His upper lip twitches, fury settling in his gaze. I don't know why, but that invigorates me to keep going.
“My mom had already died of an overdose, so it was just my father. When he saw that I was back, he talked about selling me again, but this time, Layla, too. And I just… snapped. I couldn't handle the thought of him selling my baby sister. The things I had gone through—all I could think about was those same things happening to Layla—” I cut myself off, too overwhelmed with the thought. That residual fury resurfaces, and my cheeks grow hot as my words turn flustered.
His hand grabs mine, and I focus on it, if only to distract me from my spiraling thoughts.
While I had seen they were covered in tattoos, it's the first time I've actually gotten to study them closely. He tattooed flames on the knuckles of his fingers, the background behind them blacked out to give the illusion that they’re melting candles. The artwork is some of the best I've seen, and for the first time, I consider getting my scars covered up with something beautiful.
“So you killed him,” he states, bringing me back to the conversation.
“I killed him,” I confirm quietly. “And I didn't even feel guilty about it.”
“You shouldn't have,” he says. “He deserved that and so much worse.”
I nod. He did, and there's some satisfaction in knowing that I had been the one to end his life.
“I had heard about a large pig farm a couple hours from where I used to live. The owner was a local source of meat for many people, and there had been talk that he would be retiring soon. So, I cleaned everything up, rolled my dad in garbage bags, and put him in the trunk of his car.”
He cocks a brow. “Would I happen to have just fucked you at the same farm?”
A blush immediately blooms across my cheeks. Damn it.
Clearing my throat, I mutter, “Yes.”
He grins, and I narrow my eyes at the satisfaction emanating from him.
“Anyway,” I continue, shooting him a pointed shut up look. “Once I got Layla and I showered, dressed, and packed, I drove to the farm. I waited until the owner went to bed, snuck into his barn, and fed my father to his pigs. It wasn’t pretty, and I didn’t do everything right. That was how I learned pigs avoided teeth and hair, which made the cleanup process awful. I’m still surprised I managed to get away with it.”
It's a grossly oversimplified version of that night, but it's the crux of it. The details don't really matter now, except that I’ve learned a lot about feeding people to pigs since then. Most importantly, I had successfully gotten Layla and me away from that house, and no one has identified who we truly are since.
“Where’s Layla now?”
I twist my lips in an attempt to keep my chin from trembling. That question feels like a sucker punch to the chest. My heart squeezes painfully, and a deep sadness consumes me.
“Emma,” I correct. “Her name is Emma now. Four years is how long I tried to take care of her. Since my dad was under investigation for my disappearance, it didn't take long for the feds to notice him and Layla missing. She was broadcast all over the news, just as I was, and there were so many conspiracies about what happened to the three of us. Some people speculated that I escaped and took her, but there was never enough evidence to support it.
“So, I renamed her Emma, and I tried so hard to take care of her. It was almost impossible to get a job because I couldn't get an ID and expose myself. I managed to find a few under-the-table jobs, though they were typically underpaid, and my bosses somehow managed to be a shit person every time. It wasn't sustainable, and I wasn't providing a safe, healthy life for her.”
A rock forms in my throat and for a moment, I can't breathe, let alone speak. Ten years isn't nearly long enough to smooth away the pain and devastation. A lifetime wouldn't even be enough.
Cage flexes his hand around mine again, reminding me he's here.
“I found a nice family in a wealthy town, and I stalked the fuck out of them. I watched them for months, ensuring they were good—truly good people with happy kids. And then… once I was positive they'd be able to give her the life she deserved… I waited until she fell asleep, then left her on their doorstep with a name tag and her birthdate like she was a goddamn dog.”
My eyes flood with tears, and even as my chest heaves and my lungs expand, it still feels like I can't fucking breathe.
“I continued to watch them for several months afterward to make sure they actually took her in and didn't give her to some foster home. It took a little while, but eventually, they were able to adopt her. Since she was older than when I first took her and several hours away from our hometown, no one suspected who she was. Plus, I made sure she only ever knew me by Marie. It was chalked up to a druggie mother who just left their kid on a stranger’s doorstep. And I was okay with that. It meant she was safe and could finally live in some goddamn peace.”
Everything burns—my wet eyes, nose, cheeks, and throat.
“When Legion found me, it had been a year since I dropped her off. I never saw him, but he must've seen me when my boss was getting aggressive with me. He sent me to you, and the rest is history.”
I bounce my leg anxiously, the urge to cry becoming harder to contain. “Fuck, it still sucks that I couldn't provide for her,” I choke out, my voice broken with tears.
“But you did provide,” he insists, catching ahold of my wandering gaze. “That option was stolen from you, baby. It's not because you weren't capable, but because you were in danger just as much as her. You were young. And I know it's not your home she's sleeping in. However, you did provide her with the life she deserves. You gave her that.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, a few tears wiggling free anyway.
“I'm selfish and want her to remember me like I do her. But I know that I'll never be able to be in her life. Not with my lifestyle. I want her to stay far away from this shit. But I missed her so much when I was in Alaska. I was a fucking zombie, no matter how hard I tried to live.”
My lungs are still tight, yet I force myself to keep going, even though it feels like each word is made of fiberglass.
“So, four years ago, I broke down and moved back. The previous owner had passed, and the farm had been up for sale for a while. I had a decent job in Alaska and used all my savings to buy it. I feel better being in the same state as Layla, even if I can't be in her life.”
I end my explanation with a sigh, feeling exhausted suddenly. Emotionally and physically. I hadn't planned on telling him that much, though admittedly, it felt good. But now, I just want to sleep.
“Do you still watch her?” Cage asks boldly. My eyes drop to my lap, where I fidget with my fingers. A flush crawls up my throat, embarrassment taking root.
“Yes,” I admit, forcing volume into my voice. Maybe it's wrong or creepy, but she's my sister and I care too much not to check up on her. And while it's a tad embarrassing, I also don't feel guilty about it, either.
He chuckles. “I'd do the same if the roles were reversed.”
I smile tiredly, on the verge of resting my head on the pillow and passing out, even if he doesn't leave. Letting him stay one night doesn't have to be a big deal.
Once more, he squeezes my hand, drawing my attention back down to him.
“You saved her life, Molly. Remember that. Always remember that.”
Molly
Nine Years Ago
2013
“Jesus, you're so fucking sexy. When did Brent hire you? If I had known, I'd have visited my cousin sooner and already have you naked in my bed.”
He's definitely an incel. I can't imagine a remark like that working on a single woman when he's missing his two front teeth and his pale skin is pinkened and covered in scabs from drug use.
I lean heavily on the counter separating us, staring at him like he's a fly that's expecting me to be impressed with its crooked wings when it has shit smeared across its upper lip.