My gaze lifted, watching as Brock moved to the coffee maker. “What the fuck is this?” I asked, tossing my file open on the counter with the others.
He was slow to turn around, the tone in my voice giving away my anger. His eyes went to my face first before darting to the files. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and then let it run down the back of his head and around his neck. He blew out a long sigh. “It’s not what you think?”
“Really, because it looks like you’ve been watching me and my family before I even moved into the Pattersons’. A file on Carter makes sense, but a file on me? Explain it to me, Taylor.”
He sunk back against the cabinet. “Your mom was having an affair with Carter’s father.”
This wasn’t news to me and still didn’t explain a full investigation into my life. “And? What does she have to do with Carter?”
He folded his arms over his chest, and that guarded expression was back into his eyes. “Look, you don’t know the whole story, what he is capable of.”
Emotions I didn’t want to feel cut through me. Betrayal. Hurt. Had I actually begun to trust this asshole? “Oh, I think I know damn well just how far my stepbrother would go.”
“Has he—?” Brock’s voice broke off as if he couldn’t bring himself to say the word. His eyes darkened, edging with anger that went deep.
I thought about Kenna. “Raped me?” I supplied. “No. But you saw to that.” If it hadn’t been for the Elite, Carter might have very well had his way with me.
Visible relief washed over his face, the tension in his body loosening as well. “Steven has been covering up his son’s perversities for the last three years. This file was before I met you. I needed to know how far you or your mother would go to protect him.”
I let out a short laugh. “You actually believe I would do something like that?”
He shook his head. “Not now. When I saw these pictures, I knew you would be Carter’s next target.”
“Why, because I look like her?”Ooops. Damn!The cat was out of the bag. I would have to profusely apologize to Mads, but I was just so angry. The accusation hurtled off my lips, and there was no taking it back.
Surprise flicked over his features and was gone in the next instant. “You know about Kenna. Mads told you,” he deduced correctly.
My fingers bunched together in my lap. “What if she did?”
“She shouldn’t have,” he said.
Whirling thoughts raced through my head as I recounted every encounter with Brock, every word spoken between us, but I kept going back to the night I first saw him. “Were you even supposed to be at the wedding?” I didn’t know it at the time, but Carter and Brock weren’t really friends. Teammates, yes. And the Elite had already started their deception to get Carter to let his guard down at that time. So why hadn’t any of the other guys been at the wedding?
“No,” he stated flatly.
My heart beat faster in my chest. “Why were you there?”
He didn’t answer.
“Why were you there?” I asked again with more force, my nails digging into my palms.
“I wanted to see you for myself. See how you acted around Carter,” he admitted, his voice lowering. Gone was the guy who had been so passionate. This was the Brock Taylor the rest of the world saw. I imagined very few people got to see the side I had this weekend. He had let his guard down briefly, but it was back in place and firmer than ever.
I glared at him, edging off the stool. “You slept with me as some sort of ploy against Carter. You used me!”
“It was nothing personal. Besides, the way I see it, we used each other that night.”
I snorted in disgust, partially because I was upset with myself. He was right. I had used him that night, which didn’t make me any better than him. My heart couldn’t seem to grasp the concept. Somewhere along the way, I had grown to like Brock. He had come to mean something to me, but now… “I’ve got to go.”
“Firefly, wait.” He put a hand on my arm to stop me, but I shook it off, whirling to face him.
“Don’t fucking touch me! And don’t ever call me that again,” I snapped, dashing from the room. I had to get the hell out of there.
Chapter Twenty-One
My head was killing me as I grabbed my shit and left Brock’s house. Of course, the bastard followed me out of the kitchen, ranting and swearing at me to listen. I did no such thing. I slammed out of the house, and relief poured into me when Brock didn’t come after me.
How the hell had we gone from being so intimate to being cold and distant in nothing but a blink? It didn’t seem real. The last thirty-six hours were nothing but a fantasy. This was real life. The pain. The disappointment. The hurt. The betrayal.