Page 26 of Devil’s Torture

“I did.” I don’t sugarcoat the truth. I lay it out there. Simply. Honest. “I wasn’t going to let him get away with it and keep terrorizing your life. I didn’t even have to think about it.”

Since I’ve already come this far, I tell her the rest of it. I tell her about calling Lucifer and him telling me to get back to the club. I tell her about the ten years of going nomad and how it was my punishment and my protection. I don’t give her a lot of details about what I did during those ten years, but I don’t lie to her about it either.

At some point, tears start streaming down her face. As much as I want to reach for her and brush them away, I force myself not to touch her. Even though she’s crying, I can see the fire in her eyes.

When I’m done, I study her for a long moment before musing, “You’re pissed.”

“Because you kept this from me and disappeared instead of telling me what was going on,” her tone is incredulous and her hands move around like motion will be enough to convey just how upset she is.

My eyebrows pull together and I ask with genuine confusion, “What was the other option? Ask you to come with me?”

“I would have said yes,” she whispers the words like a confession.

My heart sinks because I know she would have. Which is one of the reasons I listened to my Prez and followed his instructions.

“No, Bex,” I shake my head slowly, “I couldn’t have done that.”

Sobs overtake her, but through her tears I can still hear her.

“I know.”

As she breaks down while the truth of the night that kept us apart is pulled into the light for the first time, I reach for her and pull her into my arms. I know I shouldn’t and I expect her to pull away. But she doesn’t.

Bexley curls into my chest, not because she’s ignorant of the monster I became ten years ago, but because I’m still someone who makes her feel safe.

Maybe the torture of the last ten years wasn’t for nothing.

CHAPTER 7

BEXLEY

When I wake up, my eyes feel gritty and my head is already pounding. That is not a good sign when you’re just starting the day. As I blink a few times, I realize I’m laying in bed. Which is not where I remember being last night.

Rune came over and put Dawn to bed even though she rarely wants me to tuck her in or read to her anymore. I know my daughter did it for him. She wanted to give him an opportunity to do something he missed out on. That girl is too good for this world.

As I stare up at the ceiling, I remember what Rune told me last night. I’m not entirely sure how I should feel about it. I think I’m mostly surprised that I don’t feel shocked at all.

Not about finding out Ron was trying to sell me, which is so ridiculous I wish I could find it more unbelievable. Who sells people? Only scum, also known as my stepfather. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if he had been successful.

I also don’t find Rune running off to take care of the problem, especially since it involved that piece of shit who barely qualified as a stepfather, hard to believe. Finding out Rune killed him feels like a fact I already knew but didn’t want to face or admit.

Knowing what happened that night reframes a lot of things for me. It doesn’t erase the hurt or the loneliness. It doesn’t make the silence of the last ten years any easier to face.

But it changes the context for me. That’s going to have to be enough.

I have no idea what I want now, but I finally got the answers I knew were hidden behind the lies.

It’s going to take some getting used to.

I’m not stupid. I know why Rune told me the truth. He thinks the only way we can find our way back to each other, even with Dawn between us, is through the truth of what happened back then.

While it might be a start, I’m not entirely sure whether it’s enough.

Knowing full well that I won’t be finding an answer for all my emotional turmoil and the day must still go on, I climb out of bed with a groan and get my morning started. As I step into the living room, I stop when I find Rune sitting on the couch.

In his hands he’s holding Dawn’s baby book and staring down at a picture of me a week before I gave birth. Bitterness mixed with nostalgia hits me.

Not because I didn’t love experiencing growing Dawn, but because there were weeks during that pregnancy when it was so hard to feel anything other than hurt. I had to psych myself up to take those pictures and it was usually the one day I put real clothes on and made any sort of effort. Which is why most of the pictures are of me wearing the one maternity dress that made me feel put together.