A Brutal Betrayal

All that I do is dedicated to you, Babulya, including this book. However, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’d rather not need to dedicate this to you. I wish you were still here. I love you and miss you every day.

Deda, we love you and miss you too.

Acknowledgements

My most important thank you is to my husband. He believes in me always and is there for me when I need him the most. I wouldn’t be where I am without his unconditional love and unwavering support.

A huge thanks to my sister. Her name should be on the cover alongside mine. She’s my biggest fan and worst critic, my conspirator and co-writer, and my best friend. And to my niece, who always keeps me on my toes.

A big thank you to my parents, who support me in everything I do and even cried when my first book was released. Thanks to my in-laws (ema, aba, bros and sis) for their encouragement and love.

There are quite a few people that I’ve met along the way who have not only helped me get myself out there, but have become friends and allies. They all deserve an acknowledgement and I can’t thank them enough for all their help: Jenny Sims (best editor ever! Editing4Indies); Rachael Orman (couldn’t promote myself without her help! Dreams Come True Promotions); Marina Yermolenko (my most critical beta reader, but I appreciate ALL her suggestions!); Catherine Grey & Sheri Hursh (my amazing beta readers and confidence boosters [side effect]); Jettie Woodruff (wouldn’t even know how to publish without her!); Rebecca Marie (amazing graphics! my cover is proof); Carrie Sutton (I don’t know how I’d come up with teasers without her! Graphics by Carrie).

There have been some amazing ladies (in addition to the above) that have pimped me out just because they are awesome and I need to thank them: Suleika Santana, my friends at On The Same Page (Tunee, Julia, Maya, Inessa, Margarita), Kasey Craig, Lauren Duncan, Glorya Hidalgo, Janet Gomez, Rebecca Bennett.

Lastly, authors wouldn’t be where they are without the fantastic blogs that help spread the word and the people behind them. There are a ton I’m sure I’m going to miss and I’m extremely sorry for that. But, here are some that need special acknowledgment: A Literary Perusal, All About Books, Two Ordinary Girls and Their Books, The Pleasure of Reading Today, Author Groupies, A Pair of Okies, Three Chicks and Their Books, Just One More Page.

Prologue

No, God, please. No! she screamed, her voice hoarse from the screaming and begging, her face tear stained and bruised. No one could hear her in the dark alley, no one cared. Her pleas were drowned out by the sounds of the traffic nearby and the music vibrating through the many clubs in the area.

She felt like she had been crying out for hours, but it had probably been no more than a few minutes. Her assailant had her hair in a tight grip, the roots on the verge of being torn out. The rough surface of the wall cut into her cheek as she was pressed against it. The biting pain was nothing compared to the terrifying violation being forced upon her.

With his face buried in her neck, she could feel his hot breath coming out in small puffs with each thrust. He was mumbling, but she couldn’t hear his words over the thunderous roar of blood in her head or the sound of skin slapping on skin.

Please, stop, please, she whimpered, her voice almost gone at this point. She closed her eyes, willing the pain to stop, willing the violation to end, willing her mind to leave her body behind.

Three hours ago, she had told her parents she was spending the night with a friend, which wasn’t a total lie. She just hadn’t told them that she and her friend would be utilizing their new fake IDs to go to some clubs first. Her friend’s parents were out of town, so no one would notice or disturb them. They took advantage and drank at the house first before taking a cab to the main street where all the bars and clubs were located. Making their way through three clubs quickly, they picked up free drinks from men who assumed they were much older than they were. Twenty minutes before, things changed when she lost her friend in the crowd. The booming music and the throngs of people, bodies pressed against each other, writhing to the notes coming from the loud speakers, immersing themselves in the beauty of letting go. With the added relaxation from the drinks she’d had, she let go, maybe too much, only to realize that she was without her friend, groping and being groped without the safety of someone she knew. She needed air. Just a little, she told herself. She would step out for just a moment, maybe text or call her friend. Worst case, she could always grab a cab back to her friend’s place and wait it out.

She had stood by the door of the last club, sucking in clean air. Well, cleaner than the musty air from inside. Her head was still throbbing from the pounding music. She didn’t hear him approach. She hadn’t realized what was going on until she was pressed against the wall, until the hands pushing her face into the wall felt wrong, violent.

Don’t make a sound, he had said, his voice low and gravely, and the enormity of the situation hit her. She didn’t listen, she screamed, a loud, shrieking sound coming from her lips. He punched her, slamming her head against the corrosive wall. She didn’t care, that was better than what she knew would happen. She screamed again, and he pushed her into the wall, hard. She bucked into him, trying to push him away. Her arms flailed where he hadn’t pinned them down, trying to scratch him somehow, although she knew she couldn’t reach him at this angle. He got a hold of her arms and pinned them in front of her and pushed her against the wall. She felt her lip starting to swell, and her body felt like someone had snapped it in two. But still, that kind of pain would heal. The pain she knew he intended on inflicting would not, so she didn’t care. She didn’t stop screaming. Not when he lifted her dress, not when he tore her underwear like it was a piece of tissue paper, not when his rough, calloused hands pinned her hips to the wall, not when he forced himself inside her, not when he pounded away the remnants of her innocence, not when he continued to violate every part of her being.

Please stop. No. Please, don’t do this. Her lips moved, even as her voice disappeared. But it didn’t matter. He was doing it. He had done it. She felt the pain, the ache in every crevice and corner of her body, in every niche of her mind. And he had been rough. He had beaten her to get this. She could feel the telltale signs of bruising all along her body. But she could have taken that. He continued to mumble, the words still incoherent to her, but she finally felt herself starting to check out from this time and space. Her mind was finally starting to protect her, pulling her out of the moment. The numbness began to take over, but just before she lost consciousness of the here and now, she felt his body tense, and he went rigid with his release. She vaguely felt him push her down to the floor when he was done with her. She barely remembered hearing the zipper on what she assumed were his jeans. And she only just understood that the sounds of footsteps were his as he ran away from her, leaving her there bloody and broken, used and discarded, sullied and ashamed.

Chapter 1

Seven Years Later…

Hey Chuck, Declan answered his phone. Long time, no hear. How are things? How’s Sue? he asked his mentor.

Hey Dec, things are good. Sue’s good, just busy with the kids. But that’s what happens when you’re a stud like me. She can’t keep her hands off me, and then nine months later, we have way too many little me’s running around.

Declan laughed at Chuck’s humor. Chuck was twenty years his senior and on his third marriage to a woman who was a year younger than Declan. Chuck was one hell of a therapist, well, at least for others. Too bad he couldn’t follow his own advice. Maybe he would have stuck it out with wife number one, or even two. But Sue was a sweetheart and for some reason, she seemed to love Chuck, baggage and all.

So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call? I’m not babysitting, and I am not a marriage counselor, Declan joked.

Ha, ha, funny guy. I have a patient I am referring to you.

Why? Can’t hack it anymore, huh? It’s all right, being old isn’t anything to be ashamed of.

Oh, wise ass, just remember that if I’m old now, that means you will be too at this age.

Okay, okay, seriously though. What’s the issue?

No issue. I met with her a few times, but she’s skittish and not very trusting. I’ve seen her staring at the pictures of my family along my desk. It’s no secret I’m on wife number three and have a brood of kids under my belt, but I think all that intimidates her. When she looks at my wedding picture, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen both longing and fear in her eyes. I think it all actually makes her feel uncomfortable. She’s told me she feels like I can’t relate. Not that my life should reflect my teachings and whether I can help her cope, but she has started closing up on me.

I’m not understanding why your family or commitment situation should matter to her, Declan stated, confusion marring his brows.

She’s a rape victim. It happened a few years ago. It was pretty brutal too. The guy beat her good and then practically left her for dead. All the details are in the police report; you can take a look when I send it over. It’s left her scarred from having relationships or being able to get close to anyone. She’s been through several therapists before me, but every time, she’s found something that makes her standoffish. I’m thinking that since you’re closer to her age and haven’t had a serious relationship, she might be able to connect to you more. And mind you, Dec—she wants help, she’s actively seeking it—but she’s feeling defeated after years of nothing. So, my lonely, self-absorbed, egotistical, ‘there is no one out there good enough for me’ friend, I hope all those qualities can ensure you’re able to help her. He chuckled, but there was a slight edge that told Dec he was partially serious.

Hey! It’s not my fault I haven’t had a serious relationship, and you know it. It’s not like I’ve had time to find someone, let alone maintain a healthy one. And it’s not like I wouldn’t like to have someone I care about.

See, there you go. First, you don’t ‘maintain’ a relationship; you actively participate in one if you’re happy in it. And second, excuses, excuses. It doesn’t matter. I had Shirley call your office the last time Megan was here. That’s her name, by the way. Megan Verona. And Shirley set up an appointment with Alice. I think it’s tomorrow, but hell if I remember.

Chuck, I’ve never dealt with a rape victim before, Declan mused, a little worried. He hadn’t been a therapist for long, in fact, he’d only been practicing on his own for six months, but in that time, he felt he had helped numerous people. He attributed that to Chuck’s help. When he first started mentoring under him, it had been rocky. His hard edge, thanks to his army years and the little bit of lingering anger, made him seem gruff. It was with Chuck’s coaching that he learned to tone down what some would call his alpha personality and instead be compassionate and caring, almost to the point that he seemed passive, but not disinterested. It seemed to help with his patients, though, but most had PTSD or anxiety, and his new soothing personality worked well with those cases. He had a few depression cases and a mix of various other issues, but he had never tried to help a rape victim. Not that he wasn’t confident in his ability—he was sure he could aid her through whatever fears were plaguing her. But whenever he got a new type of case, he couldn’t help the nervous jitters that fluttered through his stomach.

Don’t sweat it, Dec. Remember, she wants help. She wants to beat this. Just help her along. You can always consult me if you need to. I’m here.

Thanks, Chuck.

They talked some more, mostly small talk, and then hung up.

Declan had a few hours before his next patient, so he sought out Alice, his secretary.

Hey Alice, Chuck just called and told me about a new patient he sent over.

Oh, hmm, let me think. Oh, yes, Shirley called yesterday, I think it was. Scheduled an appointment, now, let’s see, what day was it? Alice was a great secretary. She handled everything he needed, she was sweet, and a little older, so she was very motherly to Declan, but she was scattered. Material things, she could organize like nobody’s business, but to Declan, it seemed like her own mind was always stuck in the clouds. Oh, yes, tomorrow at eleven in the morning, she said as she pulled a piece of paper from the pile.

Chuck said he was sending over some files for her, can you give them to me when they get here?

Sure thing. Oh, wait, I think something came through a few minutes ago.

She pulled up some files on the computer. Megan? Megan Verona?

Yep, that’s her.

She printed out the information and handed it to Declan. He saw the police report, and he knew he should read it in detail, but after the first few images were branded in his brain, he could barely read the details. He had always prided himself on being able to separate his patients in his mind. He could read details on paper as if it were just that—details on paper. He never associated the things he learned with an emotional response. It was all clinical. He wasn’t heartless—quite the opposite, actually. Things tended to affect him too much, which was why he needed to pretend like he was reading a novel, something fiction, in order to truly help his patients. But, as he glossed over the brutal and violent details of the crime Megan had been through, he was having a hard time distancing himself. He put the police report down and decided to focus solely on the here and now. He read through Chuck’s notes several times until he thought he had a handle on things. Come tomorrow, he would work on helping Megan. And if he had to get the details of the crime, he’d get them from her. It would be like listening to a story rather than looking at cold hard facts. That would be so much easier. Yeah, right, who am I kidding? It didn’t matter, when the time came, he would get his emotions under control, just like he always did.

Chapter 2

Declan heard a soft knock on his door before Alice poked her head in. Miss Verona for you, she announced. He stood up and walked around his chair just in time to see whom he presumed to be Megan walk in. Now, Declan was a professional, schooled in manning his emotions, but he was taken aback at the sight of Megan. He was a therapist, first and foremost, but he was only human. And a red-blooded man, at that. There was something so incredibly enchanting about her. Sure, he had seen plenty of beautiful women in his lifetime, but she was something else. She was girl next door meets elegant class. Her jet black hair was a sharp contrast to her flawless pale porcelain skin. Like it was painted to be just that color, there was a hint of color on her cheeks, as if she was blushing. Her deep blue eyes were unlike any blue eyes he had ever seen. He’d seen ocean blue, clear blue, green-blue, but hers, they were so dark, they were almost black, deep navy, like the ocean when you are far from a beach with only the waves to comfort you. The most endearing part was that they held a hint of sadness, a hesitancy. And given the fact he knew what caused that, it made him feel like a jackass for even thinking it was endearing in the first place.

He gave himself a mental shake and held out his hand. Declan Connors, but please, call me Declan. And you must be Megan. He smiled, hoping the sincerity of his smile would egg on her own. It didn’t.

She stared at his outstretched hand, seemingly pondering the situation. Would she not even shake his hand? She exhaled a breath and hesitantly reached her own hand out to touch his.

Yes, thank you, Mr. Connor, er, Declan. You came highly recommended by Mr. Hodge. I trust he informed you a little bit about me. I told him that it would be okay.

Yes, he did, please have a seat. He motioned for the chair and was surprised to feel slightly sad at the loss of contact. As she turned, he caught a whiff of vanilla and jasmine, and something inside him liked it. It felt almost familiar.

Declan always allowed himself a moment to scrutinize his patients as himself and not Declan-the-therapist. And he did just that with Megan, maybe taking a little longer than he normally did. He wasn’t unused to seeing various types of people when he studied under Chuck. Therapy didn’t discriminate. There were young patients, kids, teenagers; there were couples, married, engaged, divorced; there were beauties and those who would be deemed average; there were every type, you name it. Since Declan hadn’t been practicing on his own very long, he had mainly worked with men in their twenties and thirties, but he had a few exceptions. So, Megan was truly different, from her breathtaking beauty to her reason for being there. While he was still himself, his mind wandered. What would I do if I had seen her on the street? Would I have allowed myself to approach her, and ask her for her name and number? It didn’t matter anymore, she was his patient. Slipping on his therapist authority, he pondered how he should handle this case. How could he get her to trust him, to open up to him?

So, Megan, like you mentioned, Chuck’s told me a little about you, and he’s mentioned that you want help because of commitment issues. Care to explain?

I’m twenty-three years old, and I have never had a relationship.

Plenty of people are considerably older than you and have never been in a relationship.

Yes, but I’m sure the thought of having one doesn’t make most people’s stomachs turn, she stated with a bit of annoyance and a hint of desperation.

Personally, he’d never given commitment much thought; he just didn’t have the time for it. However, that didn’t mean many others didn’t have a fear of commitment. He wanted to point that out to her to give her some semblance of normalcy and make her comfortable with him. No, not exactly, but like I said, there are plenty of people who have never been in a committed relationship. And some of them don’t want to because they are scared of commitment.

I’m not scared of commitment, Declan. I’m scared of getting close to someone.

Some people are scared of that too. If they get close to someone, they might get hurt. He knew that wasn’t what she had meant, but he wanted to keep her talking about the subject.

She sighed, clearly frustrated with the way the conversation was going. I’m not scared they will hurt me emotionally. Hell, I’m not even technically scared they will hurt me physically. It’s something deeper, something I can’t handle. When someone gets close to me, physically, I begin to panic. Not because I think they will necessarily hurt me, but because something inside me is broken. I want to fix it.

What’s broken, Megan?

Me.

It was such a simple