Page 4 of Save Me

I run a hand down my face, exhausted in a way I've never been. "If you want to yell and scream and blame me, you'll have to get in line, sweetheart. So does half the state."

"I-I don't want that either, Brantley."

"Then why are you here, Isla? Because, frankly, being a sideshow in this fucking circus is getting old."

She hesitates for a long moment and then wraps her arms around herself. "I read the paper this morning. The one you just threw in the trash," she whispers. "I guess I just wondered why everyone blames you when there's no evidence that you had anything to do with the men responsible. Just because you have a past doesn't make you guilty." She shrugs helplessly. "It made me wonder how you're doing. I have a feeling you haven't been asked that, and maybe I know a little bit about how it feels to carry things that aren't yours to carry."

What could this sweet little thing possibly know about the shit I carry? I grip the edge of my desk, fury coursing through me at the thought of someone hurting her—of anyone doing to her half the shit my father did to me. She's tiny, innocent.

"Did someone hurt you, Isla?" I ask, my voice level. Calm. Inside, I'm ready to commit fucking murder. All because that tremor in her voice tells me she knows a little too well exactly what's lurking beneath my surface. She sees me a little too clearly. And she relates far more than a girl like her should.

Fucking hell.

"No…I…" She flaps her hands as if she's trying to impatiently shoo away the question, but it only manages to make her look like an anxious little bird. "It doesn't matter, Brantley. I just want to know how you're doing. That's all."

It matters a whole fucking lot. But if she doesn't want to talk, I can't force her.

Jesus. What is even happening right now? She asks how I'm doing and…what? I lose my shit? Decide I'm her protector?Because she cares when no one else does? It's ridiculous. And yet…it doesn't feel ridiculous at all.

I force myself to uncurl my hands from the edge of my desk and sit back in my chair. Force myself to think rationally. Whatever this is, it's not rational. It's instinct. Emotion. And the only place that's ever led me has been to the bottom of a bottle.

"Been better, sweetheart," I say after a moment. "But it is what it is."

She scrutinizes my expression, and then nods. "I'm sorry everyone is blaming you."

Jesus Christ. Who is this girl?

Everyone else would swap me for him without hesitation. I've been called everything but a son of God by people in this town lately. And she's still standing here, apologizing to me, looking at me like she wants to fucking hug me.

"How are you doing, Isla?" I ask, trying real hard not to think about her hands on me. Or the way my dick is throbbing.

"Been better." She swallows hard. "I miss my sister."

"Your dad sent her out of the state?"

"To Silver Spoon Falls, Texas." She sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It wasn't safe for her here. Bella…is complicated. She would have gotten herself hurt because she wouldn't leave it alone."

I narrow my eyes on her as her gaze drifts from mine. "Leaving it alone is good advice."

She nods, not speaking.

Son of a bitch.

"Leave it alone, Isla."

"What if I can't?" She looks at me again, her expression rife with anxiety. "She's my sister, Brantley. My twin. And she's in danger right now. She can't come home because of what happened. If I can help–"

"You can't," I say bluntly. "All you're liable to do is get yourself killed in her place."

"She'd do it for me," she whispers.

Fuck my life. Why are siblings like this? They never listen. Every damn sibling I've ever met is the same goddamn way. They fight like cats and dogs, but they'll jump in front of a bullet for the other without even looking to see if it's necessary.

In this case, it's the exact opposite of necessary. It's outright suicide. This girl can't go up against the Dixie Mafia. They'll eat her alive.

"And she'd die too," I say, not mincing words. "These aren't the type of men you taunt, Isla. They aren't the type you chase around because you're bored or need something to do, or think you're helping, or whatever fucking story you've sold yourself. They will kill you without hesitation or remorse just because you're in their way. So do yourself a favor and don't get in their way."

"Then help me, Brantley. You clearly know more about them than I do. They saw her face. They know her name. By the time the police figure out exactly who they're looking for, it may be too late." Her bottom lip quivers. "I can't lose my twin."