Page 55 of Girl Lost (The King Legacy #1)

At the main gate, a bored-looking guard glanced at his credentials before buzzing him through. The heavy metal door clanged shut behind him with a finality that made Corbin’s skin crawl. He was in. No turning back now.

Another guard, this one more alert, approached. “Agent King? I’m Officer Hammond. I’ll be escorting you today.”

Corbin nodded, forcing his face into a neutral expression. “Thanks. I’m here to see Damien Sullivan.”

Hammond’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he gestured to a nearby locker. “First things first, we’ll need to secure your weapon. Can’t have any firearms inside, even for law enforcement.”

Corbin unholstered his gun and locked it away. The absence of his sidearm left him feeling off-balance, like he was missing a limb.

They moved through the checkpoint and through a series of mantraps. Each buzz and clang of the doors rattled his nerves. The farther they went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The walls seemed to close in, and the air grew thicker with each step.

“So, what brings an FDLE agent out here to see Sullivan?” Hammond asked as they walked. “Must be something big.”

Corbin’s jaw tightened. “Just following up on a few things.” He couldn’t explain that he was here to see his father. The man who had nearly destroyed his life.

Hammond nodded, clearly sensing Corbin’s reluctance to elaborate. “Well, you should know, Sullivan has been a model prisoner. No incidents in over a decade.”

A model prisoner. Wasn’t that sort of an oxymoron for a man like his father? As if that could erase everything that had come before. The beatings. The terror. The lives destroyed.

They reached the last door, heavy and solid.

Hammond paused, his hand on the handle. “All right, Agent King. Here’s the deal.

You’ll have thirty minutes. We’ll have cameras on you, monitoring from the observation room.

If Sullivan tries anything, just give the signal, and we’ll shut it down.

But I have to warn you, our response time is fifty-two seconds. ”

Corbin nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Fifty-two seconds was a lifetime in an attack.

“Remember,” Hammond added, his voice low, “no matter what he says, no matter what history you two might have, he’s a con. Don’t let your guard down.”

If only Hammond knew how impossible that would be. Corbin’s guard had been up for twenty years, a wall built brick by painful brick.

The door swung open, and Corbin stepped inside. The room was small, dominated by a metal table bolted to the floor. And there, seated on the other side...

His father.

The years had not been kind to the man. The once-imposing figure had grown soft, a paunch straining against the faded prison jumpsuit.

A deep scar the size of Corbin’s thumb rested in the hollow of his throat.

The color reminded him of a cold steak. His hair, once a sandy blond like Corbin’s own, had faded to a dull gray.

But the eyes. The eyes were the same. Dark and intense, boring into Corbin with painful familiarity.

The smell hit him next. A pungent mix of stale sweat and institutional soap that made his nose twitch. This was what twenty years in prison smelled like.

“Well, well,” his father drawled. “Look who finally decided to pay his old man a visit.”

Corbin’s throat went dry. He forced himself to move, to take the seat across from the man who had dominated his nightmares for so long. The metal chair was cold and hard beneath him.

“Hello, Dad.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

His father leaned back, the chains of his shackles clinking. “Twenty years, and that’s all you’ve got to say? I’m hurt, son.”

The familiar mocking tone set his teeth on edge. He clenched his jaw, reminding himself why he was here. “How have you been?”

Damien shrugged. “Oh, you know. Three squares. Roof over my head. Can’t complain.” His eyes narrowed. “But I doubt you came all this way for small talk. Why are you really here, Corbin?”

“I got married.” Corbin’s hand went to his wedding ring, twisting the smooth metal. “And I’m a father now.”

“Well, congratulations,” he said. “Doesn’t explain why you’re here, though.”

Corbin met his father’s gaze, steeling himself. “I had to come. I had to see the man who almost took all of that away from me.”

Damien’s face hardened. “And how exactly am I to blame for your life choices? If I recall, you were a father before you were a husband.”

Years of pent-up anger bubbled to the surface. “You want to know how? Your drinking, your abuse. The way you beat Mom, beat me. The anger, the rage you passed down to me like some twisted inheritance. It nearly ruined me.”

He leaned forward, his words coming faster now. “And then there’s the small matter of your rampage. Murdering those cops. Do you have any idea what that did to me? To my career? To every relationship I’ve ever had? To be the son of a cop killer?”

Nights spent cowering in his room, listening to the crash of bottles and his mother’s begging.

The shame of showing up to school with bruises he couldn’t explain.

The whispers that followed him through the police academy, the sidelong glances from fellow officers who wondered if he’d turn out just like his old man.

Damien’s face remained impassive, but he could see the tension in his jaw. “So you came here to what? Yell at me? Make me feel guilty?”

Corbin took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. This wasn’t why he’d come. Not really.

“No,” he said. “I came to tell you about the forgiveness and redemption I’ve found through Jesus. The healing that’s taken place in my life.”

A harsh laugh erupted from Damien’s throat. “Jesus? You came all this way to preach at me?”

“I’m not preaching,” he said, even as he recognized the defensive tone in his voice. “I’m telling you about the change in my life. How I have peace. Joy.” He paused. Gave himself room to let the right words come. “I’ve forgiven you, Dad,” Corbin said. “For everything.”

The words hung in the air between them. He watched his father’s face, searching for any sign of emotion. But Damien’s expression remained carefully neutral, a mask honed by years behind bars.

“I’ve left a Bible for you with the guards. I wondered if you’d want to read it yourself, and we can talk about it. When I come visit.” He swallowed. The words were out there now. The offer. The reconciliation.

Silence stretched. Corbin could hear his pulse thundering in his ears. Part of him wanted his father’s anger and wrath. Then at least he’d have an excuse to walk away. But the other part, the bigger part of him, wanted this relationship more than anything else.

Finally, Damien spoke. “Why? Why would you do that? Why leave your fancy house and wife to come preach forgiveness to a washed-up old con?”

“Because.” Corbin smiled. A small, joyful thing. “The Shepherd will always leave his flock of ninety-nine to go find the one lost sheep.”

He stood, ready to leave. He’d said what he came to say, laid bare the wounds of the past and the hope for the future. It was more than he’d ever expected to share with this man who had loomed like a shadow in his nightmares.

“Wait.” Damien’s voice stopped him.

Corbin turned back, surprised to see a flicker of vulnerability in his father’s eyes.

“That gym you used to go to,” Damien said, shifting in his seat. “The one where all the cops work out. You still go there?”

Corbin nodded, uncertain where this was going.

“That girl, the one who used to go there too. Victoria Crew. You still know her?”

She hated being called Victoria, but he wasn’t about to offer any details about her to a prisoner. Not even one who shared his blood. “Yeah,” he said cautiously. “We’re still friends.”

Damien’s eyes shone with an intensity that made Corbin’s skin crawl. “I want her to come visit me.”

“What? Why?” The words burst out before Corbin could stop them. His mind raced, trying to connect the dots between his father and Tori.

Damien leaned back. “I was a bad cop, Corbin. Did things I shouldn’t have. But I also saw things. Ugly things. The worst of humanity.” He paused, his gaze distant. “I was there that night. The night the Crew family was murdered.”

Corbin’s blood ran cold. The Crew murders. One of the most brutal cases in Millie Beach history. He’d heard whispers about the cold case throughout his career, but the details had always been closely guarded. And now, here was his father, claiming to have been there?

“I was the responding officer. I saw the blood. The bodies.” Damien cleared his throat. “I was the one who found her. A scared little thing hiding in her parents’ closet that night.”

Corbin’s throat felt tight. He could picture it all too easily. A young Tori, terrified and alone. Hiding from the gruesome scene unfolding on the other side of the door.

“She won’t want to come here,” he managed. “She won’t want to talk about that night.” She never talked about that night.

“I think she will, son.” A bitter smile pulled at Damien’s lips. “She’ll come. Because I know who murdered her family.”