Redstone, Incorporated: The Best Revenge Part 16

Chapter 19.

His stepbrother.

St. John stared at the boy who was sitting on a bench on the sidelines of the early-evening soccer practice, his left arm in a cast, his left eye still swollen nearly shut. It would, he knew, turn black soon and take weeks to completely fade. He wondered if the boy looked in the mirror and saw it as the price he'd paid for not being quick enough or smart enough to avoid it. He wondered if the boy resolved to be better, to behave perfectly, only to discover it made no difference. He wondered if the boy had begun to make intricate plans to avoid contact at all with his tormenter.

He wondered if the boy spent hours trying to figure out what it was about him that made Albert Alden hate him.

Slowly he walked over to the bench. Calculating what the boy would think a safe distance, he sat down just more than an arm's reach away. Tyler gave him a sideways glance, although he didn't meet his eyes. It was as if he'd just wanted to rea.s.sure himself whoever this person was, he wasn't close enough to be a danger.

He was wary, skittish, but he hadn't learned yet, St. John thought. Hadn't learned that with some predators, no distance was enough, there was no safety to be found anywhere with them, except in death.

If he stayed here, he would learn.

If he didn't figure out the nature of his enemy quickly, he would learn sooner.

If St. John kept pushing Alden, kept tightening the vise he'd set in motion, it might be the last thing he ever learned.

He knew what the boy was feeling. Just as he'd known when he'd been a kid just a couple of years older than Tyler, that if he didn't escape, he would die. The idea of heading off into nowhere, where he knew nothing and no one, had been terrifying. The idea of dying had been more terrifying. And in no small part because it had begun to seem tempting. And he'd begun to understand why his mother had felt it her only choice.

He shook off the memories and focused on the boy sitting on the bench, alone and apart, as he had so often been. He had the feeling this was going to be futile. He'd never dealt well with kids. Josh said it was because he'd never really had the chance to be one himself.

He knew that commenting on the boy's injuries would be the wrong approach; nothing had been worse than constantly having to lie about what had happened, to keep his ugly secret.

"Rather be playing?" he said at last.

After a moment's hesitation, and still with no eye contact, Tyler said bluntly, "No."

"Why not?"

"No good."

"That's why they call it practice."

"Don't want me."

St. John fell silent. The boy had spoken all of a half dozen words, yet he had revealed so much. And the irony that it was himself speaking in full sentences to the boy's terse answers wasn't lost on him.

The beating-down process, the sense of worthlessness, was well on its way. And the isolation, the apartness was there, as well; whether it was by choice or because the kids around him knew he was different in ways they didn't want to know about didn't really matter. He felt an ache rising inside him, a pain he'd never thought he'd feel again. But looking at this boy was like looking at himself, all those years ago, and the thought of what pure h.e.l.l was yet to come made his gut knot almost unbearably.

Tyler said nothing more. So he'd already begun to learn what St. John had early on; the less you talked, the less attention you drew to yourself. In the beginning, he'd tried to limit that to just his father, but it had been too hard to make the switch back and forth, so he'd resorted to the minimum of words with everyone-everyone except Jessa. She'd been the only one he could relax his guard around.

The rest of the world got that surly, near-silence. It had earned him the reputation he had today, but it had, on occasion, saved him, so he considered it worth it.

He talks like he's at war....

He'd heard it said around Redstone, knew it had originated with Gabe Taggert, the former naval officer who was now captain of Redstone's flagship, Josh's latest venture into nautical design.

He'd also heard that Gabe's wife Cara's response had been simply, "Maybe he is."

That's what this was. The final battle of a war that had been interrupted by the retreat of the weaker adversary. But he'd learned, he'd gotten stronger, he'd gathered the weapons, although he'd never intended to use them like this. Had his father stayed off his radar, he wouldn't be here.

And he never would have seen Jess again.

The jolt that gave him was beyond unsettling.

"You're Jessa's friend, aren't you?"

For an instant it seemed as if the boy had read his mind, and it took him a moment to answer. "Yes."

"I like her."

"So do I." And that, he thought, was an understatement if ever there'd been one. "And Maui."

"He likes you, too."

The boy's expression brightened. "Really?"

St. John nodded. And then Tyler looked away, drawing back into himself in a way he knew all too well.

"Don't tell," the boy whispered.

"Tell what?" St. John asked. "About Maui."

"Tell who?"

The boy didn't answer, but the fear in the gaze that darted his way and then dodged away told him.

"Something might happen to him." The boy slid off the bench, cradling his broken arm with the other. "Gotta go."

St. John watched him go, with a wrenching sadness he couldn't fight. A cheer went up from the soccer field, seeming miles away rather than just a few yards. And a world away from the life Tyler Alden was living.

St. John left the park, walking toward town, glad now he'd left his rental parked at Hill's. He needed the exertion. He'd be running if he didn't know it would earn him, in street clothes, attention he didn't want. And that realization shook him; where was the vaunted St. John control? Where was the legendary cool, the emotionless a.s.sessment of every situation?

The more complicated the plan, the bigger the chance for failure.

That had always been his philosophy, even when it came to the biggest of ventures for Redstone. And he'd applied it here; the plan was simple-drive Alden to expose his true self-it was only the execution that had been a bit complicated. And it was working, just as he'd known it would. The smooth, polished facade was cracking, giving glimpses of the ugly, twisted soul beneath. And soon-sooner than he'd even thought-that crack would become an irreversible breach, and Albert Alden's life as he knew it would be over.

But now he had to face the very real possibility that the self-destruction he'd engineered for a man who deserved every iota of it might also destroy the life of an innocent boy, trapped as he once had been. Destroy it in a brutal, very literal sense.

He consciously slowed his steps as he realized he was on the verge of breaking into that run.

And clenched his jaw against the turmoil raging inside him when he realized that he wasn't hurrying to get back to his car.

He was hurrying to get to Jessa.

She had always been the one clean, pure, golden thing in his life.

It seemed she still was.

Chapter 20.

"He likes you."

At his words, Jessa looked at St. John as he paced the s.p.a.ce near the hay bales in the storage barn. She heard a round of applause from the square, where Alden was holding another rally. Maybe it was her imagination, but it didn't seem as loud as it had been in the past. Or as frequent. And the rumble of dissent was actually heard now and then, unlike before.

People were getting curious. Several had approached her, asking about his public explosion. She told them the truth, but she no longer felt the sense of pride she initially had in how she'd handled it. She couldn't, not when it had cost Tyler so dearly.

Which brought her back to the matter at hand.

"I think he likes Maui more," Jessa said, reaching down to tickle the dog's ears. The animal lifted his head obligingly, leaning into her caress.

"Talks to you."

"He talked to you, too."

"Not much."

"By your standards, that would mean total silence," Jessa said drily.

Usually a retort like that had earned her, if nothing else, a quirk of his mouth. This time all he did was keep staring out the window at...well, she wasn't sure what. But she was pretty sure it wasn't the physical reality outside.

"Too late to stop it all."

She went very still. She hadn't expected him to reach this point so quickly. She hadn't even been sure he would reach it at all. "Stop it?"

"Can call off Redstone. The audit, the reporter, no."

"Is that what you want? To stop it?" That he would even consider it startled her.

"Kid will end up dead."

"Like you almost did," she said, then held her breath.

"My revenge. In a way, his. But-" He shook his head, then went on in a low, harsh voice, "Unacceptable loss."

Jessa couldn't begin to describe the relief that filled her. Since the moment she'd realized who he was, and had watched his inexorable march toward that well-deserved revenge, she had wondered. Had wondered if the damage done to him as a child had twisted him into something as cold and calculating as his father. There had been times when she'd thought it true as she watched his fierce, intense focus on bringing the man down.

But here was the truth, the real man. The man who realized he couldn't sacrifice an innocent boy trapped just as he had been, to this cause, no matter how righteous.

"I talked to his mother," Jessa said. St. John's head moved sharply as his gaze shot to her face. "She's not going to be any help. I'd guess Alden has managed to restrain himself from venting his sick proclivities on her, and she's either in total denial about her son, or worse, has decided better him than her. Disgusting as it is, I think it's the latter."

St. John was staring at her, not speaking, and in that moment she knew just what he was thinking about.

"It doesn't make your mother's path any more acceptable, she still should have fought for you, but it does make it seem...almost cleaner, doesn't it?"

"You'd fight." It was barely above a whisper.

"For my child? To the death. Or his abuser's death," she added, meaning it with all her heart. "What are we going to do? If Alden cracks-" "When."

"All right, when. You know him better than anyone, so if you say he will, he will. But what do we do about Tyler? How do we keep him safe? If I call the child welfare people, it's going to look like I'm just trying to smear him, and they might not take it seriously enough to move in time. And if you call, you'll have to answer questions you don't want to answer."

"School," he said.

"Like they did for you? The man bought them that d.a.m.ned soccer field, they named it after him." She couldn't keep the fury she was feeling from creeping into her voice. "They're going to need a lot more than a political opponent's say-so to take any action against him. A lot of the teachers are out campaigning for him."

"Payback."

"Maybe. The reason doesn't really matter, though. What matters is Tyler."

"Give him...somewhere to run to."

"How?"

He glanced at Maui, whose plumed golden tail wagged at the eye contact alone. And she remembered the story he'd told her, about how a scared, exhausted boy on the verge of ending it all had come back from the brink...to help a man with a dog.

"Use Maui?" His gaze shifted back to her face, and she read the question there. "All right. Tyler's safety is paramount. And Maui certainly won't mind. But how?"

"Trust you."

Her brow furrowed. Sometimes, she thought with a touch of exasperation. "Do you mean you trust me to figure something out, or that Tyler will trust me?"

For an instant something brighter flashed in his eyes, something less haunted. Then, quietly, almost solemnly, even for him, he spoke one word. "Yes."

She couldn't help it, despite the gravity of the situation and the nature of the discussion, she smiled.

"Well, he'd likely trust Maui, anyway."

"You. I did."

A bittersweet warmth flooded her. "And I let you down," she whispered.

For the first time since he'd come back utter horror registered on his face, echoed in his voice. "Jess, no!"

He crossed the six feet between them in two long strides. Abruptly, without gentleness or finesse, he yanked her against him and wrapped his arms around her.