Page 46 of A Light in the Darkness
The arms that wrap around me grab me from under mine, and I fight to toss them off, not caring if I get hurt in the process. But while one set of arms hauls me backwards, another reaches for her, pulling her toward them, away from me.
When she stands, and I’m hauled to my feet, I see the man she throws herself against, the man who she thinks is her safe space.
Wes.
Chapter twenty-eight
Remy
“Are you back, little brother?” Wes says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. When I blink, he nods approvingly. “Good. Thought I’d have to throw you in the looney bin for a moment, there. It’s like your brain just… snapped.”
I blink again, breathing through my nose as I try to process what the hell is going on.
Kent’s still got me pressed tight against him, and for a moment, I think I’ve been betrayed. I think he’s helping Wes, that maybe everybody is helping Wes, and that Moose gave Claire over to him months ago and has been stringing me along all this time.
And then Kent’s grip on me eases, and he steps away. “You good?”
Good?
I’mnotgood.
The woman I love is wrapped in the arms of the man who tried to fucking sell her to monsters. No, the man whodidsell her to fucking monsters.
“What thefuck?” I growl at him, seeing that there’s no way to appeal to her right now. She trembles even in his arms, her face buried in his shirt and her fingers curled around his neck, like she’s terrified of being separated from him.
“You must be terribly confused.” Wes laughs. “I’ll be honest, I loved watching you have a mental breakdown right in front of me. I’d have let it play out longer, if it weren’t at the expense of my wife.”
“Your… wife?” I pant, trying not to throw up as the bile churns in my stomach.
Kent’s got the barrel of the gun trained on Wes, and I know he’s a good shot, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m letting him take it when Claire is in his arms. If he hurts her, even by accident, I’ll have to kill him, and then I’ll have to contend with Rich, too.
“God, I would relish this moment so much more if you hadn’t just terrified her.” Wes shakes his head, reaching down to place two gentle fingers under Claire’s chin and tip it up. Her hair falls backwards, cascading down her back, and I realize it’s longer. And the way she’s looking at Wes, like she’d die at his feet if he just asked, makes me nauseous. “Remy, meet Violet. Violet, meet my brother… Remy.”
Claire turns to me, her eyes sweeping quickly over me, and then faces back to Wes, and my whole world shatters this time. I think I’m choking on the shards; my lungs feel like they’re full of glass.
“Claire!” I beg her to look at me again, just long enough so that I can appeal to her sense of logic before he destroys her again. In a dozen tiny ways, she already looks so different from the woman that I remember… the woman who stabbed him through the hand with my kitchen knife, the woman who wanted him to live even after all he did to her.
“Jesus, Boudreaux. How else can I say this to get through to you?” Wes chuckles. “It’s not her.”
When my eyes snap to his, he’s shaking his head. “This is Violet…notClaire.”
Violet opens her mouth hesitantly, glancing from Wes to me. When she speaks, her voice is halting, unsure. “Is Claire…her?”
“Yes,” Wes presses a kiss to her forehead as he swipes a strand of blonde off of her scarred cheek, and then disentangles himself from her, though he doesn’t drop her hand. She moves with him, at a respectable difference, as Wes approaches me and drops his weight onto the balls of his feet. “This isn’t Claire, brother. Call your girlfriend and find out for yourself.”
I stare at him, wondering what the hell kind of game he’s playing. “What is this?” I demand, looking between the two of them.
He presses a button on his phone and then hands it to me. I look down to see the name on the screenClaire Monroe, and take it from him without daring to look away from him in case this is some sort of trick to run off with my girl.
When I press the phone to my ear, it’s already gone to voicemail, so I hang up and try again, only to get the same result.
Wherever Claire’s phone is, it’s off… or dead. And the woman in front of me is looking at me with such pity that something in me finally clicks slowly into place.
I stand, passing the phone back to Wes, and then raise my hands to my sides, showing they’re empty. I did this with Claire when I first met her in my bedroom, all dolled up in her black lingerie.
She flinches as I get close, like she’s thinking of running, so I stop moving and appraise her from the distance. “Claire…?”
Her eyes are sad—so perpetually sad—as she shakes her head. When she speaks, her voice cracks. “N-no. My name is Violet… Violet Davos.”
