Page 158 of Enemies

When I speak, each word is soft. “Ah, yes. Those rumors.”

Sweat beads on his face. “It was Kian’s party.” His throat bobs. “She shouldn’t have even been there.”

In Miami, she said started making music in high school after she was raped, that her parents began fighting after something disrupted their family, ended up divorcing.

The way she doesn’t rely on anyone to look out for her. The identity she forged, the one that makes it easier for her to be free, to separate herself from someone who doesn’t have fears…

That’s why she didn’t want me here today. She knew he would be, or could be.

Zachary Whelan isn’t only the man responsible for the fate of my club.

He’s the man who raped my girlfriend.

People are watching us, recognizing me.

I don’t care. I step closer, fisting his lapel and leaning in until his awful cologne hits my nostrils.

“Say another word,” I mutter, “and I will break one of these wine bottles and castrate you in front of the bride and groom.”

His eyes widen in shock.

But before I can rip Whelan to shreds, a woman’s voice calls my name.

“Harrison!”

I turn, but it’s not my girlfriend. Though she’s physically similar and around the same age, this woman is taller, wearing a different dress, and the expression on her face is a warning as she looks between me and Whelan.

“Callie,” I guess, and she nods. “I’m in the middle of?—“

“I can’t find Rae anywhere.”

Rae

The cellar’s damp but comforting. Quiet and far enough from the rest of the party that no one will find me.

Except footsteps have me tensing, and dress shoes appear on the stairs.

I made it through the ceremony, focusing steadfastly on my brother and his beaming bride.

The moment it was done, before the recessional, I asked Callie to cover for me and snuck out.

I found my way down to a room with wine barrels and sank onto the floor. I don’t have a watch, so I can’t know how much time has passed.

The dress shoes’ owner descends.

I thought I could handle seeing family and old friends. I didn’t expect he would be here.

Making peace with your past is one thing. Sitting twenty feet from the man who assaulted you is a stretch.

When dark dress pants appear, followed by a belt and a pale blue shirt I personally picked out this morning, my chest eases.

The soft, yellow overhead light shines on Harrison’s hair as he emerges into the cellar.

“You came back.” My voice is rough.

He crosses the space between us and holds out something. “You left your phone in the car.”

My fingers close around it, the case cool and familiar.

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