The Broken Sister Part 3

A surprise laugh escaped her mouth. "Right. Okay, you got me there."

"Kylie, is there anything I can do?"

"No. It will pa.s.s. I was just sick of it."

"You come here, okay? Anytime things out there hurt you. You come to us." She pulled Kylie in for a quick hug. "I love you, honey."

Twice today. First Donny, now Mom. Why couldn't she just let their love and support be enough? She just didn't understand why she couldn't be all around better. It frustrated the c.r.a.p out of her, as it surely did Mom, Ally, and Donny.

There was knock at the door when it slid open without preamble. Julia stood there. Now eleven, she was tall and gangly, with honey-golden ringlets like her mother, Vickie. Julia had been raised by Tracy and Donny since she was a toddler. Vickie was in and out, and Kylie was sure Tracy was the deciding factor that kept it from hurting Julia. Kylie secretly believed Julia didn't really want to spend any time with her real mom. Julia felt left out whenever she was gone. For although Kylie and Ally might be technically, by blood, her cousins, they were and always had been her older sisters in reality.

"Kylie? Are you okay?" Julia's timid voice whispered through them. She was a shy, sweet, kind girl who Kylie made sure had no idea of the kinds of things Kylie partook in outside of the house.

"Hey, Ju-Ju-B. I'm fine. Long week at school with all these crazy hard books to read. I wanted a breather. Come in."

Julia always managed to cheer Kylie out of her dark, morose, contemplative thoughts. She'd also be d.a.m.ned if innocent, sweet Julia was ever sullied by the things that were inside of Kylie's head and the things she did or partook in. Kylie grinned in real joy for the first time in days at Julia.

"Wanna play a game?"

"Yes, I want to play a game." Julia loved old-fas.h.i.+oned board games and was constantly begging or bribing one or all of the household to play with her. Even Kylie couldn't resist her and it did the trick of lifting her spirits and getting her mind off of school, Tommy, the website, Cadence, and being a wh.o.r.e... or a victim, depending on who you asked.

Tracy smiled and got to her feet. "I'll let you two keep playing while I escape to make some dinner. Taco salad, Ky?" She asked it gently, as if a quick add-on to her thoughts, but Kylie knew it was the entire point of her thoughts. She always worried how much Kylie was eating and yet understood she could not force it. Taco salad was fine. Not much ever tasted good to her. But she nodded and turned towards Julia and opened herself up for whatever Julia was plotting to beat her at.

Chapter Five.

"TRISTAN, WHO THE h.e.l.l is the other one?"

Tristan rubbed at his forehead when his grandfather's voice reverberated through the phone receiver and into his skull. G.o.d, could the old man growl in fury. He flicked the pause b.u.t.ton on the movie he'd been trying to finally relax in front of. He had no idea what his grandfather was going on about at nearly eleven o'clock at night. Shouldn't the old man sleep at some point? Most old people his age were long retired, eating early-bird specials and going to bed at nine o'clock. Not still working and chewing their number-one grunt out yet again.

"What are you talking about, Grandfather? What other one?"

"Get on the d.a.m.n website. s.h.i.+t!" His grandfather pierced his skull with his sharp howl. Tristan was well aware of only one website that could have Grandfather like this. He leaned over and quickly refreshed his tablet he'd last had it up on. Sure, the post had been bad, but the comments did more than a fine job of neutralizing it. It had taken Tristan about four hours of his tech team and their friends posting comments by various accounts to turn the whole nasty article into a contested pile of s.h.i.+t. They had turned Cadence whatever into a smear on the page who would never dare move forward, for now she knew how the public would react to her. What girl would want to put herself through that? Tristan was sure this would all now disappear and all that would be left was a small ripple lasting for just a few days until this article went to the wayside for some juicier and more substantiated gossip or scandal.

"Who is it?"

Tristan held in the deep need to snap back. Never one to wait, the old man was getting almost unbearable in his demands. "I'm loading it. Hold up, Grandfather." He watched the site load finally and clicked on the tab with Cadence's claim. Under it was a growing comment list of over a hundred twenty-five now. There had been a few dozen to start. His team had done outstanding, speedy work, and his grandfather was screaming at him? It had been done in mere hours. Yet still not enough.

"Do you see it? Ten up from the bottom."

It was written by someone named Kland5568. It meant nothing. But her words were few and potent. No wonder grandfather was about to pop his temporal artery.

There were now two.

He did it to me too, Cadence. I just never told anyone. Stay strong. Consent is supposed to be contingent on you being conscious. People will call you names, but you know what happened to you was real. You're braver than me. I could never come forward. Good luck.

He did it to me too. The words replayed over and over in Tristan's mind. Holy c.r.a.p. He started to breathe faster in response and sweat wet his palms. Two girls had accused his brother? It was...

"I told you. I told you more would come out of the woodwork. Did you read it? Didn't I predict this?"

Tristan let out a deep whoosh of breath. Yes, Grandfather had predicted this. He let the relief flow through him. Of course Grandfather was right. Of course more were coming out of the woodwork. The Tamasy name was synonymous with money. And Tommy was well known right now, the perfect walking payday.

"I see it."

"Find out who the b.i.t.c.h is and shut her down. We can't have two, Tristan. Two speaks to scandal and truth. Two makes a third decide it might be a good game to get in on. I will take care of the Cadence girl. I have feelers out to try and pay her off and get her to sign some nondisclosure paperwork... you know the usual. You take care of this other one. Do whatever you must to neutralize this one. Get it done. And now."

Tristan was staring at his phone. He'd hung up after his ominous threat. Of course it was on Tristan to get it done. He rubbed at his head again with the ache brewing across his forehead. He'd done nothing but somehow he wasn't fixing it faster. d.a.m.n careless little brother. d.a.m.n Grandfather expecting all the brains and ability of the family to fall to Tristan because he believed it bypa.s.sed JR and Tommy.

He grabbed his cell and searched for his lead tech's phone number. He punched it in. As soon as he had the tech on the line Tristan waited, foot tapping while the tech loaded up the website and comments that Tristan specified. "I need an ident.i.ty on who made the comment marked Kland5568. Get me a name. An address. Something, ASAP. I'll triple your fee." He started talking without preamble, without a h.e.l.lo, without any care for what the other man had been doing with his time off work. Just exactly as Grandfather had spoken to Tristan. Tristan knew he was an excellent student and pract.i.tioner of what he learned.

"Yes, sir. I'll get right on it." Another lesson, money worked wonders to open doors otherwise impossible. No thought to privacy or what they wanted the name for. Kland5568, you are going to be sorry you ever tried to spread anonymous lies.

Tristan stared at her comment for a good twenty minutes. Good luck. It seemed to be glaring at him in a mocking challenge. Good luck? Well, good luck to her too.

His cell phone woke him. Fumbling around his nightstand, he knocked his change off the top and finally found the irritating ringing phone. Opening an eye his clock glared at him with the early numbers of just past four a.m., groaning, he mumbled without looking at the screen, "This better be something on fire."

"No. But you said ASAP."

Tristan sighed recognizing his tech's voice. He sat up, leaning against the headboard and clearing his throat. "Yeah, yeah, that's a fire. What have you got?"

"Kylie McKinley, a twenty, almost twenty-one-year old, junior at Peterson. Her address is 5568 Claymore Street, Marsdale. She works alternating s.h.i.+fts at The Acorn. Do you need the address?"

Tristan ran a hand over his face. His brain was barely grasping the tidbits of his newest nemesis. "No. I know it. You got all that off Kland5568?"

"Yes, sir."

"You guys are amazing."

"Yup, that's why you make the big bucks."

Tristan scoffed. No, he didn't. Not yet anyway. Grandfather believed in proving yourself. No handouts. But he knew the tech support, especially ones like Cory, who did the stuff that was kept on the down-low, weren't paid enough for the long, often oddball hours they worked.

"Thanks. Make sure you bill for triple time. I'll make sure it's approved."

He hung up, tossing the phone on the mattress. The body next to him finally groaned and squirmed. Morgan Hartley s.h.i.+fted around until she popped her head up off the pillow. "What's the old b.a.s.t.a.r.d got you up to now?"

Tristan leaned over and kissed her mouth before grinning at her grumbled insult. "Just some tech stuff we needed. Go back to sleep."

She flipped over and burrowed under the covers more. He sighed and headed for the shower. His alarm was going off in minutes anyway. It really wasn't that early. He'd been up late finis.h.i.+ng reports, so morning felt like a kick in the stomach. After showering, he entered his master bedroom with only a towel on. Morgan was stirring again.

He dressed quickly in a tailored Armani suit. His grandfather had early on shown him how to dress, of course. Morgan stirred again as he leaned over to pull his dress socks up. He glanced up as she scooted towards where he sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "What's the old crab got you up to today?"

He rubbed one of her hands with his own. "He's not that bad. He's intense, but he's given me every ounce of ambition and opportunity there is. Neither of which my own father would have ever bothered with. He'd have to have realized he had a son first." Tristan stopped moving as he absently rubbed her hand. Why would he go into that? Morgan didn't care. Nor did he need to be crying about a father more into his flings, usually of the younger persuasion, than he ever was into either of his sons.

"I know. Old Grandpa's just exacting. Couldn't he find a better way to boss you about?"

Tristan turned and kissed her cheek. Ellis would not appreciate being referred to as "old grandpa." "It's called work, Morgan. It's just what it takes. And today, I have some computer issues to attend to."

She sighed and flipped back on the bed, her long legs sliding up as her nightie rose high. "Sure you can't stay awhile?"

He smiled as he turned and followed her, lying beside her he kissed her for several moments, then lifted his head. "Hey, you still don't mind if we date others? Right? I mean, we're good?"

She smiled, lifting her hand to brush back his hair. "No. I don't mind. Why? Hot date?"

"No. Business, actually. But it might look like a date. Or dates. You don't care?"

"No, we understand each other. Besides, I have 'business' too." She grinned as her wide mouth leaned in and she kissed him again.

He brushed her shoulder length hair through his fingers. "Do you ever think we should?"

"Should what?" She frowned as she leaned over him, her brow furrowed.

"Should maybe not have an understanding or business with anyone else."

Morgan shook her head and laughed. "Don't go ruining a great thing, Tristan. We get each other. How this works. We're not in love. You know there's no such thing. How many times have we had that conversation? It's a waste of time to imagine anyone staying together 'forever' without wanting another. It's biologically impossible. So why set ourselves up to fail?" Morgan quickly sunk a last kiss on his lips before she got up and sauntered into his bathroom, essentially ending the conversation and his inquiry.

He sighed, flopping his hands back on the mattress to stare up at the ceiling, fifteen feet up that peaked with canned lighting and two skylights. Morgan was right. They'd had this conversation a few times, and each time he knew she was correct. They had started seeing each other three years ago. They weren't exclusive, which worked perfectly for both of them, since neither of them believed in that nor were looking for that. He'd almost pinched himself when he first started seeing her. She was allowing him to have s.e.x with her, and anyone else he wanted! She was the daughter of one of his grandfather's lawyers. They'd met through business, at a big charity dinner that her father and his grandfather had both been attending. Introduced, they had spent the rest of the evening flirting and ending up at his place. The s.e.x had been phenomenal and their ease in conversation was like they'd known each other all their lives. She'd asked him to attend an opening for a line of perfume her company was releasing. She was VP of marketing at a large cosmetics company. They easily fell into dating each other. They had the same type of functions and requirements for business, but both of them were too busy to nurture needy spouses. Instead, their attraction grew naturally between them. No mention of exclusive or boyfriend/girlfriend status, until she mentioned one night she had a date with a race car driver she'd met the weekend before.

He'd been a little stunned at first. Morgan just a.s.sumed he'd not mind. He'd never really said either way. He understood that she would be done with him if he said anything to counter her. He learned over the years she didn't believe in love and had no intention of having a traditional marriage. She'd watched her mother stay with her faithless father in a charade she called "of epic proportions." Much like Tristan's parents' marriage. It was something he understood about Morgan. She'd never allow any such foolishness to her life or live by such a stupid pretense. So they enjoyed each other's company when it worked out. They dated others when they saw fit. They didn't owe each other their itineraries, schedules or list of friends or s.e.xual partners. She gave him total friends.h.i.+p, loyalty, and freedom. The perfect companion.

He pulled himself up. Why then did he sometimes feel sunk with weight? Why, when they were together, was he sometimes. .h.i.t by this deep, almost lonely feeling? Like he was with her, but isolated. Tristan shook his limbs as he adjusted his cobalt blue tie and swept his blond hair back into place from Morgan's hands. What was his problem? He wasn't cuddled enough? He shook his cuffs down and straightened his posture. His lips smirked up when he pictured his grandfather's take on this; he was acting like a p.u.s.s.y. He had a beautiful, smart, successful companion in Morgan Hartley, who needed nothing from him. He wasn't lonely. He was heading to the top of the world. He was heading towards running the large corporation his grandfather had put together, which had locations at over a half dozen spots in the United States, and they were both trying to turn those six into double or triple that. To make Tamasy Industries a real brand name in their very niche product ability.

Now? It was going to end up being Tristan's if he did this right. If he learned, grew, succeeded, and didn't lose his b.a.l.l.s.

He knew his hesitation about today. It was dealing with this Kland5568. He dreaded it. It wasn't business. It was damage control he completely resented having to take care of. But they worked with a variety of different industries, including the government, and most specifically the military. They couldn't have a rape scandal connected to the name Tamasy, as it was too synonymous with Tamasy Industries.

He quickly grabbed his soft, black leather brief case. He'd grab an espresso when he got to work. Today was about stopping anyone from wrecking the future he and his grandfather had dreamed of and built. Yes, Tommy was an idiot. But he didn't deserve to be called a rapist. Tristan stared at the gleaming bra.s.s doors of the elevator of his building as it took him to his lobby. Yes, he did not need any such scandal. So Kland5568, watch the f.u.c.k out, because he highly resented having to do this kind of work; lying and covering when he had real, important, financial work to do. Legitimate work to do.

Steeled with that resolve, once Tristan got to his office, he started to find out everything he could about one Kylie McKinley.

Next up, he called his brother. "Kylie McKinley. The name mean anything to you?"

Tommy had obviously been sleeping. Tristan rolled his eyes as he compulsively tapped his fingers on his desk, waiting for his probably hungover brother to wake up and answer him. Tommy was garbled and groggy as he muttered, "What?"

"Kylie McKinley. The name mean anything to you?"

"Uh... h.e.l.l. Yeah. How do you know that name?"

"She added a nice comment on that website about you doing it to her too. This is important, Tommy, wake up and answer me."

Tommy coughed and spat. Tristan cringed picturing his bedroom floor. "Pig" and "gross" were two adjectives to describe what Tommy's manners were like. "Yeah. Yeah. I get it. This makes sense. I ran into her, yesterday afternoon of all freaking times. I hadn't seen her up close in... years. I think freshman year. We hooked up. It was nothing spectacular, so, you know, I ignored her, kicked her to the curb. Guys told me she stumbled out of there all weepy the next morning. Walk of shame and all that. But look, Tris, she's like that. That kinda girl. I could line up a dozen that could claim the same story as me, same walk of shame. She's a s.k.a.n.k. She must have seen me yesterday, and felt all hurt again. I barely remembered her. It took me like a d.a.m.n minute to remember I even knew her, let alone had screwed her. f.u.c.king s.l.u.t b.i.t.c.h spreads c.r.a.p about me? You gonna fix this s.h.i.+tty stuff?"

Tristan sighed. It did seem a huge coincidence. They run each other after almost two years and now she says something? He sometimes felt the need for a shower after listening to his brother's escapades. Even though he'd pretty much lived a parallel life in college, at thirty now, he just didn't see the appeal any more. "All right. I'll see what I can do."

He hung up the phone and began researching The Acorn, where he'd no doubt be eating dinner tonight.

Kylie stayed home for only the night, but was back on campus for her cla.s.ses at ten the next day. She felt a smidgeon better; more grounded, and bolstered by her family. They had sent her off with smiles, concern, and hugs. She had to work tonight, so there was no avoiding it. She had to face her life again.

She dressed carefully in the black slacks, black Oxford shoes and a white b.u.t.ton-up, with small ap.r.o.n that said The Acorn in silver across it. The waiter's uniform was unis.e.x and Kylie appreciated that. It was simple, unfeminine and basically how she dressed anyway. She'd worked at the high-end restaurant starting last summer. She'd only been hired because the guy who owned it was friends with Donny and had hired her as a favor. He'd met her and frowned his agreement over the nepotism. She never complained and was fast on her feet. So Douglas, the boss, had recently given her the compliment that if he had a few more like her he'd need half the wait staff. She had finally proven herself.

She kept her hair pulled tight in a ponytail and wore minimal make-up. Douglas allowed the earrings she wore and her nose ring as long as she kept it small. The Acorn was a sophisticated club in one of the hotels in downtown Marsdale. The room was paneled in dark paneling and its lighting was low, creating a luxurious effect. The booths were all high backed, creating a sense of privacy, and each couple was in their own nook. There were lots of gla.s.ses used with each table setting and candles so the atmosphere reflected a beautiful, haunting experience. The bar was long and ran the length of the room, with deep cus.h.i.+oned seats before it. Most came in there for drinks and appetizers as much as dinner. It was basically everything that Kylie was not or grew up with. Most of the clientele seemed to wear suits and professional wear. Many traveled and were staying in the hotel. The clientele were usually older, demanding, professional, and not into mistakes. She was intimidated at first, but had gained some confidence since.

Her first table had a man working, with paperwork spread around him, and laptop before him. His head was bent down in concentration. He was quickly typing, glancing down, and absently sipping water that the matre d' had provided. The man, maybe in his early thirties, was obviously busy. He had blond hair and a suit was about all that registered with Kylie. He was a dime a dozen for her.

Besides, most of them looked right over her. She wasn't the pretty, hot, bouncy, talkative waitress that got hit on by the lonely, out of town businessmen. Most were polite to her because she was quiet and un.o.btrusive about serving them.

She cleared her throat to let the man know she was there, a settle trick she often employed so as not to startle the often-working diners. After clicking the keyboard several more times, the man looked up. She stepped back half a step in surprise. Wow. The guy was far more handsome than the usual customers. Fl.u.s.tered she quickly gripped her pad of paper to center herself. She felt the heat of a blush and smiled softly to cover it. The guy had blue eyes that leveled on her and seemed to cut right through her. His intensity was disconcerting seeing as how she was there to ask him what he wanted to eat and drink.

"Hi, my name is Kylie, can I get you started with anything?"

Blondie watched her for a good twenty seconds. Which wasn't long, but under his odd, compelling stare, she fidgeted and had to talk herself into staring into his face so he didn't realize she wanted to turn and bolt. Jeez, why the third degree stare? She tapped her pen to her pad. "Sir? Did you need longer?'

Then... wow, it was the sun coming out. Blondie smiled. From scowling and staring at her as if she were a deer he'd shot and now needed to cut into to clean, he was smiling up at her. One side of his plump lips turned up, and dimples dug into his cheeks. Blue eyes crinkled and his long, elegant face broke up from stern and unapproachable to nearly making her drop her pen and pad.

"No, no. Sorry, I was concentrating. I didn't even realize you'd walked up... Kylie, was it? That's your name?"

"Um, yes, sir." His smile had dimmed a little and his eyebrows rose as he inquired about her name. Most didn't care what her actual name was. She was a little surprised at the almost reverent way he checked.

"And you wanted my drink order?"

A small smile crept over her lips, as well as the blush that often did when anyone spoke directly to her, regardless if they were someone she found good looking. Though this obvious business man, in his well-cut dark suit with a blue s.h.i.+rt and dark blue tie, was not her typical type. He was very spit and polished. Not exactly a look or way of being she was used to. Even Donny, who ran his own small computer business and dressed in slacks and b.u.t.ton-up s.h.i.+rts and occasionally ties, didn't look like this guy. He was flawless. His watch, which was platinum and gold, flashed in subtle nuances just at his wrist, peeking through his cuffs. His entire look was crazy successful. He wasn't hot like a surfer on the beach or another college student. He was handsome, polished, sophisticated. The subtle scent of cologne touched her nose. He was cla.s.s and elegance, and he was smiling at her as if she were the only woman in the entire room. She burned up with his attention, even as she told herself, he was just good at this. He was the type of guy who knew how to focus on someone, anyone, even a n.o.body server like her, and make them feel like the most important and only existing person in a room.

It was called charm. And it was something she distinctly lacked.

"Y-yes, sir, if you wanted something." She scrunched her face up when she stuttered over "yes." Calm down, it was just a typical drink order. What was her sudden enchantment with some typical upper-cla.s.s business tyc.o.o.n? Dime a dozen here.

"I'll have a vodka tonic. Been a long day. You recommend anything for dinner... Kylie?" He'd glanced down at his menu, but lifted his head up to stare right into her eyes as he said her name. She had to work to keep the shudder that traveled her spine from showing. d.a.m.n, he was good at the seductive way he seemed to almost caress her with her own name.

He grinned again and waited, still holding her gaze prisoner. "Uh, anything is amazing here. The, ah, special, the prime rib? It's supposed to be world cla.s.s."

"You don't eat it?"

She bit her lip. "I don't actually eat much meat. So... no."

"Vegetarian? Yet you serve meat?"

"Not a vegetarian per se. I just don't really like meat. It's not a political statement or anything. I just don't eat it much by choice." Or anything else. She could almost swear she could read his thoughts when his gaze finally released hers and traveled over her bony frame. But he didn't comment with a Maybe you should gnaw on something to add some meat to your bony bones. "All right then, what do you actually suggest then? Not what the management wants you to."