Page 63 of Depraved
An hour later, we’re seated on the floor on blankets surrounded by pillows by the fire, trading pasta and drinking wine.
It’s perfect.
“Question. Why were you in a tux the night I shot you?”
I laugh and take another drink of my wine. “Charity event with my brothers. I was called away…for the guy tied to the cabinet,”
“Ah…and the guy is…?”
“Not a problem anymore,” I answer coolly, tossing an olive at her to dissuade any further questions.
“Sorry, curiosity gets me every time.”
Her expression is teasing, lit with humor, as she sets the olive to the side in a container.
“That doesn’t bother you?” I watch her closely for a reaction.
“Why would it? I know you don’t make decisions lightly, and I’m positive that when they’re the hardest to make, that you don’t have any other alternative.”
Well, Fuck me. She’s too good to be true.
I lean back on my elbow, focused on her face and the way she glows in the light of the fire. I’m fucking awestruck. There’s nobody like her. I’m falling hard for this girl.
“Okay, I have another one.” She laughs, and I shake my head. “Why birthday cake? You said no reason, but that was crazy specific. Spill.”
I push myself back up, waving her off. “Naw, ask something else. That’s for another day, Billy.”
Her eyes search mine, but I look away, uncomfortable where this is going.
“Dante,” she says tenderly, moving the food out of the way, so she can crawl across our makeshift picnic and onto my lap.
My hands find her hips as she straddles me, bringing both her hands to hold my stubbled face.
“Talk to me,” she whispers, locking her eyes to mine.
I can’t lie to her. Not after everything.
“Kiss me first,” I answer quietly, and she does.
I can count the times on one hand that I’ve said these words aloud. Once to my uncle and once to my brothers. But if there’s anyone else I would tell, it would be her. Only her.
“When I was twelve, my mother made me dinner, kissed my head, and went to take a bath.” I clear my throat, leaning my face into her hand and closing my eyes, searching for the resolve to say the rest.
Opening my eyes, I take a breath, letting the rest flow out. “It wasn’t until the water started pouring out from under the bathroom door that I realized something was wrong.”
Sarah’s hands leave my face and drift to my shoulders, her fingers clinging to the cotton shirt covering my body, her face etched in concern.
“She was sad a lot. I didn’t really understand because to me she was everything. So strong after my dad died and always so loving. Heart of gold, that woman. But she was a product of this life. Abused and wrecked at the hands of my uncle, forcing her to carry the kind of burden no woman should ever have to.”
My brows crease as Sarah’s eyes begin to shine. “I didn’t understand. You know? I would’ve killed him then, not waited until later. Because she couldn’t carry that anymore, the shame over the things he did to her, the fear that it would never stop. I didn’t know…”
Sarah presses a hand to my heart and shakes her head. There’s so much understanding in her eyes that it makes me want to put my hand through a wall.
I clear my throat again, tensing my jaw before I continue. “She went into the bathroom, locked the door, and slit her wrists.”
I can feel my body shake with the hate that still fills me, the regret that I carry inside of me over not being able to help her. If I could bring that motherfucker back to life, I’d kill him over and over.
“I tried like hell to get that damn door open. But I was a kid, small, skinny. And no matter how many times I ran myself into it, no matter how many bones I broke, I didn’t stop until my legs finally gave out and my shoulder was broken. Because I just wanted to save her. I needed to save her.”
