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“Two girls reached out to me, Jo. They’re from New Orleans, and they’ve been in Raleigh for a few weeks now.” He goes for the ironing board and unfolds it at the end of the bed.
“Okay?” I can’t figure out what this has to do with us? Two chicks from New Orleans? Are they strippers? Is he expecting some kind of naughty fantasy to play out with three women in the room?
Noticing my frown and the way I’m practically gluing myself to the headboard, Sam walks my way and lowers to one knee.
“They have dirt on Dominic, Jolene,” he says in a low voice, looking me deep in the eye. “You said you wanted the divorce to be clear and cut, so that you can walk away, and he can’t get a single dime from it. These girls can provide that. We get him out of our lives, I make my move as governor, and we all move forward.”
“How?” I whisper.
He only smiles and kisses the top of my head. “They’ll be here within the next two hours. Just trust me, okay? I’d rather they explain it to you.”
And sure enough, two hours later, there’s a knock at our door. Me and Sam have already eaten, and now the food is sitting like a rock in my belly. I had some champagne, but it’s now making me feel dizzy and off balance. Perhaps I shouldn’t have guzzled down two glasses so quickly.
My heart thumps rapidly in my chest as Sam goes to the door as his calm and collected self. And when he opens the doors, it feels as if all the air is sucked out of the room.
FIFTY-EIGHT
JOLENE
There are two women, like Samuel said there would be. One of them has thick hair, braided halfway at the top of her head, and the rest pulled into a puff. She wears big earrings with pink crystals in them and is thinner than her counterpart to the right, who has an icy look in her eyes. Despite the look, she is beautiful. Dark, straight hair, brown eyes, full lips, sable skin. However, I can’t help noticing the scar on her forehead. It cuts deep, going from the hairline to her eyebrow. Whatever happened there had to be painful.
“Come in, ladies. Please,” Sanchez says, gesturing to the room. I smooth out my skirt, eyeing him as the girls walk inside and surveil the room. I’m not sure what they’re looking for, but it’s strange how on guard they are.
We all sit at the table in the corner near the floor to ceiling windows. Sunlight pours down on the nape of my neck as I look at the two girls sitting across from me.
“Like I told you, Jolene. These girls have a story to tell about Dominic,” Sam murmurs. “Brynn, Shavonne. Why don’t you tell her what you’ve told me.”
Brynn and Shavonne look between each other, then at Sam. “How do we even know we can trust her? She can easily run to him and tell him we’re in town,” the one with the scar says.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I reply quickly.
She looks me up and down.
“Who is Brynn and who is Shavonne?” I ask.
“Brynn,” the one with the scar says.
“Shavonne.” The other raises a quick hand.
“Okay. Well, I’m Jolene Hart.” I purposely leave out Dominic’s last name. “I’m here to listen. Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s okay,” Sam says, his voice burning with sincerity. “You came to me for a reason, right? I’m here to help. This is a safe space.”
The girls seem to loosen up a bit. Brynn scrapes her thumb cuticle with the other thumbnail, dropping her eyes to the table. And when she speaks, I try my best not to react or to reveal how I really feel.
She tells me about the day she saw Dominic in New Orleans. How he was at her job and left his number. She agreed to meet him at Galveston Lounge and went with him to a house a short drive from the city. I try not to be enraged as I think about my husband spending time with another woman. I recall him telling me about his trip to New Orleans, and how he’d successfully landed a golfing weekend with John Bolton. John had the connection he needed, and Dominic was confident he could win him over.
“It’s still a bit fuzzy,” Brynn says in a thick voice. “But I remember asking for water and he brought me apple juice. And I’m pretty sure he put something in my drink because I couldn’t really control my body after that. Everything was blurry and then he was on top of me, trying to take off my clothes.” She swallows, and I bite back tears. “I don’t think he did anything to me that night sexually but someone else did. Some white man by the name of John.” That causes me to flinch. She can’t possibly be talking about the same John that Dominic was meeting. “He was with Dominic in the restaurant. He came to that house Dominic took me to and he was on top of me, licking me, then he flipped me over and . . . from there it goes pretty dark. I’m glad. I don’t think I’d be here now if I remembered what he actually did to me.” Brynn swallows, then reaches for the bottle of unopened water on the table. After guzzling some of the water down, she says, “I woke up in the middle of the night after all that and Dominic was sitting at a table in the room with papers. He was . . . he was forcing me to sign a nondisclosure agreement. He had my purse and said he wouldn’t give it back so I . . . I got mad and went for my bag. I wanted to fight him, slap some sense into him, but I clearly didn’t win because I don’t remember much after that. Just being buried alive.”
“What do you mean buried alive?” I ask, a cold feeling sinking into my stomach.
Brynn goes into detail about how she’d been in and out of consciousness the entire time after Dominic hurt her. She could hear everything. Feel everything. But she couldn’t move. Then she mentions a man with a shovel, who I know is Boaz based off the description. And if Dominic brought Boaz into the situation, then I know he was trying to cover something up.
I can’t believe any of this and have to steal a look at Samuel who is nodding as Brynn speaks. For a moment I don’t believe any of what Brynn says. Sure, Dominic had hurt me a time or two, but this? Allowing a rape and then attempting to bury someone alive? It was extreme and I clung to that until Shavonne took out her phone and showed me images of Brynn. The selfie of her and Dominic together. An image of Brynn on the floor inside a house, in a puddle of her own blood. A photo of Boaz standing next to a black pickup truck and Dominic touching a rug. Images of Brynn in the hospital, eyes taped shut and her head wrapped in bandages after what is clearly a surgery.
“I have this scar because of him. I had a severe concussion and bleeding in my head,” she says.
The blood drains from my body as I look at all the evidence. And a true wife—one who loves her husband and would do anything for him—still wouldn’t believe this for a second. Because all wives think they’ve hit the jackpot and that their husband is perfect in every way. We’re foolish enough to believe our partners are the greatest people on earth and that we’re living in some fairytale happily ever after. But the truth is, marriage is hard work and sometimes it sucks. And it sucks even more when you realize your spouse is a monster.
