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I don’t know how he knows I’m crying, but Aiden gently guides me back so that I’m cradled against his chest. He doesn’t tell me not to cry. He doesn’t even ask me why I’m crying, and, as silly as it sounds, I think he knows. I think he knows that I’ve never felt like this before, this overwhelming sense of insatiable rightness.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, embarrassed by my emotional unraveling.
“Don’t apologize.” He doesn’t say more.
He just holds me closer as I battle through being put first.
Aiden
I am done.
Destroyed.
Ruined.
There aren’t enough words to describe how wrecked I am for this girl. As Catherine cries in my arms, I don’t try to tell her not to. The truth is that, if I were any less intent on comforting her, I might break down myself.
The weight of her naked body on my lap anchors me, holding me exactly where I am meant to be. But because I need to see her face, I reach down, and, untangling her legs from the chair, hook them over my arms and turn her so that she’s draped across me.
The new angle displays the angry burn again, a coiled viper, its tail notching between her breasts.
I should leave it for now.
I should letit wait.
But I can’t.
“Cat,” I say quietly, trailing one finger on the snake’s coiled body.
“Mnhm?”
She trembles beneath my ministrations, and I hate that I’m about to ruin the need stirring in her. While I’d like nothing more than to bury myself in her, I feel that this is more important.Sheis more important. “I’ve seen this before,” I say. When I look at her, her eyes are far away, so I place my hand over the scar. “This snake. I’ve seen it before.”
That gets her attention. She jerks slightly in my arms. Her eyes drop to her chest, where my hand is covering the raised lines of the keloid scar. “What?”
“I’ve seen this before,” I repeat.
“Where?” Her eyes lose their dreamy sheen almost instantly.
My earlier promise to never lie to her is challenged for a minute as I war with how much to reveal. But when she places her cool palm on my face and turns my head so I’m looking at her, I realize that she needs to be safe. She needs toknow. And having all the information will go a long way in accomplishing that.
“The first time I saw it, I was just a rookie. I responded to a call for backup in Angelino Heights.”
“Okay?”
“The dispatcher sent out a Code 3—a command to respond immediately with lights and sirens—and Mani and I happened to be on patrol in the area. When we arrived, there were six patrol vehicles there already, but dispatch never sent the Code 4 telling us that no further units were required.”
“What happened?” Her eyes are big just then, and I hate that fear leaches out of them. “Why did they need you?”
“It was a narcotics bust—or it was supposed to be a narcotics bust. But they found sixteen girls, locked in a room. They had iron dog collars on,” I say, remembering the horror of thirty-two vacant eyes imprinting on my soul. “They were chained to the wall.” That’s the simple version. The rest of the truth is that they were chained six feet apart from one another, too far to huddle for comfort, too close to forget the shame of being nearly naked and covered in their own waste in front of fifteen other women. They were sedated, not one of them cognizant enough to tell us what had happened. Their ages ranged from twelve to thirty-three.
I don’t think she notices, but Catherine instinctively raises a hand and puts it around her neck, as if feeling for something or checking for the absence of it. The violence that surges in me at the terrified gesture is new to me. But I welcome it. I vow to remember this moment the next time I come face-to-face with Sascha Sokolov.
“Trafficking?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
When I look at her, I realize how vulnerable she is just then, naked in a virtual stranger’s lap. Shifting her on my knees, I shrug out of my open shirt and, once it’s finally free, I hold it up for her. She doesn’t hesitate to string her arms through the sleeves. The moment it’s over her shoulders, I wrap it closed around her body and gently re-lock my arms around her.
“Yes. The snake, or a likeness of it anyway, was painted on the wall where the girls were kept. And some of them had this burn on different parts of their bodies. It’s from heated iron.” And although I don’t add it, the irons are typically custom-made for branding cattle.
