Page 201 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

I thought I was done with him. And maybe I was.

But the husband I killed doesn’t seem to quite be done with me.

So I nod. Robotically and automatically.

Like I never, ever had a choice.

He gives me a calming smile and gestures for me to lead the way. It’s wild how that one simple sweep of the hand frees to me move again. As if he cast a spell to keep me rooted in place the moment he entered.

I shudder and pick through the house. As I walk through, my eyes dart from side to side, noticing the subtle degradations that have taken hold like rot since I left.

This place is falling apart. Did I do this to my parents? Did my crime stain them like it stained me?

I find the back door, step through, and walk down the porch steps into the big backyard that I used to play in when I was a child. In my memory, it was endless and perfect. Now, I see it for what it is: a barren patch of earth, sunbaked and dying in the middle of nowhere.

“It must be strange for you to be back.”

I turn to face Josiah.

He’s kept a good few feet between us. I’m grateful for that. Any closer and the panic would have choked me out completely.

I notice my parents’ faces clustered at the kitchen window. They make no secret of the fact that they’re watching this exchange. I wish I could lie to myself and say it’s because they want to make sure I’m safe.

But I know well that it’s because they want to keep Father Josiah safe from me.

“Elyssa?”

I look back at Josiah. He’s gazing with me with what seems to be genuine concern.

“Are you okay?”

“I… I’m sorry,” I stammer. “Yes, it’s strange to be back.”

He nods with understanding. I want to believe in it. In his sympathy, in his compassion. And by all appearances, it’s real.

But I can’t let myself do that.

Maybe I’m just hard-wired to believe it. Maybe I’ve never truly shaken off the programming that this place and this man built into me. Maybe I never will.

I just know that every cell in my body is screaming at me that something here is so, so wrong.

But I do know that you wouldn’t have done anything that violent unless he deserved it.That’s what Charity told me.

She wasn’t there that night; she doesn’t know for sure. But then again, I don’t know for sure why I did those things either, do I? Those memories are locked away in the broken part of my brain. I may not ever get them back.

I know one thing, though: I didn’t kill him.

He’s here in front of me, alive and breathing and exuding the same holy confidence he’s always had.

I’m not a murderer. I don’t have to carry that guilt with me anymore.

“Of course,” Josiah sympathizes. “Of course it is strange. But I’m glad you came back.”

“You are?” I can’t keep the shock from my voice. I mean, he has to know what happened that night…

Right?

Unless he’s forgotten as much as I have.

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