Page 99 of Painted Scars
She wants her life, dignity, and voice back, just like I do.
I pull out a confidentiality form, and she waves it away. “You have my consent, Kate. I wouldn’t have invited you here, otherwise.”
I’m impressed by her steel resolve in silk.
I nod and file the form inside my notebook. “Start at the beginning.”
She exhales like she’s releasing years of pressure. “Five years ago, I began investigating insider trading by the governor and members of his inner circle. They were buying stocks before legislation passed and profiting off secrets meant to serve the community.”
I write notes as fast as I can, my pen threatening to snap under the pressure of my fingers.
Sally-Anne rubs her hand. “The fallout was immediate. Public outrage. Congressional hearings. Tighter disclosure laws. Surprise, surprise, no one was charged or put on trial.” Her voice falters. “That’s when they came for me.”
My pulse pounds. This isn’t just a story, it’s a mirror. What she endured is what I’ve stepped into, chasing the truth with the wolves closing in.
“Members of what I believe is a faction called Mars raided my studio and home office. They took my notes, laptops, everything without a warrant.” She rubs her hands faster and harder, scrubbing at the pain she’ll never ease. “My boss told me to trigger the dead-man’s switch we established. Five trusted colleagues sent evidence to every member of Congress. I wentlive that night and told our viewers the truth. Five thousand messages hit Congress members’ inboxes in forty-eight hours.”
Daddy’s hand tightens on my leg.
“The harassment didn’t stop there,” she continues, and I keep recording it all, barely breathing. “They tailed me. Threatened friends, family, and colleagues. Rammed our car twice. My medical and insurance records conveniently vanished.”
I swallow hard. It’s the same playbook they used on me, only less aggressive. On Barry. On anyone who threatens their empire of secret control.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “No one should suffer for telling the truth.”
The media’s job is to educate the public on issues that affect them and hold the government, business, institutions, and people accountable for their actions.
“Channel 10 was the last independent station in Shadow Lake.” Her eyes glisten, but her voice is steady, years of practice of holding it together to read unsettling new reports. “We relied on community donations and private investment to fund us. The economic vulnerability was enough for the Romans to bleed the owners dry with lawsuits, then purchase the station and shut it down. They erased thirty years of my career like I never existed and killed the last community-funded news station in the city.”
Tears slide down her face, carving invisible scars she’s worn too long.
I lean forward, hands on my knees, my voice choked. “I can’t make this right for you. But I swear to you, I’m not stopping until every last one of these bastards burns in the light.”
Sally-Anne sniffs and studies me, fire sparking in her gaze. Hope. Resilience. Vengeance. “Give them hell, Kate, and stay alive doing it. They left me alone when I retreated up here andstayed out of the public eye. But I’m luckier being a public figure.”
Her words scorch like a hot poker to the chest. The Romans will regret the day they fucked with us.
I cradle my nibbled cookie in my lap. The smell of butter, sugar, and chocolate cloy my nose. I can’t bear to take a bite when my stomach’s in knots. The crumbling edge reminds me of the cost of standing up to bullies.
Grumpy Daddy’s hand squeeze reminds me I’m not alone in this fight, and he’ll burn in the ashes with me.
Safety. The word used to feel foreign on my tongue. Mom struggled financially while she raised me. Bosses gave her a hard time when the Romans pressured them. Some nights, we weren’t sure we’d have a roof over our heads or a warm bed to sleep in. After Blackthorn forced himself on me, my life became a maze of dark corners and bright armor. Smile, nod, and pretend to function while my heart beats in a panic.
When Daddy entered my world like a storm in black riding clothes, he didn’t tiptoe around my trauma or treat me like breakable glass. He calls me out on my lies and facade. Wraps me in heat and protection without smothering me. The first man who makes me feel like I can fall apart and not get left behind.
I glance at him, visor reflecting the fire’s glow, and a new warmth spreads across my chest. He’s more than my shadow. He’s my weapon. My shield. And if I let him… he’s my future.
Sally-Anne dabs her eyes with a tissue and straightens her shoulders, attempting to reach composure. “I’ve given you what I can, Kate. I’ll dig up copies of our dead-man’s switch, but don’t leave a digital trail and keep multiple copies. If the Romans see you coming, they’ll crush you before you get close.”
My pulse thunders with a mix of fear and adrenaline. “I understand. I promise to handle this carefully. I won’t waste what you’ve risked giving this to me.”
Her smile holds pride and grief. “You remind me of me… before the fire got too close.”
Her words sit heavy in my chest as we take our leave.
The winter air bites sharp and deep like wolf’s teeth as we climb back onto the bike. As the pines and road swallow us, snow whipping against my visor, I make a silent vow.
I will not run from the past.
