Page 59 of Silent Desires

I unbutton my shirt, pull my arm out of the sleeve, and carefully unwrap the gauze. It’s really sticking to the wound today and is steadily growing worse every day. Without antibiotics and a clean environment, it just doesn’t seem to want to heal. I’ve never had this problem before, but I think it’s because this one is so deep. I also don’t think I’ve gone this long without medication for something this bad before.

I cringe as I basically rip off my skin and tissue while pulling the gauze free. My mother grabs my arm and yanks it painfully, inspecting the wound. “There’s soap in there you can use. You have five minutes. No dinner tonight. I don’t want to waste it if you’re just going to puke it up.” She throws my arm at me, making me grunt in pain, and walks away.

Why would I throw up?As soon as I start washing my arm, I understand. The pain of scrubbing it is unbearable. It feels worse than when it was inflicted in the first place, although I know that can’t be true. My stomach rolls with nausea and I work as fast as I can, rinsing out the soap and taking deep breaths to stop myself from passing out or throwing up.

I check my stomach wound, which is fading, but there’s not much I can do about the wounds on my back since I can’t reach them. They usually heal on their own if I’m careful not to sleep on them and reopen them. I lift up my shirt to inspect my side and see a large bruise wrapping around my ribs from the back. It looks bad but there is no cut I can clean or bandage so there’s nothing I can do about it.

Feeling I’ve done all I can, and being out of time, I quickly use the toilet, then head downstairs. I change into a large shirt and sleep shorts and lie in my bed on my stomach, staring at my phone. I can’t even remember how I survived without this connection to the outside world, and the guys before.

Still reeling from the pain of scrubbing at my wounds, I decide I need a distraction, and immediately, I think of my kind, protective twin.

Chapter forty

As Max and I drive home, I wonder why Mina always takes off without us. I just want to make sure she’s okay. I hate the idea of her walking home alone, plus it’s a long walk in the cold, and she doesn’t even seem to have a jacket. At least we know where she lives and the path she takes now.

Our truck creeps slowly down the street, over a hundred feet back from where Mina quickly walks, unknowing of us basically stalking her. I know she doesn’t want us to take her home, and I don’t want to press it right now when we can just watch from a distance to make sure she’s safe. I mean, there is a serial killer on the loose and there is a chance she’s a target, so I wasn’t going to let her walk alone if I could help it.

We have a camera attached to the telephone pole across from her house now that alerts us to movement at the front of her house, so we can keep an eye out for Jeff, or anyone else, without having to stake the place out twenty-four-seven anymore. Even though I’m not happy about no longer being close if she needs us.

“What is she doing?” Max asks me.

I glance over at her as I press the brake to stop our movement. She’s standing on the sidewalk a few houses down from hers and drops her bag on the ground, then takes off her hoodie, Max’s hoodie, and shovesit in her bag. I see her do something with her phone, and shove that into her bag too.

Then she starts braiding her hair again into the two braids we’ve seen her wear a few times. They don’t suit her, although she’s gorgeous no matter what her hair looks like. I just prefer her hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

“She must want her mom to see her a certain way. Your hoodie would cause questions about where she got it. I’m not sure why her hair would matter, though,” I tell him honestly.

We watch her walk the last few hundred feet to her house and right before she opens the door, even from where we sit in our truck, I can see her take a deep breath before opening it.

“That doesn’t look like someone who’s happy to be going home,” I mumble.

“No, it doesn’t,” Max agrees as he frowns at her house. We watch for about twenty minutes and when nothing happens, we slowly make our way home.

Neither of us says anything for a while, too lost in our own thoughts. But after a while, Max breaks the silence.

“Jasp, do you think she’s safe there?”

“I don’t know, Max. I really hope so, though.”

“Me too.” After another minute, he speaks again. “I really care about her, Jasp. Do you think she could be the one? And I know she’s only seventeen, but she won’t be forever.”

“Hmm,” I hum in agreement. “I care about her, too. It doesn’t help that she doesn’t look seventeen, despite her naiveness. But yeah, Max, I think she’s perfect for us.”

“Really?” He looks at me in surprise.

“Yeah, it’s obvious she likes all of us, even if it confuses her, and we’re all obviously drawn to her. Everything is just a mess right now with the case, and school and… Mina. We need to take everything slowly and not spook her. Especially if she’s in witness protection, we could lose her if we aren’t careful. If they ran and changed their identity, we might never be able to find her. Some people live their whole lives in witness protection.”

“All the more reason to solve this case, as quickly as possible,” Max says firmly.

“Agreed.”

When we get home, Dom has us do a round of our daily debriefs. They tell us more about their theory that she’s in witness protection, and it makes sense. Perfect sense, in fact. It makes almost all the puzzle pieces fit in place. But what nags at me is her having to walk home, alone, and her reaction to going into her house. If she has a stalker that she’s running from, wouldn’t her mother not want her walking anywhere? And wouldn’t she feel more afraidoutsideher home, not stepping back into it? Unless there’s someone inside her home she’s equally afraid of.

“Max, she can’t live here, she’s only seventeen,” Dom says with a sigh, clueing me in that I’ve missed part of the conversation, lost in my own thoughts.

“You didn’t see her today, she didn’t want to go in that house,” he says, slapping his palms on the kitchen island to emphasize his point.

Dom raises an eyebrow and glances at me. “Really?”

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