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I laughed as I slowly sat in the chair opposite her. “While the moniker is ridiculous, I have taken lives to protect the innocent. Abusers. Rapists. Bullies. I can’t stand them.”
She finally altered her expression, licking her bottom lip. “I can take care of myself.”
“Zane wasn’t a good man. Neither was Dylan. They had no respect for women at all. I cannot tolerate that.”
“Because of your mother.”
“Yes.”
“Your father really killed her.”
I took a deep breath. I’d never admitted what I was about to say to anyone. Not to a friend or to my brothers. “He suspected her of cheating, or so he told me later. It was a lie. When my father was out, my mother took me to a psychiatrist to try and help me with nightmares. They were horrible and bloody. She was doing everything to try and protect me and he believed her absence meant she was… sleeping around.” I hadn’t realized just how much the admittance would bother me.
There was a strange look in her eyes and she placed her hand over her mouth. “All this time, you blamed yourself for what happened to your mother.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “I guess so.”
“That’s why you went after these men. To avenge your mother’s death.”
As I lifted my glass, I wasn’t certain if telling her had been the right thing to do but lying to her wasn’t something I would allow. “Yes, my little fawn. You see, killing my father wasn’t enough. And try as my sweet mother did, the nightmares had returned.”
She looked away, processing what I’d told her. “You’re not a killer, Easton. You had a horrible father who forced you to do reprehensible things. But you can’t keep acting as judge and jury. Kill people in your books. I enjoy it.” She laughed as if it was all one big joke.
“A burden to keep hidden.” I took a swig of my drink.
“We all have them, ugly little secrets to keep hidden.”
“Yes, we do. Tell me about him.”
“Him?” She jerked her head up.
“Your half-uncle. Ronny Carlton.”
She was horrified that I’d found out. “How did you…” Her laugh was even more bitter than before. “Of course. You had me checked out.”
“Yes, my little fawn. I did. It’s necessary. What I learned is that we’re exactly alike, which is why we work together so well.” Was I trying to convince her of that?
“Right. In your line of work. Here’s where we differ, Easton. When the acts my uncle committed were discovered, our entire family was almost destroyed. He did some very vile things that the people in our town and the press could never forget. They crucified us for what he did, as if it was in our blood.”
“Is that why you’re writing horror stories, to find out?”
“I thought so,” she said, nodding. “But now I know I’ve been fine with who I am because my parents were tough but loving. They taught me right from wrong. Come to find out I’m writing because I love it and because I’m damn good at it. Not because I’m worried that I’ll turn into a monster. And if you want to know the truth. You’re writing to prove that to yourself as well. You’re a good man. I can sense it. Killing even under the guise of best intentions won’t bring her back nor will it release the guilt. Only you can do that for yourself.”
“Wise words for someone so young. But you aren’t me.”
“No, but you aren’t the monster you think you are either. Maybe you need to tell your mother what you did so she can release you from this prison you’ve put yourself in. If you don’t, you’re only going to suffer horribly for the rest of your life. And I doubt that’s going to be for very long.”
“Maybe so but killing is in my blood.”
“How about saving lives?”
I wasn’t certain what she wanted me to say.
In truth, I wasn’t certain of the answer any longer but one thing that remained clear.
Sara was everything I needed, yet more than that, I’d allowed myself to feel again. She was truly everything I’d ever wanted.
I could see turmoil in her eyes as she stood, very slowly heading for the door. When she stopped, I was intrigued as to what she wanted me to say.
