Page 81 of Beyond Question

As she continues her story, my mood plummets.

My muscles tense.

I have to concentrate on my hands to keep them from flexing because they want to curl into fists. Break things.

Punish.

As I listen to Paige’s story, to the horrors that she survived, and I watch each secret unfold on her daughter’s face, each horror reflected in the tears Bronte tries so hard to hold back, I find it increasingly harder to sit still.

Paige walks us through her past and I can’t fucking stand to hear it.

I can’t fucking stand to know that she experienced even a small fraction of her story.

Each trauma this woman endured is whispered with a tight voice as she fights to expose her secrets while fighting to hold back tears. Because even as she reveals her truth, she still tries to be the strong one.

Each fucking horror unleashed on this woman, now shared with the people in this room, makes me want to unleash on the men responsible.

It takes everything in me not to get up.

Not to climb off this couch and disappear into Cabot’s home gym so I can pummel his punching bag.

I’m barely breathing with the constraint it takes to sit still.

And then Bronte stands, suddenly, startling us all.

Her mom reaches for her, but Bronte shakes her head, not even looking into Paige’s eyes.

“I—” She shakes her head, draws a deep breath, then say, “I need a minute.”

Paige gives one curt nod of her head and as her daughter quickly leaves the room and Rylan follows, I pull Paige against my chest and wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly as the tears finally come. She shakes in my arms with those silent sobs, and I grit my teeth because amidst all the anger brewing in my chest, the need for vengeance heating my veins, it fuckinghurts, this feeling of helplessness. I ache with the need to take her pain away and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

But wait…

Without loosening my arms around Paige, I turn my head and look at my best friend. He’s had all night with this information, even if it’s new to me. “What have you found out?”

Cabot gives me a curt nod, then stands. “My team spent all night looking into Archer Grindley.”

Paige sniffles, then turns in my arms and I tuck her against my side, kissing her temple as Cabot continues.

“He’s been in prison for twenty years.”

“What?” Paige sits up, glancing at me, then staring at Cabot, her eyes rimmed red and disbelief obvious in the set of her jaw. “That’s impossible. You saw the texts.”

My brow furrows. What texts?

Cabot nods. “The texts came from an untraceable number. A burner phone, I imagine.” He strides to the kitchen and refills his coffee mug, then spots mine on the counter and motions toward it. I nod and he tops it off, then brings it to me. As I reach for the mug, I whisper to Paige, “Do you need anything? More coffee? Tea?”

She shakes her head, then turns to look at me for the first time since she started telling her story. Her blue eyes search mine, questioning, and that hint of doubt, fear, that I see tightens a fist around my heart.

“Paige,” I murmur, then lean forward to kiss her forehead. “Do I have to say it again?”

She nods.

Smirking, I say, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her shoulders rise and fall on a deep breath, but then she nods.

I’ll start each day with that promise if I have to. Turning back to Cabot, I ask, “So, someone snuck it into prison, the phone, I mean.”