Page 32 of Scarred Sins
Arlo’s jaw clenches, his eyes closing.
“Simmons was involved in the murder of my Aunt Jane. Nelson Adams was the one who killed her, and my little cousin, Luna, hasn’t been seen since.’’
I blink, shocked.
Just like that? I asked him a question, something personal, and he told me without missing a beat? With no pause, with no thinking whether or not he should tell me. Then again, he knows every detail of my life, so I’m writing it off as him trying to even out the score.
“I’m sorry,’’ I whisper. “I hope you find her safe and sound.’’
He laughs, bitterly. He flops his elbows on the keys, burying his face in his hands. The sound of the piano echoes in the room, and I’m silent, letting him speak first.
“It’ll be a miracle if I find her alive.’’
Paul Simmons hurt me a lot. Physically, he never stopped until I bled out. Mentally, he obliterated any sanity I had left. But he never killed me. Maybe it’s because he never got the chance, or maybe because he never wanted a murder accusation.
The fact remains – he could’ve killed me, but he didn’t.
Why would he kill Arlo’s cousin, then?
Nelson Adams is nothing but a coward, and I’m shocked he had the balls to actually kill anyone.
Something isn’t adding up.
Whereas Simmons was assaulting me in my own bedroom, with my mother and stepfather guarding the door, he evolved into being an accomplice in murder? And kidnapping Arlo’s cousin?
I highly doubt he has the balls to pull it off.
Soon enough, Adams’ campaign will begin, and Simmons is backing him up. I’m no genius, but if Adams wins this one, I have no doubt that Simmons will try to run for president soon.
“Was your cousin present when your aunt was killed?”
Arlo shakes his head. “No, she was in school.’’
It still makes no sense.
Why would he risk kidnapping a child?
She didn’t witness the murder, so it couldn’t be traced back to him. And if he’s only an accomplice, then he likely wasn’t on the scene of the murder, either. Given that he’s roaming free, all evidence is long gone.
So why?
That’s when something clicks in my head. The chances are there, yet a part of me doesn’t want to believe it. There has to be another, somewhat reasonable explanation than the one that’s running through my head, but the longer I think about it, the more it makes sense.
“You don’t mean,’’ I whisper, letting the unspoken words linger in the air.
Arlo just nods, body stiff.
Breath leaves my lungs entirely, and I gasp, struggling to breathe. My eyes widen, and the reality of what is happening starts sinking in. Bile rises in my throat, and I’m trying my best not to throw up.
“Hey, Blair,’’ Arlo softens his voice, trying not to spook me. “Don’t go there. It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here. Stay with me.’’
His words buzz in my mind, but it’s not enough. My head gets filled with memories, graphic images of whenever he touched me, whenever he covered my mouth to muffle my screams. Each time he hit me to stop me from crying, every time he left me on my bed, covered in bruises.
A choked sob slips from me when I feel a pair of arms wrap around me, pulling me closer. My face is buried in Arlo’s chest, his sweet scent hitting my nose. He squeezes me tighter to his body, stroking my hair, letting me cry it out.
I should’ve known three years ago that the reason his touch felt soothing was because we’re connected by pain. That’s why he’s gentle with me, not pushing me past my limits and listening to me even when I have no words to say.
Officially, I met Arlo an hour ago.
