“That asshole,” Nick said thickly. “I was never really sure what was going on with Maria. But it was this, wasn’t it? He’s fucking his own foster kids, the bastard!”
I flinched at the graphic language but nodded.
“Yes,” I whispered. “He didn’t care about me as long as I had a flat chest. But now, well…” I nodded down at my full breasts, which strained against the thin fabric of Nick’s T-shirt.
Nick looked slightly uncomfortable.
“Yeah I’ve, uh, noticed you’re having kind of a problem,” he muttered.
“Nancy won’t buy me a bra that fits me,” I told him. “Not that a new bra would do me any good, considering how they make us all shower naked in front of them so they can watch us.”
“Sick fucks,” Nick muttered angrily. “I thought you and I could just do our time until we get out of here, but this sure as hell complicates things.”
“Nancy made him leave me alone…for tonight anyway,” I pointed out in a small voice.
But I knew why she had done it. If Nick called and reported them for being shitty foster parents, they could get rid of the evidence easily enough—the stalls could be emptied and the box could be burned. However, if she let her husband do what he wanted with me, the evidence of a rape kit would be much harder to refute.
But Nancy hadn’t said never, she had told Gary, “Not tonight” meaning there might be another time when she would turn a blind eye to whatever he wanted to do to me. And I knew what he wanted now—I knew it and it made me sick with fear.
Nick seemed to be thinking along the same lines because he was shaking his head.
“We have to have a plan,” he murmured. “We need to stay away from this house as much as possible.”
“What do you mean?” I frowned up at him.
“How about if we join the photography club? Or the Yearbook Committee?” he asked me. “Or maybe both?”
“But we’re already in band and football,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but having more extracurriculars will keep us away more nights of the week,” He said. “Plus, they look good on a college application.”
“You’re going to get a scholarship for football,” I told him. “You don’t have to worry about things like that.”
Nick gave me a serious look.
“Yes, but I do worry about keeping you safe from that sick fuck, Gary. We can join more school clubs but while we’re here, I’m going to have to stick closer to you, darlin’,” he murmured, stroking my hair. “Can’t let you out of my sight for a second.”
“You can’t be with me every minute,” I pointed out. “I’m in the laundry room a lot of the time while you’re outside raking leaves and trimming the bushes or whatever.”
“But I’m still close enough to tell when you’re in trouble,” he told me. “My brand burns when you’re in hot water—that’s how I knew to come back in tonight when that asshole Gary was trying to get to you.”
“It does?” I turned my arm over and examined my own brand, a few inches below my wrist. “Mine seems to burn when you’re upset,” I admitted.
We compared brands for a moment, both of them glowing faintly in the dark basement, as they always seemed to do when we were in proximity to each other.
“My dad used to tell me that theses kinds of brands—blood-brands—were used by all Were families,” Nick said to me.
He almost never talked about Were stuff to me because he knew I didn’t remember much about it from our childhood and I preferred to keep what I did remember a distant memory. It frightened me too much—and made me sad because those images of the past were always tied up with my father, who was gone forever. But tonight I didn’t try to stop him.
“Why?” I asked softly. “Why did they all get branded?”
“So they would know when one of them was in trouble—when they needed help,” Nick said simply. “And it marked them as being in the same family to outsiders, too.” He stroked my hair. “Just like we’re family, Kira darlin’.”
At that moment, I didn’t want to be his family—didn’t want to be just his “little sister.” I felt more for him than that—I’d been feeling it for ages but since my body had started maturing what had started out as a crush was rapidly becoming my first true love. But I didn’t dare to say that to him—Nick was always talking about being my “big brother”—I was afraid he would think I was sick or wrong for wanting him in a different way…a deeper way.
So I just murmured,
“Okay,” as I nuzzled closer to him. “Thank you, Nick.”
“Hey, what are big brothers for?” He tried to smile at me but in the dim basement his eyes were serious. “I won’t let that bastard hurt you, Kira,” he murmured, stroking my hair again. “I swear, I won’t.”