Page 7 of A Light in the Darkness
Except he did. Because he hated our mother, he hates me and Rhea, and he hates his own father. I haven’t seen a single person on this earth that he does care for, which makes me wonder if hewas blackmailed and coerced into his position the way I was for mine or if he walked into it willingly.
If I had to do it over again, I still wouldn’t give up the people I loved to escape this life. They’d have killed everyone I loved, everyone Ishouldhave loved, and then me. I could have died for them… Iwouldhave died for them. But I still wouldn’t let them be killed in exchange for my freedom. And despite my efforts, that list has only grown since I first got into this. Monica, Rhea, my mother, Genevieve, Courtney, Tinsley, Claire…
Fucking Claire.
Thinking about her hurts as much as the massacre we stumbled upon earlier. And I know that’s fucked—comparing the horrific deaths of multiple women to one crazy, intoxicating woman who woke up and realized how bad I was for her. They’re two totally different losses, and yet they hurt all the same. It’s visceral, like having something taken away from me.
If I’d just been man enough to admit to Claire the reason I can’t give her what she wants— no. It wouldn’t make a difference because it wouldn’t make her want those things any less or make me want them anymore. I need to let her go, but it’s been months, and she still fills the space in my head when my thoughts begin to wander... like now.
She’s ruined me for anyone else; I haven’t even tried to fuck someone yet. How could I when she’s there every time I close my eyes? It’s her that I imagine sinking into every time I wrap my fist around myself, and her name on my tongue when I wake from the rare bits of sleep, stolen fragments threaded together by the things we do in the light of day.
The only thing that helps me not to think of her is to fixate, which is less than ideal today. It’s why I’ve been staring at this file for thirty minutes without processing a single word of it.
My tired eyes blur over the name that I’ve read a dozen times.
Carrington Hardin.
What the hell kind of name is Carrington? Maybe that’s why I can’t retain any of this file—I can’t get past his stupid ass name. It has to be a pseudonym… a fake identity to protect whatever monster is depraved enough to try and purchase another human being. But Dimitri had done his due diligence, checking and double-checking every detail, and he was sure.
Carrington Hardin has no criminal record, no prior offenses, not even a parking ticket or a traffic violation. His address at 875 Willoughby Lane, Newcastle WA, has been in his name for the last twenty-two years.
The photo clipped to the front must be his ID picture because he’s smiling widely and looks a bit younger than the only other picture inside, where his face is creased with the effects of time. An aerial view of his house revealed a quaint two-story cottage in a similarly-curated neighborhood. Nothing about this man or his file suggests he’s anything beyond a simple man with terrible taste in clothing. He certainly doesn’t scream serial killer or rapist. But I know not to judge a book by its cover, so Dimitri will be going to pay him a visit in the not-so-distant future.
All of the information surrounding this guy was so hard to get ahold of that I spent months digging for it. I had anticipated somebody powerful, wealthy,elite. Carrington Hardin doesn’t appear to be any of that.
I’m grateful when the phone rings. I’ve been puzzling over the file in front of me for what feels like hours, and I’m no closer to making sense of it. Either Carrington is a criminal mastermind, or I’m missing something.
“Rhea? Is everything alright?”
My sister never calls me. I call her once a month, regularly enough that she could set a clock by it. We occasionally text in between, but this is unheard of. It’s good to hear her voice, though I can already sense she’s about to give me a hard time about something.
“Everything'sfine,Remy. You've made sure of that.” As my younger sister, Rhea has a penchant for giving me attitude. I’m sure she just rolled her eyes at me as she said that.
“You say that like it's a bad thing,” I say, sensing where she’s going with this. “Did you call to complain, or did that just happen on its own?”
That gets a little chuckle out of her. “Both. Look, Remy, it's been months… almost a year. Jovich is dead. You killed the men who came after Claire. So, what are you doing here? I mean, with Eli and Moose.”
“I'm covering my bases, Rhea. You know it's my responsibility to keep you safe.”
“I know.” She agrees. “And I also know that we haven't had any issues since that night. The guys are glorified babysitters, and Claire and I are adults. We don't need them following us around all the time.”
“And here I thought you and Eli were getting along a littletoowell.”
There’s a long pause as she weighs her options, and then she decides to go for deniability. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“From what I've heard, you seem to be thoroughly enjoying each other's presence. I appreciate that you made the best of this situation.”
I’m not thrilled about the idea of her sleeping with her bodyguard, but I suppose it at least gives him a vested interest. I knew that Rhea would probably end up in this situation regardless of which of the men I assigned to her. She doesn't have a definitive type, which means anybody who piques her interest is fair game. I’m not really sure if Claire has a type either, but if she does, I’m fairly certain it isn't Moose. That’s precisely why I tasked him with keepinghersafe.
“Eli told you?” Rhea groans.
“Moose did, actually.”
“He'sjealous.” Rhea doesn’t miss a beat. “He and Claire can’t stand each other.”
“That's a shame.” I say dryly. To be honest, the thought sparks the slightest joy for me… knowing that I’m not paying her bodyguard to touch what’s mine. It also means when I watch her touching herself under the covers on the cameras I had hidden in her apartment, it’s not Moose she’s thinking of.
“Itisa shame,” Rhea agrees. “Claire needs a little bit of stability in her life.”
