my shoulder. “You know, I used to hate my brother. We were always on each other’s cases—”

  “And now you’re best friends.” I cut him off with a smile. “I know, Dad. You tell me this story all the time.”

  He grins. “And it’s still true. One day, you’ll regret that you weren’t close when you were young. Don’t push her away.”

  He presses another kiss to my forehead, and then leaves me standing there in the kitchen, waiting on my little sister.

  I don’t talk as we ride from the city into the suburbs in Vaughn’s Range Rover. They don’t talk to me either. Vaughn races the car down the highway and Beckett drums his fingertips on the passenger side door. The rhythm of it matches that of my anxiety. A steady drum in my heart saying this is a bad idea.

  These boys are not my friends.

  At least… not anymore.

  “Where is he?” I ask, the sound leaves my lips with a squeak, giving away my fear. The thing with these guys is you can’t be afraid. They feed off the fear, it fills them. At the sound of mine, Beckett turns to face me with a grin.

  “You worried?” he asks.

  “No,” I try to shake it off.

  “Aww, Mik.” His smirk only grows as he reaches back to pat my knee. I even hear Vaughn chuckle from the front seat. “Don’t worry, little girl,” he coos. “You're safe.” He starts to turn back to the front. “For now,” he adds over his shoulder.

  I shudder.

  My mom asks me every day why I’m moody.

  Why I need a bottle of Xanax to go along with my anti-depressants?

  Why my nightmares pull me from sleep every night?

  These guys.

  Noah. Vaughn. Beckett. Pax.

  That night.

  There’s an emptiness that swirls around in my mind, and at the edges I see them, all four of them. I don’t have the words to place them there, at the scene of the crime, but I know they were.

  But feelings don’t count for anything. The only way to get a conviction is with evidence, and there's none of that.

  Noah is waiting when we arrive at his house. A huge home tucked away in a private development filled with other rich assholes. Each of the guys have a house here, each designed specially for them, Noah’s is newer, a pristine prison of his creation. The development is made to look classy, sprawled out over multiple acres of land leaving plenty of room between each house. Enough that my screams will be drowned out. Not that it matters anyway, no one is going to call the cops on a Bancroft.

  No one except… me, maybe.

  Noah is leaning against the brown leather couch, ankles crossed, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled to his elbows, exposing his strong tattooed forearms.

  “Mik,” he says calmly. There’s not a flicker of emotion for me to grasp on to. His face is eerily put together, voice controlled. Then again, Noah doesn’t lose control in front of others, only behind closed doors.

  My voice doesn’t work. I feel betrayed by my body. Instead of greeting him I stand in the doorway staring.

  Beckett chuckles, tossing my duffle bag on the couch before unzipping it and removing the contents. “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice finally coming back to me. As long as I’m not talking to him, I’m fine.

  Vaughn closes the door to Noah’s home, locking it behind us before joining Beckett. They’re emptying the bag and checking all the contents. Holding up shirts and shaking them out, digging through my makeup. They check it all.

  They probably think I brought a bug with me. A camera, a recorder, something that would make Noah’s situation worse. They’re protective of him, he’s like a brother to them and they won’t take a chance that I would be able to betray him, again.

  “Upstairs.” Noah says next, and immediately he turns to the stairway and starts to climb the steps expecting me to follow.

  Knowing this was coming, I rehearsed every night in my head what I would say when I saw him again. Now that the moment is here, my mind is completely blank. I can’t find the words to tell him to fuck off, to leave me alone. I have so many other things I want to say, questions I want to ask. I don’t trust him to tell me the truth though. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  “Now, Mik.” He snarls.

  I follow him. My legs carry me up the stairs even though my heart is unwilling. My head, on the other hand, knows I don’t have a choice. Beckett and Vaughn are watching me as I go. I can practically feel Vaughn’s grin searing into my back. He’s enjoying my pain too much.

  “We’re not teenagers, you can’t boss me around to impress your friends.” I spit out as soon as he closes his bedroom door behind me.

  His room is large, filled with dark furniture and fabrics. The only source of light comes from the large window facing the secluded street. It feels sophisticated in here, too mature for a twenty something. But Noah has been preparing to be an adult his entire life. Now, at 25, he has the aura of a 50 year old businessman.

  He quirks an eyebrow, amused with my outburst but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes crawl up and down my body, making goosebumps rise across my flesh.

  I press my back against the door feeling small under his gaze. I always have, from the moment I laid eyes on Noah. I felt beneath him.

  Just the poor girl falling for the rich boy.

  “You can’t just kidnap me.” I add.

  “No?” He’s trying to control the smirk that threatens to rise on his lips. He’s always in control. Every emotion is under strict regulation. Unlike me, I wear my heart on my sleeve. Every emotion is written across my face sooner than I can articulate the thought.

  “No.” I state. “I’m not yours.”

  He hums, nodding. Grabbing the tie off the top of his dresser he strings it through the collar of his dress shirt and ties the knot slowly.

  He’s toying with me, I know this. Still, a sweat breaks out across my skin and I feel the anxiety rising within me.

  I know what he’s capable of.

  But I don’t k
now what he’s going to do to me.

  “Are you done now?” he finally asks me, after the panic has taken control of my body. I nod, my vocal cords no longer wanting to work.

  “Good, because here’s the thing, Mik.” He stalks closer to me, pressing his body against mine. He takes over my space, filling all of my senses with him. His scent, black coffee and cedarwood, fills my nostrils. Brown eyes peer into mine, his warm body covers me. “You are mine. You’ve always been mine. You will always be mine. Mine to hold, mine to hurt, mine to love. Do you get that yet, baby?” he whispers the last sentence in my ear, sending a chill through my body.

  “Yours to kill?” The words come out in a whisper. I don’t know why I say it, but before I can think better of it, I do.

  He chuckles, bringing his head back just enough for me to take in his face again. Strong, clean shaven jawline, high cheekbones, deep brown eyes. “Yeah, baby, if I want to. But lucky for you, I don’t.” He pushes off the door and backs away from me.

  I inhale a breath like I’ve never breathed before. Letting the fresh air fill my lungs and calm my nerves. I can’t think when he’s that close to me, when his scent is lingering in my nose, overtaking all my senses.

  “Get dressed,” he tells me as he heads to his closet.

  “For what?”

  He tosses me an annoyed look over his shoulder. “We’re making a statement today.”

  I feel cold, like the blood has stopped moving through my body. I don’t move, I only sink further back against the door.

  “Wear a nice dress,” he tells me. “Do your hair, put on makeup, play your part, Mik.”

  “And if I don’t?” I question.

  He gives me a stern look. “Don’t test me.”

  My chest feels tight. I don’t have a lot of options right now. I’m lacking people who trust me, or even want me. If I run from him… he’ll just find me again. “It’s going to kill them.”

  Doing what he wants will break my family, more than he already has. If I don’t do what he wants… My parents might lose their last daughter and I don’t know if they can take that either.