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I don’t tell her that I’m not. I’ve wished I was there for the past ten years in the hope I could have stopped what happened, even though I know it probably wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference.
“What happened?”
“I tried to run, but he caught me before I could get out the door.” She involuntarily reaches up to a silver scar I hadn’t noticed till now on her forehead. “I kicked and screamed, Roxy, but he was too strong and after the hit to my head…” She trails off.
“Who was he, Star, do you know?” She nods, then quickly turns away from me, but before she can answer someone else beats her to it.
“You know who he is, Roxy.”
My blood runs cold, and I haven’t even heard his name. Because I know exactly who it was. He once told me he would hurt everyone I loved to have what he wanted. I swallow back the bile that rises in my throat and look to Star.
“Please tell me he didn’t…” I can’t even bring myself to say the words. Her silence is all the answer I need. “Fuck!” I want to scream. I want to scream until the world splits apart and everyone knows the sound of my wrath. Some fucking how, God only knows how, I manage to keep a lid on it. But I can’t hold her forever, and I don’t want to anymore. I want to set her free and watch her burn a path of vengeance all the way to the feet of the man who destroyed my life. And the life of my sister. Don Rogers isn’t going to burn in hell, he’s going to burn alive on earth for his sins.
Pushing it down because now is not the time, and I don’t want to scare Star, I suddenly have another moment of clarity.
“Do they know?” My question is met with silence, so to avoid any confusion over exactly what I’m asking, I ask again. “Do Maddox and Zak know it was Rogers?” Kavanagh and Star exchange a look, then she lowers her head while Kavanagh looks me in the eye as he delivers another blow.
“Yes, they know.” I’m heading for the door before he’s even finished. Throwing the front door open as I hear Star calling my name.
“Let her go. Give her some time. She’ll come back.”
“Damn fucking right I’ll be back,” I yell behind me.
“But it’s not safe, Aiden.”
“I’ll send…” I don’t hear the rest as the front door closes behind me. Pushing through the main door to outside, I look around for somewhere to go that’s anywhere but here. After a moment of getting my bearings, I head off in the direction of Green Park.
By the time I reach my destination, I’m aware of the man who has been following me since I ran from Kavanagh’s house. I’ve not bothered to acknowledge him and neither has he me. We seem to have a mutual understanding to pretend the other doesn’t exist.
After walking around for a while, I stop and take a seat on an empty bench opposite Canada Memorial. It’s busy, some workers taking their lunch and getting some fresh air away from whatever stuffy office they spend their days in. From the corner of my eye, I see Kavanagh’s guy move in behind me, leaning casually against a tree and pulling his phone from his pocket.
Up until now, I’d not noticed how chilly it was outside, and I’m still wearing my cargo trousers and anarchy vest top, which aren’t exactly made for autumn. My shock and relief at seeing my sister again has quickly been turned into an inferno of fury at what I’ve just learnt.
I don’t even know where to begin to unpick all the different emotions associated with discovering my sister’s alive and well but was practically a witness to the murder of our mother, then to find out it was someone we knew, a supposed friend, who kidnapped my sister and did lord knows what to her.
She was just a baby.
My body can’t decide if it wants to throw up or beat something up. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and dropping my head in hands.
I sense movement behind me, and then a man’s voice. “We need to get back, Miss Whitmore.”
“And if I say no?” I’m being obstinate.
“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to make you. And I’d really rather not do that.” I chuckle and sit in silence for another minute or two.
“Tell me, do you believe that we always end up who we were meant to be?” He turns his body and rests on the back of the bench.
“I don’t really have an answer to that, Miss Whitmore.”
I get to my feet. “No, me neither.” I begin walking back toward the house with Kavanagh’s man following behind.
I don’t really feel like anyone. I certainly don’t feel like me right now. The detective me would be out looking for a legitimate way to take Rogers down. It’s what I’ve been doing for the past five or six years. This me, she’s all about vengeance—the vigilante kind.
I’ve not even touched on how I feel about Maddox and Zak. Their betrayal burns, but it’s not even a spark compared to the fire of my own guilt.
My guilt is an indistinguishable flame that will forever burn inside me.
***
