Breaker (Unmasked #3)

24. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Cora

T he faucet drips, echoing around the silent bathroom. Plink, Plink, Plink. The noise drills into my head, but I can’t seem to move to adjust the knob and make it stop. The cold tile floor under me is my only anchor to reality, my mind moving too quickly, sorting through the images of Rune, Zane, the time with the men, Delly, all so quickly it’s hard to focus on one single thing.

There’s too much to be upset about.

My hand hovers over my breast, tears burning my eyes. It hurts too much. Not just my skin, but deep in my bones. In my soul. I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing Reaper as he promised he’d always come for me. That I was his Baby Girl. Theirs. And they never let the things they claim go. But then it gets taken over with the feeling of Rune’s teeth sinking into my flesh, and vomit burns in my throat.

“Cora,” Clyde’s strangled whisper leaks through the closed door.

This is the third time on the last hour he’s come to the door, asking if I need something.

Them. I need them.

“Go away,” I say, angrily swiping at another tear that slipped out.

There’s a thud on the door, then it’s quiet on the other side. A few minutes later the flimsy lock pops and the door swings open. Clyde strides in holding a glass of water. Without a word, he opens the cabinet and removes the alcohol. Adjusting his sleep pants around his waist Clyde crouches next to me and shoves up the sleeve of my shirt to check the bandage on my arm.

“I don’t want you near me,” I say. I don’t say I don’t want anyone near me because every time someone comes close, I’m hurt even more than before.

“Liar,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “You love me and couldn’t live without me.”

He’s not wrong. He also thinks I’m just upset over the meeting in Zane’s office today. God he’s in such denial.

“Why?” I ask. “Why Zane? There’s got to be a reason he wanted me.”

“You’re right,” Clyde says, placing a new bandage on my arm and tossing the old out as he sits back on the floor next to me. He looks so old right now, weathered. Tired. I wonder if I look the same. “You’re the next best thing.

“Wow, you really know how to lay on the charm.”

“Just like you guessed, you have your parents money and shares in Rune Corp. You own several homes and land and you’re a Julian.” Clyde stretches his legs out in the bathroom floor next to me, rubbing his bad knee. Sports injury or something. Maybe when he was training as a young man. He told me once, but I don’t remember. I wish I’d paid better attention now.

“My inheritance is a curse,” I tell him. “And a fuck ton of good my name does me.”

Clyde drops his chin, looking down at his hands in his lap. “Your parents were respected.”

Until they weren’t .

“Tell me what happened tonight,” Clyde says, looking back up to meet my eyes.

I avert my gaze. Of course I do. It’s not easy to look someone in the face and lie to them. I’ve only ever done it to protect them, and myself, from the truth and what it would do to everyone I love.

“Tell me what happened in his office.”

My eyes sting, so I keep my gaze fixed on the white tile floor. Part of me wants to tell him. He’ll believe me. He’ll also lose his mind and kill Rune.

And then what? Zane will have Clyde’s head. Then mine. And then what happens to Delly?

What happens to everything else?

“I told him I refused to marry Zane,” I say thickly, swallowing down the urge to scream. “He didn’t like that.”

Clyde makes a huffing sound. “I don’t imagine he did. Then what happened, Cora?”

My eyes meet his. There’s something there, some acknowledgement, like he knows . Maybe not exactly what Rune has done, but what he’s capable of. I need to remember that Clyde’s been with Rune for years. Standing by him, taking orders to kill and enforce. Clyde may not want to admit out loud what Runes capable of doing especially to me.

Maybe I’m in denial too. Clyde is a dangerous man. He’s Rune advisor which is just a fancy way of saying he’s an enforcer. A killer. He’s Rune’s weapon. It may have been Clyde who either killed the men’s brother or chose which of Rune’s soldiers to send to have him removed.

“Cora,” Clyde says, tapping my arm. “What happened?”

“He told me I had no choice,” I say, keeping our eyes locked, praying the stinging in my eyes doesn’t betray me. “And that was that.”

His nod tells me he understands. His next few words confirm what I already know. He really has no idea that the man who raised me, hurts me. “Rune hated your mother. But he loves you.”

“He has a funny way of showing it,” I mumble.

His frown makes me regret my snark. Logically I know none of this is Clyde’s fault. He’s protected me as best he could. It’s not his fault I never told him about Rune. It’s not his fault my mother was who she was. I never told anyone about her either.

Even though I hated her, I admired my mother’s courage. Caroline Julian may have been the worst kind of person, but she was a savvy business woman. Intelligent and knew how to coerce people to do her bidding.

My father was merely her puppet. At a young age I knew that. She would smile sweetly, shower him with kisses and praise and the next thing I knew, we were on a trip a country I only vaguely remember, or out on a new yacht, her male yoga instructor in tow.

I wonder sometimes if my father feared her more than he loved her and that’s why she always got what she wanted. And what my mother wanted was power. She craved it like demons crave blood. She sucked it out from anyone who came near her, absorbing any power they possessed and used it as her own.

That’s the mistake Rune made. He trusted the wife of his partner like he did his own family. He trusted she had his best interest in mind.

The only concern my mother had was for herself. I remember vividly just how that felt when she nearly killed me in that closet and her only worry was what would happen to her if someone found out.

That cuts a person in half. That gut wrenching feeling, the mind shattering knowing, that the one person who’s supposed to love and protect you doesn’t care at all.

I remember that heartbreak all too well because I experienced it over and over with Rune.

The worst part about remembering are how the bad parts never leave you, and the good seems to fade all too quickly.

Some people remember just shadowy bits from their childhood. Just fragments of time, captured like photographs, torn at the edges, faces cut off, or parts scratched out.

My memory is just fine. Because I remember every detail. The wood door against my nails. The smell of my dried piss. The throaty moans of people in far off rooms. I remember their faces too. The men. How their teeth showed, like rabid animals when they smiled at my mother.

“ Prissy, come sit on my lap.”

“Are you okay?”

My vision snaps to focus, the room returning to bright clarity as Clyde moves to a crouch in front of me.

“You’re starting to worry me.” The skin around his mouth creases as he frowns. There’s salt and pepper stubble on his cheeks and for the first time I really look at Clyde.

His dark eyes framed with dark lashes. His deep skin, lined with the wrinkles of a man in his fifties, now furrowed between his brows, as he watches me with so much concern, I don’t know why I want Rune’s love so much when I obviously have Clyde’s.

His eyes dart back and forth between mine, like he’s trying to determine my mental state. “Did Rune hurt you, Cora?”

With a deep breath, I shake my head.

“Stand up.” I tell him. “Your knee is bad.”

With a lingering look, like he’s trying to determine if I’m lying, he stands and looms over me, quirking a brow.

Gunshot. That’s what his knee injury is from. Not an accident.

“I want you to learn to defend yourself.” Clyde says. “I know a guy.”

I nod absently. It doesn’t matter if I can defend myself. What good will it do against men hellbent on breaking me? I’m still powerless against powerful men.

Men who take and consume. Devouring anything and everything simply because their greed outgrew their humanity. If they even had any to begin with. When you grow up being told you’re the best, you think you are. When you grow up knowing nothing can touch you, when there’s no consequences for your actions, you learn you live not just above the law but that the laws of common men don’t apply to you.

And people, wives, children, they become nothing. They are trophies or a bother. They are of little importance beyond how they can serve you. And it’s amazing what men will say when they are in the company of a woman they think holds no value.

Or what people will say in front of a little girl who’s nothing but an inconvenience

I stand up, looking at myself in the mirror.

I look just like her.

My mother.

Same green eyes. Same red hair. You could hold up a photograph of my mother at the age I am now, and you’d think it was me using one of those old photograph apps.

Cora. Caroline. The only difference is what we carry on the inside.

Funny how I keep being reminded that I’m her blood, like poison runs in my veins. I’ve been told over and over how being her daughter has made me vile. But they forget that my mother was smart. Cunning.

Fucking ruthless.

Maybe I’m more like my mother than I think. Maybe Rune was right to hate me and try to break me down.

But, I am my mother’s daughter.

She may have left me forgotten in a dark cold hell for days, but she trained me and never knew it. I watched her every move, learning exactly when the monster in her would strike out at me, and in doing so, I learned exactly how to get what I need. It’s helped me survive Rune.

It’s about to help me avoid Zane.

“Come on, old man, we’re leaving,” I say to Clyde, leaning in to inspect the light bruise on my neck. It’s barely visible, but I know it’s there. The pain of his bite throbs, the reminder of his hatred marked into my skin. Just like my body still feels every single place I’ve been violated or abused my entire life. Every moment etched into my bones as a memory.

“Where are we going?” Clyde asks, following me as I march down the hall.

I turn to face him, feeling in control of myself for the first time in my entire life.

“We’re going to the estate,” I tell him.

“Right now?” He glances down at his plaid sleep pants, then cocks his head to the side, brows knitting as his eyes narrow on me. “Why?”

“I need to gather a couple of things,” I tell him, leaning over the railing to make sure Rune’s no longer in his office.

No light bleeds from under the door.

“Are you sure?” Clyde asks, from behind me as we continue down the stairs.

Oh. I’m sure.

***

The estate earned its name because of its size, not its location. When one thinks of vast family estate, images of a massive old world mansion sitting on lush open fields come to mind.

Not this place. My mother wanted the best, and twenty years ago, the best was a huge, three story, Spanish style beast of a mansion set back from the beach by a wide lawn and massive pool. When I was younger we had security guards wearing open neck shirts, and walkie talkies. Palm trees in massive pots lining the veranda overlooking the ocean.

If you were to envision a drug lords mansion in Miami in the 90s the house I lived in was it.

None of that is here now of course. My mother died fifteen years ago and everything about her was forgotten. Who she was. The empire she and my father helped Rune create.

It’s all mine now, what little Rune didn’t manage to coerce lawyers into signing over to him when he became my legal guardian. Like what should have been my half of shares to Rune Corporations. With help, he dwindled that down to only a quarter and made sure I have zero control over it until after his death when Delly inherits his fortune.

Actually, I can’t touch much of my inheritance. What little I have left, Rune doles out to me each year, controlling me in every way possible. Rune thought he was smart putting his two beloved gems in charge of his money, but he failed to see that when you’re fucking over the girl who signs your checks, she can see everything you’ve ever done.

And has receipts.

“Are you sure you want to be here?” Clyde asks, watching me closely as I march toward the front door, keys in hand, prepared to enter the home where my mother hosted her famous parties, various men catering to her to quench her desires. Or maybe it was my father who loved to watch my mother get fucked.

Not that I have room to judge. I’ve never judged her. Not for that. Just for being an abusive, shitty person.

“Yes, Clyde, I want to be here,” I lie because I don’t. Of course I don’t want to be here, but this in my territory and I need what’s inside this house.

The faint sound of a motor engine revving further down the street sends my heart fluttering with nerves. Every inch of me feels strung out, buzzing with anxiety. I pause in front of the door, my fingernails stinging with that phantom pain, insides trembling. But it’s not fear over why I’m here, it’s the memories that lie beyond this door that’s making my breaths shaky.

With a deep breath, I slip in the key, and I hope Clyde doesn’t notice how my hands shake. If he does, he says nothing. The door creaks open and I freeze, one foot slightly raised over the threshold.

A flood of memories slaps me in the face. My eyes dart to the stairs leading to the second floor where my bedroom and playroom were. Then drift over to the dark hallway leading to my parents massive office, like I can see in the outline of the closet where my mother put me.

There’s still claw marks on the inside of the wood door.

I know because I looked the day I was told she died so I wouldn’t cry over a woman who found me a nuisance.

Clyde shoves past, heading for the light switch and flicks in on. Nothing happens.

“Bulb must be blown,” he says.

Once I turned eighteen, Rune set up an account for me with some of my inheritance. With it, I had the electricity to the estate turned on and every few months someone comes out to clean and check for any needed repairs.

To this day, I don’t know why I keep this place up. I could sell it and make quite a bit of money, but the times I’ve received an offer, I’ve never been able to go through with signing the papers.

I think I like that her ghost is trapped here. Maybe I like that mine is stuck here too.

Stepping in, I shut the door behind me. The air tastes stale. Like dust and dry earth but the faint scent of roses floats in the air like my mother just brushed past.

Clyde tries the large lamps resting on the entry table and yellow light floods the space.

I glance around, trying to suppress the images.

Maybe coming here was a mistake. Even as the thought comes to the surface, I know it’s not true. If I’m going to do this. I need what’s here.

“What now?” Clyde asks. “Why are we here?”

I think I’ve never really thought about Clyde’s devotion because we’ve always had it. I never had to live without it, so I never knew it was something to be so thankful for.

Gripping his shoulders, I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek, then point to the hall leading to my parents office. The second my foot slips into the dark hall, panic squeezes my lungs in a vise. I pause long enough to blink back the old fear, and march forward, refusing to be controlled by memories. If I wait, if I let myself hesitate for a moment longer, I won’t open that door and I won’t follow through with this plan.

But I have to.

I’m so sick of men thinking they control of my life, my money, and my body. That they can decide my future.

Well, no more.

I know a little something Zane will want me to keep quiet. And if he wants me quiet, he’ll do everything I ask.

Before I can change my mind, I shove the door open and walk into my parents office.

Darkness tries to leach into my mind and the silence of the house attempts to drag me back to hell, to the place where all my memories wait, but I remind myself this is now. Not then. I’m here, with Clyde who will protect me even if it’s from the dark things living in my head and stalk forward so determined I see nothing besides my parents desk. Not the overly decorative furniture, not the long art deco styled couch my mother entertained guests on.

Clyde’s silent presence offers steady reassurance as I take the large picture from the wall behind the desk and set it on the floor.

“Well shit,” he says. “Now I feel like an idiot that I never knew they had a safe hidden there.”

“Sometimes the most obvious things are the hardest to see,” I say as I unlock the safe. It’s my birthday which is so ironic that it makes me want to weep. No one would ever think my mother would use my birthday so of course that’s what she chose.

The thick metal door swings open with a creak. I pull out the files my mother kept under the boxes holding her most valuable jewelry. She was great at organizing and I admire how she color coded everything, making sure to include dates and names.

I find the name I want and slip it from the stack. Pictures slip out and I gather them up before Clyde can see and stuff them in an envelope I find in the desk drawer.

“What are you doing?” Clyde asks as I put the files back and shut the safe.

Securing my future, I think but don’t say.

I stalk past him, ignoring his stream of questions and head up the stairs to my mother’s room. She had a separate bedroom from my father. The queens quarters our staff called it. I didn’t understand why until I was older.

My mother was the queen of her castle, and we were all just her pawns.

Once in her room, I brush past the canopy bed, the vanity still laden with her old face creams and make up. Glass bottles of perfume and large brushes. At her walk-in closet I stop, and swing the door open.

The light flickers for a minute then settles with a buzz highlighting the past like an exhibit in a museum. It’s like she was just in here. Shoes lie tossed on the corner, clothes strewn about, belts and purses flung haphazardly around. I remember I’d sat on her bed watching her get dressed that day, asking about her dresses and why she needed so many.

My mother was in a good mood that day, and she’d let me ask questions. And I ate it up because she wasn’t annoyed with me.

She’d seemed excited.

Then I never saw her again.

Trialing my hand over the hanging clothes, I think about that day and how I didn’t know it was the last day I’d ever see her. Part of me is glad that little me had that memory of her. That I could carry that sweetness she’d shown me that day through life. Most of me is sad for that little girl who so desperately wanted her mother to be nice to her had to grow up knowing that while Coraline Julian was capable of being a decent mother, she simply chose not to.

At the back of the closet, I reach her gowns, and sort through them until I find the right one. Tossing it to Clyde I say, “Have this cleaned. I’m wearing it to Zane’s function.”

Clyde gives me that head cocked to the side, brow quirk again, and right when I think he’s going to ask me, Why this dress Cora?, he says , “This was your mother’s favorite dress.”

The sizzling dread that’s been sitting in my stomach for days has morphed into a perverse excitement. “I know,” I say moving past him to exit the closet.

And so does Zane.

Stupid fucker. He doesn’t know what’s coming. Hopefully when he realizes what’s hit him, he won’t try to have me killed.