Page 33 of Trained In Sin

Seb

I replay the way Saphy looked at me with horror and disgust, since she told me to stay away from her, since she disappeared from my life like she'd never existed at all.

I pace my office like a caged animal, my mind cycling between rage and desperation.

The satisfaction I felt watching Damon Phillips die, watching the life drain from his pathetic eyes, has been completely overshadowed by the look on Saphy's face afterward.

Like I was the monster. Like I was the threat she needed protecting from.

She doesn't understand. She doesn't know what Phillips really was, what he was capable of, what he would have done to her if I hadn't stopped him. She saw me kill her ex-boyfriend and made assumptions based on incomplete information.

But even knowing that, even understanding her reaction logically, the irrational part of my brain keeps whispering that she chose to leave. That when faced with my true nature, she ran.

"Any word?" I ask Matthew for the twentieth time today, though I can see from his expression that the answer hasn't changed.

"Nothing. She's not at her flat, not at work, not at any of her usual places." His voice is carefully neutral, but I can hear the concern underneath. "She's covered her tracks well."

"Or someone's helping her cover them."

"Beth Morrison is also missing. Took leave from her job yesterday, flat appears empty. "

Of course. Beth would have helped her disappear, probably fed her fears about me, convinced her that running was the smart choice. The loyal best friend, protecting Saphy from the big bad wolf.

If only she knew she was protecting her from the man who saved her life.

"I want them found. I have the best fucking tech team in the country and you’re seriously telling me they can’t find two women?”

"Seb, maybe we should consider…."

"No, Matthew." I spin to face him, letting him see the barely controlled violence simmering beneath my surface. "I don't care what it costs, what resources it takes. I want to know where she is, that she's safe, that she's not…."

I can't finish the sentence. Can't voice the fears that have been eating at me for three days. What if Phillips had accomplices? What if there were others involved in his sick activities who saw Saphy as a loose end to be tied up? What if my killing him actually made her less safe instead of more?

"She's probably just scared," Matthew says gently. "What she witnessed was traumatic. Give her time to process…."

"Time?" The word comes out as a snarl. "How much time does she need to understand that I protected her? That I eliminated a threat to her safety?"

"She doesn't know what Phillips really was. To her, you killed an unarmed man in cold blood."

"He had a knife. "

"Which he'd already dropped when you…." Matthew stops himself, but the damage is done.

When I strangled him. When I chose to kill him slowly instead of simply neutralizing the threat. When I let my rage and possessiveness override tactical thinking.

"He threatened her," I say flatly. "He hit her. He tried to kidnap her."

"I know. And he deserved what he got." Matthew's voice carries conviction. "But she doesn't know about the files, about what he really was. She just knows that her ex-boyfriend is dead, and you killed him."

The files. Thousands of images of children, evidence of a predator who used his relationship with Saphy as cover for his sickness. Evidence that's now in the hands of people who will ensure justice for his victims, even if they can't credit me with stopping him.

I should feel satisfied about that. Should feel righteous in my actions. And I do, Phillips was a cancer that needed cutting out, and I was happy to be the blade. The world is objectively better without him in it.

But none of that matters if Saphy can't see that.

"Have we checked hospitals? Morgues?" The words taste like ash in my mouth.

"First thing we did. She's not injured, not dead. She's just... gone."

Gone. The word echoes in my head, bringing with it a kind of panic I haven't felt since childhood. Since my mother walked out and never came back, leaving me with a man who saw me as nothing more than a convenient target for his frustrations .

But this is different. Saphy didn't leave because she stopped loving me, she left because she was horrified by what I am. By what I'm capable of.

The irony isn't lost on me. I spent weeks pursuing her, convincing her to choose me. And when she finally did, when she finally surrendered to what we had, I destroyed it all by being exactly what she feared I was.

A killer.

My phone buzzes on the desk. For one wild moment, hope flares in my chest, maybe it's her, maybe she's ready to talk, to listen, to understand.

It's Danny.

"Any progress on locating Ms. Jenkins?" he asks without preamble.

"None. She's vanished completely."

"Sir, there's something else. We've been monitoring communications related to the Phillips situation. There's been chatter."

Ice settles in my stomach. "What kind of chatter?"

"People asking questions about his disappearance. People who knew about his... activities. They're starting to wonder if his death was connected to what he was involved in."

Fuck. "How much do they know?"

"Enough to be concerned. Not enough to be certain. But if Ms. Jenkins surfaces and starts talking about what she witnessed... "

"She won't." The words come out with more confidence than I feel. "She's not the type to go to the police."

"Are you certain? A woman who's been traumatised, who feels threatened, who's been convinced that you're dangerous?"

The doubt creeps in despite my certainty. Saphy is fundamentally good, fundamentally honest. If she believes I'm a threat to others, would she overcome her fear to warn people?

"She won't," I repeat, but the conviction is gone.

"We need to consider contingencies."

"Such as?"

"Such as what we do if she does go to the authorities. Such as whether we need to... mitigate that risk."

The suggestion hangs in the air between us, unspoken but understood. Danny is asking if I want Saphy silenced permanently.

The rage that surges through me is immediate and violent. "If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting…."

"I'm suggesting we consider all possibilities. That we plan for scenarios where her testimony could expose not just you, but the entire organization."

"She's not a threat to be eliminated. She's…." I stop myself before I can say what she really is. What she's always been, even when she's running from me.

"She's what, Seb? "

Mine. She's mine, and mine don't get eliminated. Mine get protected, cherished, kept safe even when they're too stubborn to see that they need protection.

"She's off limits. Completely and permanently off limits. Anyone who suggests otherwise will answer to me personally."

Danny is quiet for a moment. "Understood. But we do need to find her. For everyone's safety."

After he disconnects, I return to pacing, my mind churning through possibilities. Where would she go? Where would Beth take her? Somewhere far from London, somewhere I wouldn't think to look.

My phone buzzes again. This time it's a text from an unknown number, and my heart stops when I read it.

Stop looking for me. I'm safe and far away from you. Stay away from me, or I'll go to the police. - S

I read it three times, each pass making the words more painful. She's alive. She's safe. And she hates me enough to threaten me with exposure.

The relief and fury war in my chest, both emotions so intense I can barely process them. She's safe, thank fuck, she's safe. But she's also threatening me, drawing lines in the sand, making it clear that what we had is over.

I call the number immediately. It goes straight to voicemail, a generic message, probably a burner phone.

I try again. Same result.

By the fifth attempt, I'm gripping the phone so hard I'm surprised it doesn't crack .

She's out there somewhere, probably convinced that I'm a monster who killed an innocent man in a fit of possessive rage.

She doesn't know that Damon Phillips was a predator who collected images of children like trophies.

She doesn't know that he was using their relationship as cover for his sickness.

She doesn't know that in three years of living with him, she was sharing her bed with someone who got off on the exploitation of children.

She doesn't know that I saved her from something infinitely worse than a possessive ex-boyfriend.

But I know. And the knowledge is eating me alive.

I should tell her. Should find a way to make her understand what Phillips really was, what she was really in danger from.

But how do I do that without sounding like I'm making excuses?

How do I convince her that I killed him to protect her when she saw me strangle him after he was already neutralised?

How do I make her understand that my only regret about that night is that she witnessed it?

*

My intercom buzzes. "Mr. Blackwood? Wilson is here for your three o'clock."

I check my watch, 3:15. I've been so consumed with thoughts of Saphy that I'd completely forgotten about the riverside development meeting.

"Send him in. "

Business continues. Deals get made. Money changes hands. The world keeps turning despite the fact that mine has been completely upended.

But as Wilson drones on about construction timelines and profit margins, all I can think about is a woman with dark hair and defiant eyes who chose me once and now never wants to see me again.

A woman who's somewhere out there, alive and safe and convinced that I'm the monster she needs protecting from.

A woman who has no idea that the real monster is already dead, killed by my hands in an alley three nights ago.

The worst part isn't her fear. The worst part isn't even her hatred.

The worst part is that she's right to run from me.

Not because of what Phillips was, but because of what I am. Because of the satisfaction I felt watching him die. Because of how little I regret ending his pathetic life.

Because when she looked at me with horror and disgust, part of me, the darkest, most possessive part, wanted to grab her and drag her home and make her understand that she belongs to me whether she likes it or not.

I am exactly the monster she thinks I am.

The only difference is that this time, the monster was on her side.

But try explaining that to a woman who's just watched you commit murder in her name.

*

That evening, I drive past her building for the hundredth time since she disappeared. The windows of her flat are dark, no signs of life or habitation. She really is gone.

I park across the street and sit in the darkness, looking up at those empty windows and wondering if I'll ever see her again. Wondering if she'll ever understand that everything I did was to keep her safe.

Wondering if it would matter even if she did understand.

Because the truth is, I'd do it again. If someone threatened her, if someone tried to hurt her, I'd kill them without hesitation. It's who I am, what I am.

And maybe she's right to run from that.

Maybe she's right to choose safety over a man who solves problems with violence.

But as I sit in the car, surrounded by the scent of her perfume that still clings to the leather seats, I know one thing with absolute certainty:

I'm not giving up.

She can run, she can hide, she can threaten me with police and exposure and consequences.

But she's mine. She chose me once, surrendered to me completely, and that doesn't just disappear because she's scared .

I'll find her. I'll make her understand. I'll prove to her that the monster she's running from is the same monster who will keep her safe from everything else in this world that wants to hurt her.

And if she still chooses to run after that?

Then I'll let her go.

But not before she knows the truth about what Damon Phillips really was.

Not before she understands that her choice wasn't between safety and danger.

It was between one kind of monster and another.

And she chose the monster who loves her.