Page 103 of Torched Spades

“When he came home? But…” Out of the corner of my eye, his eyebrows bunch together before understanding hits and his face contorts. “Oh fuck, Becca. No…”

No. That’s the one word I said over and over and over, too.

“I knelt there for eight hours. My feet were all red.” Bending forward, I stare at my toes. “They still are.”

“You told your father about what happened,” he says so matter-of-factly I know it’s not a question. “About what the man looked like and what he said.”

I nod again. “He told me I’d imagined it. That the trauma of what happened had created a boogeyman in my head. I kept telling him the same thing—small eyes, big teeth, a knife piercing a rose—but he wouldn’t listen. Then he sent me to a psychiatrist who told me the same thing.” I shrug. “Eventually, I believed them.”

“But you never forgave him.”

“No. I saw that man in my nightmares for years. I heard his voice. I smelled the blood…” For the first time since I was twelve-years-old, I turn to the man beside me and ask the one question I’ve never been able to answer. “My father was supposed to believe me. Why didn’t he believe me?”

The words are barely out of my mouth before I’m swept into his arms. We sit in heavy silence for a moment—all the lies and betrayals and nightmares fading away under the steady thump of Johnny’s heartbeat. I don’t care that I’m supposed to hate him right now. His strength is the only thing keeping me together.

Then the next words out of his mouth take it all away, and I shatter into pieces.

“Becca, the man who said those same words to me had a dagger and rose tattoo and red hair.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

BECCA

I liftmy cheek off Johnny’s chest, my spine straightening. “The man who attacked me?” At his nod, I move to the opposite side of the couch. “You knew him? All this time?”

“I’ve been trying to fucking protect you from him.”

“Then who broke into my condo?” I ask coldly, quickly bandaging the scars I just bared. “Answer me.”

Please don’t,I beg with my eyes, but my pleas fall on deaf ears. I’m the one who forced this door open, and Johnny isn’t going to let me close it without watching all the skeletons fall out.

“Your father,” he says flatly.

I grip the armrest so hard my arm shakes. “You’re lying.”

“He wanted you away from me, Becca. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“But why? Because you’re an arsonist?”

Johnny’s eyes darken. “I think we both know I’m more than that. You’ve known for a while, you just refused to see it, and trust me, I’ve done everything in my power to keep it that way, but the stakes are too high now.”

“What stakes?” Leaping to my feet, I spin around, his words flipping a switch in me. “What are you talking about?”

He stands slowly, and I swear I can hear all the personalities I accused him of having hit the ground. “No one around you is who they seem to be, Becca.”

I think back to the first time Johnny walked into my office. I remember thinking I saw demons dancing in his eyes. I swore I heard their whispers and taunts as he fought them. But even in darkness, he brought color to my muted world.

I just never imagined that color would be red.

“Get out!” I scream, hurling myself toward the front door. But just as my fingers wrap around the doorknob, two strong hands land on my shoulders and spin me around, pinning me against the wood.

“Your father is owned by the mob; don’t you see that?” he roars. “Bullets and blades, Becca. You heard it when your mother was killed. Why do you think he was so insistent in making you believe you didn’t see what you saw? He was covering for your mother’s murderer.”

“No!” I shout, driving my fists into his chest. But it doesn’t matter how many times I say it; I know it’ll never be true.

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t believe me. I swear to you, Becca, I had no intentions of making you hear this, but you have to face reality.” I’m still pinned against the door as Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Within seconds, the room fills with two familiar voices.

“Everything I’ve done has always been for Becca.”