Page 91 of Beast

Her parents read from a prepared statement.

“We are so ecstatic to be reunited with our darling Annie. She is a testament to our faith in the Lord. Though we missed her all these years, we feel solace knowing she was doing God’s work. To all the families with missing children out there, never give up hope. We ask for our privacy at this time as we rebuild our family.”

Faith in the Lord? The Lord didn’t find her, I did. I wasn’t an atheist. I believed in God, I’d been raised Catholic. I hated the acceptance that everything which happened was part of God’s plan. Was it God’s plan for Annie to be kidnapped, forced to take drugs, and be raped every day?

Her boyfriend held her hand. I closed the website.

I found Kyle and Vic in the television lounge.

Kyle took one look at my face and grimaced. “So, you finally heard about Annie?”

“I don’t understand why they’d lie. Where’s Gabriel?”

Vic stood up. “She said her parents were pretentious assholes. What don’t you get? They probably want to shield them from becoming tabloid superstars. ‘Kidnapped sex slave and her son, fathered by her pimp, born in a brothel.’ This is probably their way of protecting her.”

I shook my head. “But they’re lying. Like it or not, the dancer was his dad.”

Kyle put his hand on my shoulders. “Pat, it’s over. Just like you wanted. She kept our names out of the press. I’m sure Gabriel is fine. This way Annie can heal, get the help she needs to recover, without the media stalking her and her son. Knowing her awful story doesn’t help anyone. Not her, not Gabriel. I talked to Dave—her parents gave him half of the reward, covered all of his expenses and then some, and he agreed to go along with their story.”

I nodded my head. My gut told me something was wrong. Wrong with her family. Annie told me over and over that she was worried they wouldn’t accept Gabriel. Had she been right? Were they embarrassed by him? Was this their way of trying to get Annie to detach from her child? Gabriel was such a cool, sweet boy. I hoped his grandparents were treating him right.

Six more months. Six more months and I’d be back in sunny San Diego. Less than twenty miles away from Annie. I’d told her I’d never wanted to see her again. I wasn’t sure I’d meant it. For now, I had to focus on my next mission, get her crooked smile and her little boy’s laughter out of my head.

23

Annie

THE BELL RANG AND JERKED me from my sleep. It had been months since I’d been in the brothel, but every bell, every whistle, and every wind chime spooked me.

This bell however was not for me to line up and greet johns. No, it was a meditation bell, at my so-called retreat, which was a fancy word for rehab. My parents had forced me to “get healthy” to deal with my trauma. I fucking hated every minute here. I missed my son, I missed Pat.

The grounds were beautiful. I was somewhere in Arizona, and my days consisted of yoga, massages, horseback riding, music therapy, group therapy, and individual therapy. Best that money could buy.

But of course I didn’t participate in the group therapy—I was under strict orders by my family not to reveal what had happened to me to other patients. It was for my protection, they said. For Gabriel’s. They didn’t want him growing up knowing he was born in a brothel, that his father had been the one who had kidnapped and forced me into sex slavery. Gabriel was young, they said. He would forget about it. I was to rewrite history.

My psychiatrist knew the truth, the truth about everything, what had happened to me, Gabriel, the rescue, and my feelings toward Pat. She had signed a confidentiality agreement, and as a physician was bound to keep my secrets.

I should be grateful. I had my life back. I was free.

I didn’t feel free. I felt trapped. Trapped in my mind.

Despite my counselor insisting to me over and over again that my feelings toward Pat were natural due to the fact he’d saved me, I knew in my heart she was wrong. I didn’t love Pat because he saved me, though that clearly didn’t hurt. I loved the way he looked at me as a woman, not as a victim. The way he played with my son. The way he held me at night. The way he kissed me, yet held back from going further. I felt his desire, I knew he wanted me.

And that kiss. What would it be like to kiss him every night, have him kiss every inch of my body, and have him bring me to the brink? Was I not allowed to have sexual thoughts because I was a recovering sex slave? I was so fucking sick of everyone telling me what I should feel: I should hate men and I should be so damaged that I should detest the touch of a man.

I wanted to be loved. I wanted to reclaim my sexuality. Enjoy sex, feel what it’s like to experience pleasure from a man who loved me and wasn’t using me. Didn’t I deserve to be happy?

Pat said he wanted nothing to do with me. Did he mean it? Or was he just trying to protect me, afraid he could never give me what I needed.

I was due to check out of this place in a week. And I couldn’t wait to be reunited with my son. Pat was deployed, I knew that. But I needed to see him again, and see if we had any chance of finding happiness together.

24

Patrick

TODAY WAS HOMECOMING. ALL THE other men would have their wives, girlfriends, and kids waiting for their arrival on the dock. Not me. I hadn’t even bothered telling my mom when I’d be returning. No need for her to fly down from Northern California. I’d take leave soon and go visit her. For now, I wanted peace and quiet. Time to finally put all that had happened behind me.

Vic stopped by my rack. “Hey, man. What you doing Saturday? My family is having a fiesta for us—carne asada on the grill, tequila. You want to come?”