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“We’ve been trying to find you for years.”
Tilting her head to the side, she inquires, “Why?”
“Because we wanted to make sure you were okay. We knew Charles took you with him the night Sweet Haven was raided. What happened?”
She swallows and clears her throat, looking down at her shoes before lifting her head. “I was with him until I was sixteen. I managed to get a cash under the table job and saved money. Once I had enough, I ran away. I don’t know how, but he found me again a couple of years ago. He held me captive for a year before I got away again.” She looks off to the side, something painful crossing her face. “Two months after I left, I found out I was pregnant.” She looks back at us, her expression set in stone. “I knew the only way I could keep my daughter and myself safe was to kill him.”
“Jesus,” Trouble mutters.
My own temper is boiling hot. I wish I could revive the dead fucker just so I could slaughter him.
“Why didn’t you go to the authorities as soon as you got away the first time?”
“Because I was a terrified sixteen-year-old girl who had been under her abusive father’s thumb all her life. I had no friends and didn’t know who I could trust.” She looks around the shitty kitchen filled with dirty dishes, rotten food, and crusted counters. “From the age of nine, this is where I grew up. My father ingrained in me that all cops were bad. I was put in my room when he had people over, but I heard all kinds of stories of the police abusing people, so that only solidified what he told me.” She sighs and rubs her arms. “I know better now. I know it was just a ploy to keep me from reporting what he was doing to me.”
“Why not report it when you got away the second time?”
She looks at me and grinds her teeth. “Because I wanted him dead, not behind bars.”
I jerk my chin up, respecting her reason. All people like Charles should be put down.
“Where’s your daughter now?” Trouble asks.
“With my fiancé.”
“Does he know what you’re doing right now?”
She shakes her head. “No. He thinks I’m out with friends.” She pauses. “What were you two doing here?”
I glance to Trouble then to her, unsure why, but wanting to give her the truth. Maybe it’s the hardness in her eyes or knowing that the horror she went through is so similar to Rella’s.
“Attempting to do the same thing you did, except a lot messier.”
“Too bad you didn’t get here first,” she mutters. “I would have liked to have seen that.”
It comes as no surprise she’s so bloodthirsty.
“Are you safe where you are now? This fiancé, does he treat you and your daughter right?”
For the first time, her expression softens. She slides her eyes to Trouble. “He treats us both like precious treasure.”
He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and retrieves a card. “If that changes or you need help of any kind, my cell phone number is on there,” he says, handing the card to her. “You can call me anytime.”
“Thank you.” She takes the card, and after looking at it for a moment, shoves it into her front pocket.
“We need to go,” I state, becoming antsy. I don’t like being here with a dead body upstairs. Melody said the neighbors wouldn’t call the police, but I’m not willing to bank our freedom on that.
We leave through the same door we came in. Melody protests when Trouble suggests we walk her to her car, worried she may run into problems. This neighborhood is gang-ridden and full of criminals.
“I’ll be fine. I promise. I’ve navigated these streets a lot and know what to do to blend in and how to stay hidden.”
He likes the idea just slightly less than I do, but he gives her a clipped nod before she jogs off.
Thank fuck half of the streetlights have blown out and haven’t been replaced. It’s easier to stay in the shadows.
“I don’t know what it is, but there’s something strange about her,” he comments as we make our way back to our rental car.
“I got the same vibe.”
