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This was intentional. This was planned and had been in place for a while. He’d said he bought the house after college. This was… oh my God. This was scary as fuck.
I had to see what was on the memory card, but I didn’t want to know. Because I had a feeling it wasn’t just me I’d discover.
10
EVE
I couldn’t go to the station. Not with this. Not with what I expected to see. Me. Naked. Getting fucked. No way would I let anyone there see me like that.
I drove to the nearest big-box store, hustled to the electronics section and held up the little plastic case of memory cards. “I need some kind of adapter so I can see what’s on here through my laptop.”
The guy grabbed something from the case, held it up. It looked like every other random piece of electronic equipment I knew nothing about. “Slip the memory card in here.” He pointed to a narrow slit on the side. “Then stick this into the slot in your computer.”
I handed him a twenty and told him to keep the change.
Somehow I made it home, although I didn’t remember the ride. I tried not to think about Shane, about what I believed he’d done, but it was impossible. I was a detective, knew people had double lives. Husbands who killed their wives and said they’d gone to visit their mothers. Women who intentionally sickened their children to get attention. Hell, even Chad and the verbal and physical abuse. People weren’t always what they seemed.
That was why I’d protected myself all these years, from the possibility of getting hurt again. Of being used.
Chad hitting me was nothing compared to Shane filming women without their knowledge during sex. I’d known he’d been with women before, but this?
I dropped my coat on the floor by the front door, went to my desk and pulled the memory card from the camera unit and carefully slipped it into the gadget I’d bought, then put that into the port on the side of my laptop.
A folder opened automatically on the screen, and there were a number of icons to click. The file names were a bunch of numbers and letters, so I double-clicked on one at random.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, staring wide-eyed at the screen.
It was a video of a couple having sex, although only the woman was visible since she was on top. She was naked and clearly enjoying herself, lifting and lowering with abandon. Her large breasts bounced and she moaned. I clicked the button in the top corner of the window and closed it. Picked another icon. Another woman on top, the man not visible. God, she was young. Nineteen maybe? Her breasts were large but unenhanced, and they were high and perky. Time and gravity hadn’t made them droop at all. Shane was twenty-seven or twenty-e
ight, too old for teenagers.
The camera had been positioned so it aimed toward the foot of the bed. The angle was too great to see the man on the bottom’s upper body, especially his head on a pillow. Shane didn’t want to see himself having sex. He only wanted the women he fucked in his pornos.
I closed that one, opened one more.
More of the same.
Three clips. Three videos of Shane having sex with three women without their knowledge. It was well planned because they were all on top. The video was up close. Full frontal. Only a hint of Shane could be seen. The edge of a thigh. Dark thatch of hair at his groin. The shadow of his condom-covered cock when the woman lifted up as she fucked herself.
I ran to the bathroom, bent over the toilet and dry heaved. I hadn’t eaten yet this morning, nor had any coffee. There was nothing in my stomach, thankfully.
I knew a guy coming into a relationship would have a past, wouldn’t be a virgin. I didn’t think any different for Shane or Finch. Based on their sexual abilities, I assumed they had been with many women. We weren’t teenagers. Far from it.
But this…
This wasn’t notches on a bed. This was illegal. This was unethical. This was… sociopathic.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and went back to my desk. I caught my breath, then clicked more icons. There had to be over fifty different files.
Picking up the little case, I opened it with the edge of my fingernail, shook the contents onto the desk. There were three more mini memory cards. There had to be hundreds of files. Hundreds of women.
I’d been so cautious. So careful and the one and only time I let my heart open, this happened.
“Finch,” I whispered. I swallowed hard. Tears lodged in my throat. Was he in on it? Did he know? We’d had sex at his house first. Were there cameras in his bedroom? They’d made it clear from the start they wanted to share me, that together they wanted a relationship with me, but did Finch know about this? Surely, based on the video clips I’d seen, Shane slept with women on his own. It wasn’t a two-person thing.
Tears slipped and I brushed them away. How did Shane pull it off? He’d have to turn the camera on, or at least start the recording without the woman knowing. Remote? I opened one icon, then the next, not lingering on the images, just confirming what I saw. Different women all having sex with Shane.
I didn’t see myself in any of them. I shook my head. Paused. Took a deep breath. Focus. Using the track pad, I changed the folder to list view. The date for each file was there. Nothing from today or yesterday that I could see. The last was a few weeks ago. I clicked that one.
