And one thing that Mona had learned in her business was that men with an insatiable obsession—any obsession—were rarely in charge.
There were, of course, exceptions. Which was why Mona danced the waltz with Jay. She’d let him have the pick of her litter, so to speak, and he liked one girl particularly well. He didn’t hurt her, so Teresa was happy to give away a freebie every week in exchange for a reduction in rent. Besides, Mona could not afford to make an enemy of anyone with power. Judging from the way they’d taken out Harper Worthington and set the dominos in motion, she thought that their plan might actually work. If it did … she’d know for certain whose good side to remain on.
She almost didn’t tell Jay what she had, but at the last moment, before he hung up, she said, “I have some information that may be valuable.”
“We’ve already paid you for your assistance.” He was angry. No one liked getting a bill for services they’d already paid for.
“This is something completely new. I’ll send you a sample. You can let me know what you want me to do with it.”
“You had better not be wasting my time, Ms. Hill.”
“I assure you, this will be worth every second.”
She hung up with a smile. She sent Jay a ten-second video clip and waited. Almost immediately, he called her back.
“Is that doctored?”
“No.”
“Is that all you have?”
“I told you, it’s just a taste. I have a full seven minutes.”
“I’ll let you know what to do with it.”
“It’ll cost you.”
“How much?”
“It’s negotiable. Think about it while you replay that clip.” She hung up again and laughed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucy was angry—at herself, at Sean, at the world. Though Sean was downstairs, she felt alone and isolated in their bedroom.
She took a long, hot shower and wanted to cry. But she didn’t. She rarely cried. Another deficiency in her psyche, another scar left over from her forty-eight hours of hell. That her life could change completely, irrevocably, over such a short time …
Stop.
She was feeling sorry for herself. Yet again. For the past year she’d thought that she was truly over her rape. Not over it in the sense that she could forget it completely, but that she’d compartmentalized it in such a way that the past could no longer hurt her. She’d come a long way toward healing and acceptance before Sean, but it was Sean—proving to her that she was lovable—who closed the book on the past.
Yet here it was. Again. It had been haunting her for the past two months and she didn’t know why.
Some cases did that to her. Some cases brought on a panic attack, but her last one had been nearly a year ago, and she’d managed it. Not perfectly, but she’d controlled it enough that she calmed herself down. Some cases reminded her of being tied up, like when she’d found the young women in cages on a farm in Virginia. Some cases reminded her of the humiliation, like the serial killer in New York who’d nearly killed Sean’s cousin. And some cases brought back the pain, a phantom ache that felt all too real—like the brutal murder of a prostitute in D.C. It was like she could feel the knife cutting into her flesh, in all the places it had cut through the victim.
As her brother Jack had told her in Sacramento when they’d gone to visit Sean’s baby niece, maybe rescuing the boys as well as seeing the dead had triggered grief she needed to purge.
“Like you, Lucy, they were innocents who were held captive and brutalized.”
“It was worse for them. They were children. Little boys. They suffered for months. None of it was their fault.”
“Look at me,” Jack said.
She did.
“I thought so.”
“What?”
“You think you deserved it.”
She slapped him. “Fuck you, Jack.”
She rarely swore. She certainly didn’t use the F word. But Jack didn’t flinch. He’d just stared at her until she turned away. Because he was partially right.
She didn’t think she deserved to be gang raped. But it had certainly been her fault.
She’d thought she was so smart, so clever, to meet her online “friend” at a public place. But her “friend” wasn’t who she thought he was. He wasn’t his picture, or his name, or his background. He was an imposter, and she’d never seen it coming …
“What are you too scared to face, Lucia?” Jack whispered.
“I’m not scared.”
“You’re scared.”
“I don’t know,” she finally said.
Jack relaxed. “Honey, that’s the first step.”
“What?” She almost cried. Almost.
“Admitting the fear is inside. You’re strong, Lucy. We’ll figure it out.”