Page 121 of Mercy (The Sins Trilogy 3)
An engine roars. More metal smashing into metal, like aluminum cans being crushed, except so much worse because I know there are two cars involved. There are people inside those vehicles. Something makes a loud, cold groaning noise.
“What the hell?” The rest of Sam’s muttering is indistinctive.
A huge splash.
“You little bitch! Margot sends her regards!”
Shock and fear send an oily, sick feeling to my gut, and it settles there like an indigestible lump. I don’t recognize the voice, but I know this is a recording of what happened the night I supposedly died.
Every hair on my body stands on end. This must be the driver who pushed my car into the bayou. Cold sweeps over my skin, as though I’m plunging into the water again on that stormy night.
My knees go weak and I start to collapse, but Tony catches me and pulls me onto his lap. It feels like there’s a fist around my neck. I fight for breath, for clarity—for the clamoring in my head to stop so I can think.
The file ends.
Tony’s eyes are dark and stark like bruises on his bloodless, white face. I’m not the only person paying, and I place my palm on his cheek, wishing the ugliness of my past never existed.
Bobbi speaks first. “Is this what happened nine years ago?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice shaking.
“You recognize the voice?”
I shake my head. “No, but—”
“I do,” Tony says. “It’s Caleb Wentworth.” Something in his tone indicates that I should know the name, but it’s just a frustrating blank.
“We need to take this to the police,” Bobbi says. “He killed a girl.”
Self-preservation—the need to avoid pain and public humiliation—kicks in. “No. No way.”
“What?” Bobbi turns an incredulous look on me.
“It won’t do anything. They’ll want to ask me questions, and I won’t be able to tell them anything because I don’t remember exactly what happened. And that Caleb is going to get a lawyer who’s going to paint me as some crazy girl who’s making stuff up because she’s confused and sick.” Any testimony I could give would be useless. Because of the brain damage I suffered, nothing I say will be “beyond a reasonable doubt.”
I look down, inadequacy burning through me. If I were normal like everyone else, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. At all.
My anger at Sam redoubles. He should’ve sought justice as soon as it happened. Then the family of the girl in the blue dress would’ve had their closure, and Tony and I wouldn’t have suffered so needlessly, away from each other, for so long.
What is the point of sending me the file when Sam knew about my memory problem? If it’s some kind of penance, he should’ve been more explicit about it. He should’ve at least said he was sorry.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m just not brave enough to go through it publicly like that.”
“It’s not your fault.” Tony’s hands are fisted, and he’s staring at a spot somewhere beyond the penthouse walls. “I should’ve killed him at that damned party.”
“Who is he?” I ask. Nobody speaks that bitterly without a nasty history.
“You remember I told you about a guy who tried to rape a girl nine years ago?”
I nod, my nerves slightly raw at the reminder. He told me about it soon after beating Jamie Thornton up for assaulting me at Sam’s event.
“That’s Caleb. And the girl was you. He got you drunk at a party and tried to take advantage of you.”
My hands shake. I clench them, stunned and furious. Not remembering doesn’t mean I’m unaffected when people tell me something like this happened to me. I could’ve run into him…and never even known it. Made myself vulnerable again.
The dream I had of a guy forcing a kiss—is that my subconscious trying to remind me of the danger from my past?
Then I realize something else. Tony rescued me back then.
