Page 34

She looks like shit.

Her hair’s messy. Her clothes don’t fit right, and there are bags under her eyes.

“No.” Becca takes off her glasses, setting them onto the counter before rubbing her eyes.

“Everything is awful.” She sniffs and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s about to cry or because she’s having an allergic reaction to all the mold in the place where she’s staying.

“I came to tell you I’m sorry about the other night.

” Her lips press together. “And that I didn’t tell you guys the full story of why I’m here. ”

I slide onto the barstool next to her. “What is the full story?”

My understanding is she was being stalked by some guy she tried to turn into the police—the reason she’s with Butch now.

Except the Memphis PD didn’t do shit about it, because most of the department is as crooked as my grandma’s pointer finger—the reason Butch is no longer a cop.

The explanation did feel a little bare bones when they gave it. But at some point—after dealing with something terrible—you get tired of explaining all your trauma over and over again, so you start offering a simplified version.

Becca’s shoulders slump. “There’s a human trafficking ring here in Memphis.” Her lower lip trembles. “They have my sister.”

My jaw drops. Now I feel really freaking bad for pulling her hair. “What?”

“Yeah.” She scrubs at one eye, making the reddened edges even more inflamed. “I feel like I haven’t slept since I found out she was gone.”

“It’s probably not helping that you’re sleeping in a derelict house.” I scrunch my nose. “I understand you feel bad being comfortable when you know your sister’s not, but being miserable won’t help her.”

“It won’t hurt her either.” Becca sucks in a deep breath, blinking fast. “And I feel bad enough being here. If anyone does come after me, I sure as heck don’t want them breaking into one of your houses to get me.”

Okay. So I might like Becca. “Why are you telling me all this?”

She shrugs. “You’re the only one here who doesn’t know me.” She gives me a half smile. “And I know you won’t just try to feed me bullshit about how everything will be okay because we’re friends.”

I look over the woman next to me and wonder if this was how Lydia felt. If she struggled to sleep when Matthias cut off my communication with the outside world and she didn’t know where I was or if I was okay. “You know, my sister had to rescue me.”

I know my situation isn’t nearly the same as Becca and her sister’s, but there are some similarities. And I know she doesn’t want to be fed bullshit , but maybe it will help to know I’m okay. That even when things were at their worst, I found ways to push through.

To survive.

Becca’s bloodshot eyes fix on me. “From?”

“My ex-husband.” I take a breath, waiting for the tightness that always squeezes my chest when I talk about the man my father made me marry.

“He was abusive in a lot of ways.” My breathing is still okay, so I continue.

“He hurt me physically. Broke me down mentally. Assaulted and raped me.” It’s weird how far away those days seem right now. “For years.”

Becca’s head tips, her eyes narrowing in a scrutinizing gaze. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“I was raised in a fundamentalist church that worked very hard to suppress women. To make sure we had few options. I didn’t have a driver’s license.

A bank account. Credit card. Nothing. My husband kept all my documents locked up tight.

” I shrug, feeling oddly disconnected from everything.

“And when he figured out I was going to try to leave him anyway, he took me out into the middle of nowhere and locked me in a cabin where he thought no one could find me.” I lean closer to Becca.

“But Lydia found me anyway. She and Christian and Simon and Tate came for me. Saved me when I couldn’t save myself. ”

Becca’s dark eyes are watery as they meet mine. “How did she find you?”

“I managed to sneak out and ran like hell.” For the first time emotion creeps in, but it’s not sadness over all the time I lost or regret over not finding a way out sooner.

It’s not even disgust at the men who tried to ruin me.

It’s pride. “I found a spot where Lydia and I played when we were kids and she was able to meet me there.” It’s a super simplified version of the events—just like Beca’s—but hopefully it’s enough to make the task of finding her sister seem possible. Something to give her hope.

She pulls in a deep breath. “I just wish I knew she was okay. That I could tell her I’m looking for her.” Her expression hardens. “And that I’m going to murder every person who did this to her.”

I’m not sure how much murdering goes on around here anymore, but sure. Murder sounds fun. I know a few people I’d be plotting against if they weren’t already behind bars. I like that they can’t get to me, but it also means I can’t get to them.

“I’ll help.” I might as well get it out of my system any way I can. “I’ve got a lot of feminine rage to get rid of.”

Becca gives me a small smile. “I’d like that.”

We both jump when my front door flies open and heavy footsteps come thudding our way. Simon races into the kitchen, looking a little wild.

I sit up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s your phone?” His dark eyes snap around the kitchen.

“I don’t know.” I pat my pockets. “Upstairs maybe?” I lose the damn thing almost as much as I lose my coffee cup. “Why?”

He comes toward me, moving fast. “We’ve got to go.”

I stand, letting him direct me toward the back door. “Where are we going?”

“The hospital.” He leads me straight out into the chilly autumn air. “Lydia’s having the baby.”