Fifteen years with the possibility of parole after ten.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but I couldn’t help myself. That sentence is complete bullshit.
Clicking back to the main screen, my finger hovers a brief moment overEvidence, as I look down at Mimi’s gorgeous face as she sleeps in my arms.
I don’t want to see how the night ended for her. I don’t know if I can handle seeing the photos of her like that, but she deserves for me to go through this with her.
I tap on the link, and the images that appear make my fucking heart stop.
I knew it was bad. I had no idea it wasthatbad.
Mimi’s battered face and bruised body in sectioned images.
Her eyes swollen beyond recognition. Her lips and cheeks bruised with bite marks and cuts over her jawline and ears.
Her wrists have a distinct black and blue line where he put a majority of his weight, holding her down.
There are so many bruises, and every image of her face and body is so swollen, I hardly recognize her to be the same person.
Images of the lake, her dress from that night, and shoes lay haphazardly near the blanket we laid on every night, and it’s too fucking much. I toss my phone aside and wrap my arms around her again, tucking my face into her neck.
“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” My cracked voice begs, pleads.
Why did I leave her there? Why did I fucking leave?
The intense rage is still licking at my veins and I can physically feel my blood pressure exploding from my pores. I have to force myself to calm my short breaths and just focus on the presence of Mimi comforting me, but the knowledge of what he did to her makes me feel a vengeance I’ve never felt in my life.
Even the anger I felt toward my father doesn’t rival the sensations rolling through my body at this moment.
The uncontrollable wrath that led me to almost beating my father to death has haunted me my entire life.
It wasn’t a mistake and I don’t regret it. But it put me on a path that I didn’t have control over, and even though I was built for the military and loved almost everything about it, I hated that I felt trapped because it wasn’t my choice. I was forced to do it because of him.
I have never made another mistake out of a fit of fury again, and I won’t start now. But Nathan will get what’s coming to him.
Picking my phone back up, I text Rocco.
Seamus: Pull everything on Nathan Simmons.
35
NAOMI
My eyelids are well baked and stuck together as I attempt to open them. Rubbing the back of my hand over the crusted lines, blinking heavily, I bring myself back into reality.
My face is tight from the streams of tears I recall crying as I shared my story with Seamus, and he surprised me by holding me instead of responding with the rage I was expecting.
I suppose I should have expected him to refrain from showing any emotion, but I really wasn’t sure what to expect.
I partially expected him to leave, probably needing space, but as my salted vision clears I not only see him lying close next to me in my bed, I feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
He stayed the night in my tiny, messy bed, even though he probably hated every minute of it.
His naked chest is exposed with my pink sheets covering the rest of his body, and it’s a sight to be seen.
Never did I imagine Seamus Matthews lying comfortably in my bed, with one massive bicep over his head and the other covering his torso, blending with the light pastel tones.
I glance down at my floor. His clothes are scattered on the ground, jeans still muddy and darker in some spots from the rain.I’m sure it absolutely killed him to throw his clothing on the ground like that, but it probably beat lying in bed with dirt-covered, damp jeans.
