“I like the way you see me,” is all he says as whatever the memory is that has seeped into the forefront of his mind dissipates. His small smile feels hollow—a means of distraction. “This moment here, with you, I think I might have found my happy place.” He clears his throat and adjusts me in his bulky arms like he needs to jolt me back to the present and away from what he is feeling.
It’s clear Ezra doesn’t let people in. But that won’t stop me from trying to break down his walls.
EZRA
“You may not see it yet, and that’s okay. Give me time, I’ll help you.” Her sincerity hits me like a bullet, warmth flooding my chest as I emotionally bleed out. Do I want her to see the real me? Probably not. Do I argue? No. For a moment, this perfectly broken woman thinks she’s fixed me—at least a piece of me. Who am I to take that from her?
I turn her toward the window, the night breeze stirring the sheer white curtains, moonlight casting shadows across the floor. My fingers trace her belly as a thought slips through the usual darkness filling my head—her, swollen with my child, my release still deep inside her. It wasn’t what I planned when I hunted her down tonight. I’ve never let myself imagine a life beyond this prison, but here we are. The dream of more with her latches itself to my soul like a barnacle, pulling me somewhere else, somewhere better, somewhere far away from this reality.
Therapy, in all its forms, never seemed to inspire anything but teeth-grinding annoyance whenever anyone else has tried todig a little deeper into my psyche. Being emotionally flayed open in front of another person willingly has never been my style; I’d usually take being chained up and tortured over that any day. So why does it seem to come so easily with Cara?
“The darkness feels bearable when I’m with you, not sad or lonely as it has been for so many years. With you, I find comfort in its stillness, a clarity washing over me that feels too much like acceptance—of who I was and who I could be.” I let the words tumble from my lips with little resistance. Trusting that it’s what she needs to hear. I’m thankful that I can’t see the expression on her face.
Soft whimpers fall from her lips, a response failing to break free as the quiet room fills with the sated rumblings of sleep. Cradling her against my chest I can feel the melodious thump of her contended heartbeat. For the first time in six years, I let my guard down, trusting that I'm safe with her and exactly where I need to be.
I’m just a man in awe of a beautiful girl, here in this moment—the outside world be damned. I catalogue every freckle across her shoulders and every small scar and blemish peppering her skin that I hadn’t noticed before. It’s selfish of me to hope that it’s me who fills her dreams, but hope is a fickle bastard—and maybe for once, the monster that I am can have something for himself.
I’ll pray that a sinner like me has enough redemption left in him to earn this uniquely twisted version of a happily ever after with her—and if not, I’ll willingly go down fighting trying to keep it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CARA
I’ve been asleep for all of forty minutes, a record for someone with trauma-induced insomnia. My nightly meds have been my crutch for years, and without them, the ever-present panic surges back like a fresh wound. But in Ezra’s warm embrace, I feel safer than I ever have before—like floating on a cloud after the anaesthesia fades, instead of my usual crash back to reality, drenched in sweat, haunted by memories.
Ezra’s words replay in my head,‘I’m not a good man, Red.’What constitutes a good man holds little weight in my world; of the interactions I’ve had, I hadn’t been prepared to fall for someone like Ezra—a man who doesn’t hide his need to obliterate and ruin. He hasn’t hesitated to show me who he is, and as fucked up as it may be, I revel in the side of him that promises retribution.
The furnace effect of Ezra’s body wrapped around mine could effectively do the job of relaxing me if it wasn’t for my mind running a mile a minute as I think about everything he’s shared with me tonight. Sliding out from under his broad frame, I’m grateful for the raging wind outside as the branches from the oak tree outside my window rattle against the glass. If he can sleep through that, I should be good.
I open the top drawer of my dresser, wincing when the runner whines in protest. A quick glance back at Ezra, I watch with bated breath as he groans and shuffles on the bed, his body curling around the warmth of where I was just sleeping as though I'm still there. I let out a clipped sigh of relief.
My fingers hesitate on my denim jeans before pulling them out—my uniform fitted with a new row of buttons hanging from the bathroom doorframe grabbing my attention. If I get found in the halls, I’ll draw less attention if I’m in that rather than day clothes. I forgo the comfortable jeans and a hoodie combo and tiptoe over to the bathroom. Slinking into my uniform, I tug on my prosthetic and the leather gloves, quietly buckling them; every sound, no matter how small, echoing around the room. I grab my boots to put on once I’m outside. Stealthy while wearing heels doesn’t come naturally to me, and if I’m getting out of here without waking my wolf, precautions need to be taken. I grab the crude map Raven had made from out of my bedside table and tuck it into my pocket. There must be something more in the records room that could help Ezra with his memory issues of that night—something that could help settle his demons.
After two wrong turns,a silent war with myself over whether to give up and head back to my room, and a sore lip from chewing on it every time the old pipes groan, I finally reach the records room. I pull on the latch that is holding Lenora’s painting to the wall, listening for anything that might suggest there are people down in the basement.
No noise, thank fuck.
I fly into action, rummaging around the shelves for anything that stands out. Thumbing through everything sandwichedbetween the bookends emblazoned with a red E. But I find nothing. Patient records for Trinny Peters, Laoul Thain, and Derek Sampson are all included in files I come across, and I realise that whoever was in charge of this filing system either didn’t give two shits about their job or didn’t understand the term‘alphabetical order.’
Hello, needle in a haystack.
“If I were important information, where would I be?” I ask the empty room. I’ve never relied on the universe offering a helping hand, so I don’t know why my voice is so optimistic, likethe answer is going to magically fall out of the sky. The water pipes in the hallway groan again, and I drop the papers I’m holding. Falling to my knees to scoop them up, I silently curse the universe for adding insult to injury with a roll of my eyes. And that’s when I see it. My name and a date scribbled on the spine of a DVD case slotted amongst a hundred others just like it on the lowest shelf. Grabbing for it, I hurry over to the old box TV on wheels in the corner, fumbling to get the plug in the socket. It buzzes to life, and I slip the shiny gold disk into the DVD tray, stabbing the mute button on the remote because I have no idea what is about to come out of the speakers.
The tears fall easily the longer I watch it, my eyes burning but refusing to close as it continues to play. I recognise the blonde-haired girl, she’s barely sixteen, her mind still filled with hopes of going home. Manhandled by such uncaring hands, the men circling her like vultures before they descend—greedily stealing a part of her they have no right to.
I barely remember that night; the drugs Suzy gave me dulled my senses enough for me to live outside of myself. I clench my thighs together, that familiar painful ache a memory of what I had felt the morning after Doc’s showcase event for all his high roller city clients. My introduction into his seedy world. The scars from scrapes, burns, and being tied in unnatural positionssting on my skin as though they are as fresh as the day they were inflicted.
“You did what you needed to do, Cara, to survive.” I inhale a shaky breath and wipe away my tears. I remove the disc and snap it in two—putting it back in its case and returning it to the shelf before grabbing another one.
The girl bound to a chair and blindfolded cries out around her gag as the length of bloody silk is ripped from her eyes, the look of horror eclipsing the confusion as the room comes into view. I can’t see the people behind the camera, but as her gaze slowly tracks along from left to right, I know there’s more than one person standing in front of her. I glance over at the Blackwood employee group photos pinned on the wall, recognising the dark-haired girl immediately, the brand poking out of her uniform in the photo now on show in its entirety on the screen, the seared ornate B raised on her sweat-drenched skin.
Taking the DVD out and slipping itback on the shelf, I hear a bang from down the hall. Jumping to my feet, my necklace with my room key attached snags on the metal shelf, the chain snapping. It slips through my fingers and falls down an air vent in the floor.
“Hey, universe, I said help me, not fuck me!” I whisper-yell trying to prise open the grate. Tiptoeing over to the desk, I pull open the draws in search of something to help me jimmy it and find a letter opener. I slide it between the rusted metal casing and use my body weight to pop it open. Reaching down, I press my cheek against the floor as I fumble blindly around in the small hole. I almost cheer when I wrap my fingers around the key. Dragging it through the dust, my arm bent at an awkward angle, I see something else slide into view: a folded envelope. Pulling them both out, I run my fingers over the spots of dried blood decorating the discoloured paper. Another disc, this onenot like the others. It’s silver, and Ezra’s name is written on it. Sliding my key with the broken clasp into my pocket, next to the map Raven gave me, I turn hesitantly to place the scuffed DVD into the machine, hoping it will play, but in the same breath, hoping it won’t.
Do I really want to see what is on this?
I hit play, and the grainy CCTV footage fills the screen. It looks like a shitty homemade porn; a large man chasing a young woman around his desk. Fast-forwarding, I stop when someone familiar appears. The noises from the hallway fade as I edge closer, transfixed by what I’m seeing. My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a gasp.
