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I look at her pale blue eyes, noticing how they are already glassy, her face flush as she looks at me expectantly.
“Fine, maybe I had an alternative motive.” Her face falls at my words, but I won’t let that deter me. “I want you to tell me who touched you. What’s his name?”
Wren’s face goes pale. “No one touched me.”
“Now you are the one lying,” I accuse.
Wren closes her eyes and lets her head hang low. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I know you don’t want to, but you will tell me anyway,” I order in a stern voice.
“What does it matter? It won’t change the past,” she whispers.
“It will change the future. What if he is doing this to someone else?” That gets her attention.
She looks up at me, tears forming in her eyes. “What are you going to do to him?”
“That depends on what he did to you exactly.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble for me.” Wren shakes her head, strands of her silky brown hair falling into her face. I lift my hand to wipe the strands away and tuck them behind her ear.
“I won’t. If you haven't noticed, I’m pretty untouchable in this town. The fucker deserves what’s coming to him.”
“Yes, but I’m still worried about you. He is not a good person, and I’m pretty sure he owns a gun.” Wren wrings her hands in front of her nervously.
“I won’t go alone if that makes you feel better. I’ll take Carter as a backup.”
“You are not going to let this go, are you?” Wren asks quietly.
“Never, so you might as well go ahead and tell me now so we can get it over with.”
“All right, pour me another shot, and I’ll tell you.”
Relief and anticipation washes over me at her words. I quickly pour her another shot and hand it to her. She shoots it back like a pro before slamming the empty glass onto the nightstand.
She takes a deep breath and slumps back against the headboard. “He was one of my mom’s boyfriends. I was twelve, and he was always creepy to me. He would want to hug me all the time and made me sit on his lap. My mom thought it was all innocent and never said anything. I tried to stay out of his way, but sometimes he would come into my room at night when Mom was sleeping.”
Wren pauses, and I give her a few moments before she continues.
“He would touch my chest and sometimes between my legs while touching himself,” she explains, her voice so small and scared. All I want to do is find this fucker and end him. “He always touched me over my nightgown. It could have been much worse.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t downplay what happened to you.” I hate how she looks at me right now. Like he still has a hold on her.
“What’s his name?”
“Steven,” Wren finally says. “Steven Walters is his name.”
Steven Walters, you are a dead man.
As soon as the person behind the notes is found, and I know Wren is safe, I’m going after him. But for now, I’m simply glad Wren told me.
I wrap my arm around her, and she cuddles into my side. Her hand rests on my stomach as she silently cries into my chest.
I used to want her tears more than anything, now I want to do anything to stop her from crying.
31
WREN
