Page 73 of Risky Passion

And someone had taken all that away.

I never knew how he died. Never knew who had killed him. Those were the questions that had gnawed at me for years.

The urge to rip open the folder and devour every word inside was overwhelming. My fingers itched, trembling as they hovered over the edges of the file. I wanted, no,neededto know.

But I didn’t havetime.

I still had to look after Alice.

With a deep, shuddering breath, I set Fraser’s folder on top of Alice’s yearbook and turned back to the shelves. My movements were sharper now, more purposeful. I grabbed another box and yanked it down, and not even bothering to open the lid, I tipped it upside down, dumping the contents onto the floor. Papers and photographs spilled out, scattering across the concrete like dead leaves in the wind.

I grabbed another box, repeating the move, then a third. The pile grew into a chaotic mound of damning evidence. Files, photographs, payment ledgers, the cancerous records of a corrupt system that had thrived on the suffering of children.

Some of the kids managed to escape this place and move on with their lives, hopefully into nice foster families. Alice didn’t have that luxury. She went from here to Woogaroo Lunatic Asylum. She wasn’t mental. She was sad. Suffering. Lost. She didn’t need electric probes; she needed love.

When she was finally discharged from that fucking disaster, after it, too, was shut down when bodies started piling up, I took her in. Cared for her. Loved her like she deserved. Pretended none of the horrors had happened.

Maybe the other kids did that too. Pushed down the nightmares, convinced themselves the horrors were just their imagination.

If this evidence went public, it could bring shame to these kids. Force them to relive their trauma.

Burning it all was the right thing to do.

The air grew thicker, and the weight of the past pressed down on me as I reached for the box of matches. My hands shook as I struck one and the tiny flame flared to life, dancing against the shadows of the room.

I took a long, calming breath, staring at the pile of evidence in front of me then tossed the match onto the papers.

The flames caught, licking hungrily at the edges of the documents, curling them into ash. The fire grew quickly, consuming everything: the lies, the pain, the names of the monsters who had destroyed so many lives. The records of the atrocities that were finally being silenced.

I grabbed the yearbook and Fraser’s folder from the desk and using my phone for light, I charged up the stairs.

A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and unbidden. I swiped it away with the back of my hand, my jaw tightening.

I hated that I was crying.

Crying felt weak, and I couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now. Not when I was so close to finally putting this whole fucking mess behind me.

At the top of the stairs, the orange glow cast flickering shadows on the walls. I didn’t bother to seal the door. With the amount of paperwork in that room below, this whole damn place would be ashes within hours.

I didn’t look back.

I had done what needed to be done.

The past would burn. And with it, this place would finally die.

I raced out of the orphanage. The half-moon hung directly above, casting its silvery glow over Cooper’s crumpled body in the dirt.

I slowed as I reached him, my breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps. Blood pooled beneath his twisted form, soaking into the cracked earth like it was trying to bury the evidence for me. I shook my head, my chest tightening. His family would mourn him. They would curse the world for taking him too soon.

But he’d brought this on himself. Cooper wasn’t an innocent victim. He was a criminal, as corrupt as the bastards who preyed on the orphans inside Angelsong. He’d made his choices, and those choices had led him here.

Maybe I should write it all down and tell the world how easy it was to corrupt a cop like Cooper and show how quickly he’d sold his soul. But what would be the point? Nobody would care.

They never cared.

I tore my eyes away from his body, grabbed my bag from the saddlebags on the motorbike, and paused to pump a few bullets into the Tesla. The tires exploded and the windscreen shattered. I shot out the motorbike tires, too, and put one through the engine.

Take that, you fuckers.

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