She would never forget the horror of that moment. Rafe holding her in front of him. His man, Marcel, holding April. Catarina had been unable to look away, not even when Rafe plunged the knife into April and sliced her open. Blood sprayed all over her, but that wasn’t enough for Rafe. He wanted her to learn a lesson.
Rafe calmly forced her hands inside the horrible wound and whispered in her ear. You did this, my little Catarina. You. Their blood is on your hands. Don’t ever be so foolish as to leave me again. The memory was so sharp, so vivid, she was afraid she would vomit right there.
Rafe spoke softly. He never needed to raise his voice. He simply looked at his men and gestured toward the mess that had once been a live woman, now something he considered trash for them to take out.
April had cleaned their home, and Catarina had followed her everywhere. She’d been one of the few people who had been kind. She’d even helped Catarina learn to read and write, and Catarina had gotten her killed.
“Who killed her, Ms. Benoit?” Tuttle asked. “You didn’t say who held you there and pushed the knife into April.”
She raised stricken eyes to him. “I don’t know. I didn’t see his face.”
He sighed. “Now you’re lying to me.”
“My back was to him. He wore gloves. Black gloves. I never saw his face.” That was true. She hadn’t needed to see his face. She recognized his scent. His hard body. His voice that never changed. He terrified her.
“I’m going to get you some water.”
She was surprised by the compassion in Tuttle’s voice. He left the room briefly, just enough time for her to press her trembling hand against her mouth. She breathed in over and over, trying to keep from throwing up. She had nightmares and there was no way to ever get that scene out of her head, but talking about it was far worse.
The details. The smell. The horror of it. All along her mother had been dead. Rafe casually told her the truth. That was the thing about him. He didn’t hide what he was from her. He didn’t lie to her. He always told the truth. She’d been stupid enough to ask him if he’d killed her mother.
She was a whore, Catarina, he had explained patiently. She didn’t need to be, but she turned herself into one because she couldn’t live without drugs. Addiction is a terrible weakness. She sold you to me for drugs. Her stepchild she should have loved and protected. I couldn’t let her touch you. I couldn’t ever allow that woman to harm you through her addiction. She came back wanting more drugs. She threatened to take you back and sell you to men. She claimed that I had conned her and that had she kept you, you would have been an endless source of revenue for her.
Catarina knew he told the truth, because he always did. The stark truth. He never tried to soft soap it. There were no such things as white lies. Her mother, or rather stepmother, really had done all those things. She was the only mother Catarina had ever known. Catarina, for whatever reason, was under Rafe’s protection. She’d been threatened and he’d removed the threat. Just like that.
That hadn’t been the only time he’d “protected” her. She’d been sixteen and had become a little rebellious. Not with Rafe. Never with him. But she always had shadows on her. Men who went everywhere she did. She’d gone to a movie and had slipped into the woman’s bathroom and she’d stayed there deliberately for a very long time, forcing one of the two men to come in to retrieve her.
She detested Marcel. He’d been the one to help kill April. Marcel had dragged her out and refused to allow her to see the rest of the show. She’d kicked up a fuss. In public, a serious break of the rules. He’d slapped her the moment they were away from prying eyes.
She never told Rafe, but he knew before she got home. He was there and his anger filled the room. Filled it. She stood in front of him, bowing her head, terrified of his wrath, kicking herself for being so stupid. She hated having men following her everywhere. She didn’t have friends to attend movies with, and she’d overheard the two men talking about how pathetic she was. She’d been crushed.
Rafe caught her chin with two fingers and tipped her face up for his examination. He pressed his palm to the cheek Marcel had slapped. Then he’d raised his eyes to Marcel and jerked his head at two of his personal bodyguards. The last she’d seen of Marcel, he was struggling as he was dragged from the house.
Don’t hurt him, Rafe. I was upset with them, something they said about me, and I acted stupid.
No one has the right to put their hands on you but me. Never, Catarina, not for any reason. I won’t stand for it. If you need to be punished, that’s for me to decide, no one else. Any man touches you, you tell me.