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“Jesus, some asshole is threatening her sixteen-year-old and she didn’t want to make a fuss?”
“Mother is all about upholding the family reputation. It was bad enough . . . bad enough how my father died. She couldn’t then have a child who was targeted by a stalker.”
“How did your father die?”
“He was murdered.”
The numbness threatened to flood her with those words. It was what she always did when she remembered her father. How he’d been taken from her. So senselessly.
“He was a prosecutor. He’d been working on a case against an assassin for the mob. He was shot walking to his car.”
“Baby, I’m so sorry.”
He placed his arms around her and the numbness started to fade. That wasn’t what she wanted, though. Was it? She didn’t want to feel. Because if she felt too much then it hurt.
It really fucking hurt.
And yes, she realized she was swearing in her head.
The feelings of pain broke through her numb shield, yet at the same time, she felt so safe.
“When my father died, my mother was so angry. I thought she was angry at the person who killed him. But then I realized she was angry at him. And it wasn’t because she missed him. It was the scandal. When I cried at his funeral, she hissed at me to cut it out.”
“Jesus, baby.” He kissed the top of her head and just held her.
“I should have expected her to do the same when I got myself a stalker.”
“You didn’t do this.” He grasped hold of her chin, raising her face up. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Tell that to my mother,” she muttered.
“I will,” he countered. “Just let me at her.”
Her mother was a formidable foe. But she just might have met her match in Ed. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“It’s okay. It will be all right. I’m here now. I’m going to take care of you.”
He grabbed the bed cover, pulling it off and wrapping around her.
“What happened? Please tell me they got the person that murdered your father? The asshole who was stalking you?”
“Yeah. The man who killed my father was a hired gun for the mob, but they arrested him. Put him away for a long time.”
“And your stalker?”
“He escalated. My mother continued to refuse to call the police. My brothers did what they could. They hired a bodyguard. But the school wouldn’t let him on the grounds. And somehow, this guy kept putting notes in my locker. My brothers wanted to put up cameras at the school to catch him, but the principal wouldn’t let them.”
“Jesus. Fuck.”
“In the end, my mother pulled me from school. I was back to being a prisoner in my own home, waiting for something to happen. And I hated it. I was miserable. My brothers did their best, but they weren’t always around. I thought I was safe. I was stupid.”
“Shh, shh. You were so young. You weren’t making rational decisions.”
“I just wanted to see my one friend. She was having a party. I snuck out. He . . . we think that somehow he slipped a drug into my drink. I woke up tied to a bed in the dark. He was looming over me. I couldn’t see him. He wore a mask. He had a knife. He wanted me to tell him that I loved him. That I wanted to be with him. That I would be his. When I refused, he ran the knife along one breast.”
She leaned back and pointed to the thin, very faint mark along her breasts.
“It hurt. But I didn’t scream. I think that made him angry. He did the same to the other breast. I still didn’t scream, but I was sweating, panting, I was in so much pain. Then he stabbed me. After that, I don’t remember much. I don’t know how long I lay there on that bed. The next thing I remember is my brother, Gareth leaning over me, trying to wake me up. He was crying. I remember that so clearly. They never cried. My brothers, that is. But Gareth was crying. I think that he thought I was going to die.”
