Untamed (Untamed #1) (16 page)

“WHAT IS THAT?”

I could’ve sworn I felt the walls of the apartment shake. I quickly pulled the hem of my shirt down and wrapped my arms around me.

“Nothing.”

“Reagan, what is that?” His nostrils flared and his hands fisted at his sides. My father had never once laid a hand on me. He’d never needed to. He inspired fear with just his voice. But right now, I was worried that was about to change. His eyes dilated in fury. “Have you lost your goddamn mind, child?”

“It’s not—”

“I do not want to hear any excuses!” His face twisted. My own father was disgusted by me. Because of some paint on my body. “You should thank your lucky stars your mother is not here to see this. She would have a fit.”

Anger built up inside my body, spilling over into my mouth. “And then you would give her some pills and her usual martini and all would be well in the McKinley world.”

The slap hit my cheek without warning, the sound echoing off the cathedral ceilings. It stung so much—the hit itself and the fact that he’d done it—that my eyes watered. I cradled my cheek in my hand, barely breathing.

“I am your father. I gave you life. I give you money.” His wide chest rose and fell with every livid pant. “I do not care what kind of phase you think you are going through right now, but you will not do anything to disrespect this family. Do you hear me? Do you hear these words coming out of my mouth, Reagan?”

I nodded.

“I can’t hear you!”

“Yes.”

“Get changed. Now.” He barked out the order like he was addressing an animal. “I will arrange for someone to drive you to a clinic and have that taken care of.”

Goosebumps claimed every piece of my skin. His words burned through me until the world blurred and I couldn’t breathe. Hot tears fell from my eyes.

He groaned. “Don’t be dramatic, Reagan.”

“Just…paint,” I said, my voice a strangled whisper.

“What are you saying? I can’t hear you.”

“It’s…just…paint.” Each word was a choked out gasp. “N-not a real tattoo.” I hated him with every part of my being. Nothing had changed over the past four years. He still gave the orders. Still controlled what happened to my body, mind, and soul.

God, I was going to be sick. I stood up and tried to move toward the bathroom, but he blocked my way. “I am not done speaking with you.”

My legs gave out and I sank to the floor. “What more could you possibly want?”

“I want you to be like Quincy and Pierce,” he said, his voice filled with disappointment. I was not the child they’d wanted. I never had been. An accident from the very start.

Bile rose up in my throat. “If only you’d made me go away like you did every other inconvenience.”

“Stop it, Reagan.” His hand fisted again, but this time he shoved it into the pocket of his dress pants. “Get up. You are an embarrassment to yourself. And to this family. You better pull yourself together by tomorrow night.” Then he brushed past me and walked out the door. I heard it click closed behind him.

I crawled to the bathroom and threw up into the toilet. When I could stand, I rinsed my mouth and braved a glimpse into the mirror.

I stared at myself for several seconds, not recognizing the girl at first. Her eyes were dead, her face emotionless—she looked nothing at all like Ree.

“Reagan,” I said, nodding at my reflection.

Reagan nodded back.

I opened up the medicine cabinet. My little bottle of pills stood there on the shelf, neglected for months. Waiting for Reagan to return.

Well, she was back.

I poured several pills into my palm, swallowed them dry, and numbed myself to the rest of the day.

twenty

“L
adies and gentlemen, Nathaniel Forrest McKinley!”

My father approached the podium amidst cheers. It was clear that the press and public saw in him the perfect future mayor—tall and well-dressed, confident, successful, powerful—his perfect family surrounding him.

“Smile, Reagan.” My mother hissed between her teeth as she waved.

When she’d shown up at my apartment earlier that afternoon I’d been lying on my bed in a drug-induced stupor. She hadn’t even bothered to knock.

“Reagan Allison McKinley, how in god’s name can you be sleeping when we need to get to the press conference?”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

“We don’t have time for dramatics right now, young lady.” She pointed a red-tipped finger at me, then turned to my closet. “Where did all these…
clothes
come from?” The word was laced with disgust. “Where are all
your
clothes, Reagan? This looks like the closet of a hobo.” Her chest heaved and I would not have been surprised to see flames come out her nostrils. “I knew I should have brought something for you.”

I lay on my bed watching her, life draining out of me at the mere thought of having to suffer through the night ahead.

“Do I really have to be there?” I couldn’t. I just didn’t have anything left in me.

She made her voice high and whiny. “
Do I really have to be there?
Are
you
not a part of this family? Is
your
father not announcing his candidacy this evening?” She paced back and forth in front of me, her bright red Chanel suit impeccable, her hair coiffed flawlessly, looking the perfect politician’s wife.

“I’m not feeling well, Mother,” I said. “I’m just not really up to it tonight.”

“I don’t care if you are
dying
, Reagan. You will get yourself dressed and ready, and out to the car waiting downstairs. And you will do it in the next fifteen minutes. Your attendance at this press conference is not up for debate.”

So now as I stood next to her on the steps of the Met, playing the part of the perfect daughter, I stretched my lips to show my perfect teeth.

And felt perfectly dead inside.

I hadn’t slept since my father’s visit. I was fueled purely by pharmaceuticals.

“Ree?” Dare had said last night, concern creasing his brow as soon as he’d seen me. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I had to say goodbye. I owed him that, no matter how much it was going to kill me.

And it did. It killed me.

I’d walked into his apartment and stood in the middle of the space, looking around at what would no longer be my life. I breathed in—the smell of art, of Dare, of
us
overwhelming my senses.

“What’s wrong?” he said, staring at me from the doorway, his hand still on the open door. “What happened?”

I looked at him then, and the pain of it took my breath away. Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them down as I continued to stare at him.

He closed the door and came to me. “What the fuck happened?”

How was I supposed to tell him that his life was in danger? That his entire family could get hurt? And all because of me.

“Ree.” He took my face in his hands and kissed me so sweetly I couldn’t hold back the barrier between my heart and body. A single tear slipped out and rolled down my face. His thumb brushed my cheek. “Just tell me, baby. You’re scaring me. Are you okay? Is something wrong with you?”

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out.

The gravity of the situation was hitting me so hard—this was the last time I’d see him. This had to be the last time I saw him. I started hyperventilating because I couldn’t imagine a life without him. We’d only just begun…there were so many things I wanted to experience with him, so many things I needed to say and do and conquer.

Yet here I stood, feeling our entire future slipping away.

“Come here.” He scooped me up into his arms, carried me to the bed, and lay me down gently. Then he curled himself around me, holding me tight. “You’re safe now,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Talk to me.”

As my body relaxed against his, I told him everything. And that it had to be this way—that
I
wouldn’t let anything happen to
him
. Or Dax and Dalia. Or his mom.

“He can’t do that.” His voice was hard, and I could feel the anger coursing through his body. “He can’t just free a murderer from jail.”

“You don’t know my father, Dare,” I said. “If he says he can do it, he can. The man doesn’t make idle threats.”

He was silent for a few minutes, then said, “There was a call.”

“What do you mean?”

“A call came to the house from Rikers. They didn’t answer it, but Dalia called me this afternoon right after it happened.”

I felt cold all over. A warning to me—my father had done this, I had no doubt.

Dare shook his head. “We’ll figure it out. He’s not untouchable, Ree. I get it—he’s got money and connections—but that doesn’t mean he can run your life.”

“You can’t risk yourself and your family for me,” I whispered. “I won’t let you. I’m not worth it.”

He inhaled sharply and turned me toward him so we were face-to-face. “That’s not true. You are worth it. You’re worth a fight. You’re worth…
everything
.”

I shook my head over and over again. “I’m so fucked up, Dare. So flawed, so imperfect, so—”

“I don’t want you perfect.” His fingers stroked my cheek and brushed the hair from my face. “Ever.” He cupped my cheek. “All the most beautiful pieces of art have flaws. Sometimes that’s exactly what makes them priceless.” He leaned down and kissed me, then whispered against my lips, “
You
are priceless, Ree.”

I lost myself in him then even though I knew it was wrong. But I couldn’t help it. I needed him. Just one last time. One painful, heartbreaking last time.

All night I lay next to him as he slept, listening, watching, trying to memorize everything about him—his scent, the sound of his breathing, the feel of his skin on mine.

I left before he woke. It broke me, getting up out of his bed while tears rolled down my face. I hadn’t cried last night. But I couldn’t stop the pain that engulfed me this morning. It didn’t matter that it was my decision—my heart didn’t care. It shattered just as easily either way.

Walking slowly around the apartment, I touched all the little pieces of Dare that were scattered about everywhere. The paintings he had set out for the show were stacked neatly against the wall and I flipped through them one last time.

A choked sob escaped my lips when I got to
Real Ree
. She was so beautiful, the girl he’d painted. So happy.

I would never be that girl again.

Ree was gone.

My father had killed her.

Only this shell of a person named Reagan remained.

As I was just about to walk out for the last time, a note on the breakfast bar caught my eyes. I unfolded the paper to find the drawing of my phoenix and four words written below it in Dare’s handwriting.

Two parts. One whole.

I folded it back up, slid it into my pocket, and ran out of his apartment.

One part. One big fucking hole.

“There you are, Reagan!” Quinn found me sitting outside on the steps of the museum. “Mother and Daddy have been looking all over for you. You haven’t even been to our table, yet.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said, pulling my knees up to my chest.

“You’re getting your dress dirty. And being rude. Archer’s been looking all over for you. He came all the way from Boston to be your date and you’ve been ignoring him. People are starting to notice your absence. You need to come back in and be social.”

“I’m not in a social mood, Quinn.”

“Are you ever?” She rolled her eyes. “I swear, it’s like you weren’t just an accident, but adopted instead.”

I looked at her sharply.

“McKinleys don’t have accidents,” I said. Bitch.

“You’re utterly impossible.” Quinn started to walk away, but then stopped and slowly turned back around. Reaching into her clutch, she fixed a pitying gaze on me and withdrew a bottle of Oxy. “Here,” she said, throwing it on my lap. “Pop a few and at least pretend you know how to smile. And don’t say I never gave you anything.” Then she turned and walked back inside.

It was freezing out, but I sat there for a few minutes more, my fingers tracing the lid of the bottle. Then I stuffed it into my jacket pocket and stood up.

Maybe there was another way.