She rolls her eyes immediately. "Don't you think I know that now?" she snaps.
Her hand drags through her hair in frustration. "But back then…" She shakes her head. Searching for words. "He was everything I ever wanted. At least for a while." Her breathing gets hard. "Don't you get it?" she presses. "He was the father I never had."
There it is. The truth. Ugly. Honest. She lets out a short, bitter breath. "Yeah. Little old me had a daddy fetish." A humorless huff. "Sexy, huh?"
I close my eyes for a second. Not because I can't handle it. Because I can. Too well.
I step into her space before I think about it. My hands close around her shoulders. Firm and grounding. "Audra," I force her to hold my gaze, "I'mnot judgingyou."
And I'm not. Not even a little. God knows I've done worse. Things I chose. Things I didn't. Things I did to survive. Or because I didn't know any better yet. Or because someone older, smarter, more experienced made it feel like my idea. My grip tightens slightly.
"He took advantage of you," I add. "Whether you want to call it that or not."
She doesn't pull away, but she doesn't lean in either. Just stands there. Processing my words or her past, I can't tell. But something in me settles. I'm not calm. Not even close. For her, I try though. One thing is certain: Razor will find a brutal end. Soon.
For now, I need to remain strong, not allow my emotions to shine through.
"What about your mother?" I ask.
Still calm. Still controlled. Still holding the line by a thread.
A wry huff escapes her. "She didn't know. Or she didn't want to."
That tracks with what I know and have seen about that woman. I lean against the railing, creating a little bit of distance before I do something unnecessary. Or worse, something premature. My eyes stay on her. Locked. Assessing again. Reframing everything I thought I knew.
My curiosity is sparked. "How did you get out?" I ask again.
She exhales, her gaze drifts past me, out into the city, but I know she's not seeing it. "There was an ugly incident in the desert. A gun delivery, and I realized that sooner or later Razor would tire of me. I thought I had control. Thought I knew what I was doing. Who I was dealing with." A faint shake of her head. "I didn't." A tired laugh. "Not even close."
I give her time to sort through her memories. I don't push, but put my hand over hers on the railing, and she lets it happen.
"Out there…" she continues, quieter now, "I saw it. How fast things could turn. How little say I actually had. And it scared me."
That catches. Because she doesn't strike me as someone who scares easily. My stomach churns at the idea of all the things that could have happened out there in the desert between an MC, aMexican cartel, and a young, seventeen-year-old girl. Any one of which means that none of those bastards will live much longer.
With the utmost care, I force out, "What scared you the most?"
Her lips press together. She looks far away. "Disappearing. Or ending up somewhere I couldn't get out of." She pauses, then adds, "Mexico. One of those places where girls don't come back from."
Anger surges inside me. Hot and filled with rage. I know exactly the kind of places she's talking about. So does anybody I work with. We just don't talk about them.
"Fuck houses." She names the ugly truth.
"Did they…" I can't continue, the thought of her, out there, with those men…fuck.
She shakes her head. "No. But I wasn't about to let it come to that either." The determination I've come to know so well about her returns to her features. Her chin juts out.
"That wasn't the first time something felt… off," she continues. "But it was the first time I realized just how bad it could get." Her voice stays steady. But there's something under it now. Something colder.
My attention sharpens as if I already sense that her next words will tilt my world on its axis.
"Two nights before that." She turns away from the sight of Vegas and faces me directly. "There was a woman."
Her brows pull together, like she's trying to place the memory exactly. "Older. At least… I thought she was older back then." A faint, almost disbelieving breath leaves her. "She was probably in her mid-forties."
I say nothing. Let her talk.
"She was…" Audra pauses, searching. "Beautiful, yes, but there was more to her. Like she didn't belong there. She seemed powerful, enigmatic. There was something about her that evenmade Razor shut up. Like a legend had just walked in." She shakes her head, "You know, one of your men reminds me of her."
