what are you doing home so early?” he says, his voice shaking.
I knock back the contents of my glass. “Where in the fuck have you been?”
Ian recoils as if I slapped him. “I—” He falters as he stares at me, dumbfounded.
I swipe my hand across my burning eyes and grind out the words I can’t keep bottled up. Words driven by my own fears. “Did you let him fuck you?”
Ian pales. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb, Ian.” I pull Turner’s note out of my breast pocket, unfold it, and hold it out to him. “Turner. Did you let him fuck you?” My heart is breaking into pieces, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear his answer.
Ian stares at the slip of paper. He shakes his head, but when he opens his mouth to speak, nothing comes out.
“Answer me, damn it!” Impulsively, I hurl my glass across the room. It hits the brick hearth, shattering on impact and sending shards of glass raining down on the floor.
Ian flinches, and as his eyes tear up, he shakes his head. “I didn’t, Tyler, I swear. I didn’t.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No!”
My fear for Ian’s safety has morphed into fury, and I’m so wired I want to beat Turner all over again. Through gritted teeth, I say, “Tell me exactly what happened yesterday at the marina. All of it.”
“He followed me onto my boat,” he says shakily. “He wanted us to go below. I said no, Tyler. He grabbed me and tried to kiss me, but Miguel showed up then, and Brad took off. He didn’t actually do it—kiss me. I swear.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday? Jesus, Ian, how could you keep this from me? You could have been hurt.”
“I was afraid to tell you because I knew it would only make things worse. If you found out he was pressuring me for sex, you’d go after him.”
“So, instead you protected him?”
“No! I was trying to protect you.”
Growling like an animal in pain, I slam my fist down on the bar, rattling the bottle of whiskey.
Eyes wide, Ian stumbles back.
Fuck.
I’m scaring him.
He wraps his arms around his torso, closing in on himself. “I was scared, Tyler. I didn’t know what to do.”
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and struggle to rein myself in. I believe Ian. I believe him one hundred percent, and he doesn’t deserve this kind of response from me. I’m furious at him, yes, but I’m angrier at myself for losing control. “Ian, you should have told me. What if Miguel hadn’t shown up when he did? Turner’s bigger than you are, stronger. He could have easily overpowered you. He could have dragged you below deck and raped you.”
“I know,” Ian says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Chapter 11
Ian Alexander
Tyler turns to face the window, his shoulders taut, his back rigid. His hands are balled into fists as he struggles to regain control.
My heart hammers in my chest, and my lungs billow as I try to breathe. I’m fighting the urge to run—to the roof, outside, to my boat—anywhere away from here. But I don’t. This is too important. There’s too much at stake.
Calmer now, Tyler turns back to face me. “Where were you this afternoon? I tried to reach you, but my calls went straight to voicemail.”
“I went to see a movie with Layla, and I turned off my phone.” I reach into my pocket and pull out our crumpled movie ticket stubs. He’s a cop. He’ll want evidence. My hand shakes as I offer him proof. “Here.”
As he stares at the ticket stubs, his expression softens, and then he crosses the room and pulls me into his arms. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”
“You believe me?” Overcome with relief, I melt against him.
“Yes.” He cups the back of my head and holds me close, his mouth near my ear. “I’m a shitty boyfriend, aren’t I?”
I slide my arms around his waist. “No, you’re not. I hid all afternoon in a movie theater with my little sister, so I didn’t have to face Brad. I guess that makes me a shitty brother.”
He chuckles, and then he kisses my temple. “No, you’re a wonderful brother. Now tell me, what did Turner want from you?”
“He told me to meet him at my boat at one o’clock this afternoon. He said if I didn’t, he’d go straight to the police and file a complaint against you.”
Tyler scowls. “Promise you’ll let me know if he contacts you again. He’s dangerous, Ian. I’m afraid