“He was hogtied, babe, and he was covered in cuts and bruises we gave him. They’ll see it as premeditated murder or some shit. You can’t let them take me away from you now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”
Guilt tries to wash over my anger, but I don’t let it. Not this time. “Either you take me to the police, or I find my own way. Your choice.”
A streak of anger flashes in Brandon’s eyes before he masks it and releases a sigh of defeat, his hands scrubbing over his face. “Fuck, Baylee! Aren’t you listening to me?” I jolt backwards because in the next second, he’s in my face, hands gripping my arms, shaking me. “We cannot go to the fucking police. The whole time you were gone, I tried to get their help. The whole fucking time. They wouldn’t believe a word I said. They were only interested in talking to me once that freak who bought you was killed. We have no proof. We have no witnesses. My parents sure as hell aren’t going to help us, and—” He catches himself and lowers his tone. “And yours can’t help us either, babe. You want answers? You want to find your dad? Fine. Let’s go to San Francisco and start asking around. I’m with you. But we have to take matters into our own hands.”
I move my gaze from Brandon’s stormy one, and look over to one of my arms which he is still squeezing. His movements are jerky when he releases me and takes a step back, almost as if he hadn’t even realized he was holding me so tight.
“Fine. I just want out of this cabin. We can figure out the rest once we’re on the road.”
A smile lights up his face and he nods. I leave the room so he can pack up and spend the next few minutes standing near the hole in the kitchen. The cellar door is still closed and latched. A part of me wants to pull it open—to peer into the dark abyss. I would almost expect him to be standing there with his arms crossed over his bulky chest waiting for me to toss him the rope so he can climb out. But the little girl inside of me refuses to open that door. I know he won’t be standing there. He’ll be curled up and stiff in the same position as last night. And I can’t see him like that. I’m not strong enough to deal with the finality of it.
I shouldn’t feel remorse or sadness. I shouldn’t feel guilt. I shouldn’t feel as though I’ll burst into tears at any moment from having lost another person in my life.
A hot tear streaks down my cheek, though, and I let out a sob. Gabe had become a monster, but for ten years, he wasn’t. I know, deep down, he did love me. Even if that love was born of something sick. It doesn’t make sense to me but my heart still hurts.
I consider some of his last words to me. How he tried to warn me about Brandon being dangerous. It was almost laughable, considering the source—a source who stole an underage girl, forced her to have sex with him, sold her, only to later shoot and kill the person he sold her to. Gabe took and took and took. But in that moment, he gave. And in his final moments, he gave too. When he told me he was sorry. What it all means, I may never know.
Swiping away my tear, I shake my head. These are the pregnancy hormones talking. It probably meant nothing. It was probably just another one of his twisted head games. There’s no way I’m going to mourn the loss of Gabriel Sharpe. He took my innocence, took my love, and who knows what else?
All he gave me in exchange was heartache and pain.
And the monster he created.
He gave me the dragon.
He gave me Brandon.
“Where are we going?” I question as we hit the expressway that will take us to San Francisco.
“I thought I could take you shopping and that we could stay in one of those boutique hotels that overlook the Golden Gate Bridge. I’d always planned on taking you there for your eighteenth birthday. But then…” His voice cracks and I risk a glance at him. His features are more innocent and reminiscent of the boy I knew. Maybe he needed out of that cabin too because now, in his truck with the sun filtering in through the windshield, he looks like the Brandon I remember.
“Then Gabe ruined it all. I know,” I say with a frustrated sigh. “We’re going to look for my dad there too, right?”
He lets out deep breath. “Of course we are. Is that okay?”
Nodding, I reach into my purse and pull out the picture of my parents that Brandon had given to me. Mom is stunning as usual and my dad is fierce and handsome. My eyes glitter with innocence in the photo, and I miss the girl I once was. An ache forms in my chest as I realize I have nothing to remember War by. No pictures. No trinkets. Nothing.
“That was quick,” he says with a smirk. “You and your love for presents.”
I laugh and bounce on the bed beside him, careful not to touch him. Once I’m settled, he opens his palm up to me. Inside are two rose gold earrings in the shape of a heart with a letter B inside.
“These are pretty,” I say softly and open my palm to him so he can drop them into my hand.