Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Eva
Kain led me down a wide hallway and into a room.
“Oh my gosh, Kain.” I stared at the walls filled with his art. This room was a doorway into Kain’s world.
“Where did you learn to draw like that?” I studied the fantasy blue being battling a creature with massive claws.
“Self-taught.” He shrugged. “Drawing was my escape. A way for me to let loose, release my emotions onto something.”
“You’re so gifted.” I met his eyes. “Was this a childhood dream?”
“You can say that.” He rocked back on his heels. “I wanted to be a comic book or video games illustrator. I love fantasy stuff, but circumstances forced me to switch goals.”
“At least you can apply your artistic skills to your tattoo business.” I walked around the room, making sure I captured every piece of artwork. “This room is like your private museum. Thank you for showing me.”
“You’re the first woman to see this room.”
My heart raced as I stared at him. He looked stunning in the tailored white shirt hugging his defined muscles. My imagination went wild, picturing what kind of artwork covered his body.
Despite our conversation, I still saw the irritation on his face. “Wanna tell me what’s bothering you?”
“Your asshole ex.”
“Sorry about—”
“I’m not mad at you, Eva. I wanted to pummel the shit out of your ex.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “He’s a violent person with no boundaries or self-control. I saw it in his eyes. I know what that looks like.”
Covering his hands with mine, I tried to soothe his anger.
“He gets violent when he’s drunk, but he didn’t seem drunk earlier.”
“Maybe it’s just an excuse to act out.” His lips thinned into a flat line. “Did he ever—”
“No,” I said. “He never got the chance to hurt me like that. The closest was him shoving me against the wall.”
He clenched a fist, and I imagined all the deadly scenarios swirling in his mind. Dennis was a mistake I would never make again.
“Tell me about him. I want to know your history with him.” He led me back to the living room toward a forest-green couch with plush cushions.
“Then I want to know your history too.” I sat beside him. “How many women have you dated? How many women have come to your penthouse?”
“One woman came to my penthouse, but she never got to stay the night.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s the interior designer who decorated this place.” He leaned back onto the cushion, tucking both hands behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. “Off the top of my head, I dated five women, but they lasted only months.”
“Two months,” I corrected, as though the information I got from the internet could be trusted, but I didn’t care.
He arched an eyebrow but made no comment.
“Only five?” I asked, not fully believing him.
“That number doesn’t include casual encounters.
” He sat back up. “I wasn’t looking for anything serious because I was focused on my career.
But you’re different, Eva.” Shifting, he gripped my chin so I could look into his eyes.
“Everything about you pulls at me. I’ve wanted no one as much as I want you. ”
His confession forced me to release a suppressed breath.
“When I saw Dennis with his hands on you and the fear on your face, I lost it.” His jaw tightened. “A man who treats a woman like that deserves to die. Eventually, he’ll do something that’s irredeemable.”
The anger in his voice told me he’d witnessed something he couldn’t forget.
“Have you encountered men like him?”
“My father,” he said, staring at the rug on the floor.
My chest ached at his expression. But before I could ask if his dad ever hit him, Kain continued, “He used to beat my mother whenever he got drunk. He had a weird trigger where, if the house was in disarray, he’d hit her.
When I was home, I stopped him.” He looked at me and saw my question.
“I was never hit unless it was fighting back when I retaliated for my mother.” He shrugged. “Maybe he saw women as lesser humans.”
“Where is your mom?”
“She died.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” My heart ached for him. “Where’s your dad? Did he go to prison?”
“He’s dead.” Kain looked at me, and I saw something unapologetic in his eyes.
“I killed him when he battered her like some animal. Her ribs and legs were broken. She was bruised all over. Her lung collapsed with severe internal bleeding.” He choked, and I squeezed his hand, wanting him to know I was here for him.
Emotions surged in me, and I couldn’t contain my sorrow. Tears streamed down my face, wanting to remove all the pain he’d endured.
“If she had gone to the hospital on time, she would’ve made it. He left her beaten body on the floor of our house for days.” He sighed. “Even if she had survived, it would’ve taken her a long time to recover from that horror.”
Now I understood the fury he had toward Dennis.
“I can only imagine what you went through.” I swiped at my teary eyes with my sleeve. “You must’ve felt so alone and guilty.”
Kain reached for a tissue from the coffee table and offered it to me.
“Thank you.” I dabbed my eyes, letting his confessions sink in. When the shock of his mom’s death settled, my mind blazed with the fact that Kain had killed his father.
I met his intense eyes, probably waiting for my response. I looked at our intertwined hands. A murderer was holding my hand. Was I okay with that?
“Are you afraid of me now?” he asked.
I appreciated his direct question. He didn’t soften it. He offered the truth as it was, with no sugar-coating. To my surprise, I didn’t fear him nor feel any discomfort.
“You defended your mother and yourself. Though your father never hurt you physically, the violence you witnessed became mental abuse.” Tears filled my eyes again. “I’m not afraid of you, Kain. If I were in trouble, I’d want someone like you beside me.”
I wanted his fierce protection.
He pulled me to him, wrapping both powerful arms around me and burying his head in my hair. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
I should have been scared, but I understood where he was coming from. He was protective of his mother. Seeing her die from the violence pushed him to end the monster. I didn’t know if I’d have the courage to do what he did, but I understood why he had to do it.
Pulling back, he gave me more tissues. “I killed him a few days after I escaped my kidnappers.”
“What?” I gasped, unsure if I had heard him right. “Who kidnapped you? When was this?”
I knew little about this man and the dark world he’d lived in.
“A serial killer named Victor Hawthorne and his followers. You’ve probably heard of the Black Rose Killer. He kidnapped children and forced them to work for him. I removed organs from people he killed.”
Bile burned my throat, and my body shook. I leaped from the couch, rushed into the bathroom, and crouched on the toilet, vomiting.
Kain gathered my hair in his hand. “Are you okay?”
I heaved again and took the towel he offered. “Sorry.” Embarrassment washed over me. I couldn’t believe this.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” He filled a glass of water from the sink. “Wash out the aftertaste with this.”
“That won’t help. Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?”
Kain opened a box with an electric toothbrush for me. While I brushed, he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching me. When I finished, he used a washcloth to dab my face, a gesture that surprised and embarrassed me.
“Feel better?” he asked.
I nodded, trying not to meet his eyes. We returned to the living room, and I resumed the same spot as before. When he took the seat beside me, I said, “I have organophobia—fear of organs. A series of images came to mind when you described what they forced you to do.”
“Did you get treatment for it?”
“Yes, when I was a teen, but it didn’t help. So I’ve just been trying to overcome it on my own. I’m a lot better now.”
“Let me know if I can help.” He bumped shoulders with me.
“Continue with your story. I want to know everything.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I took his hand. “With you beside me, I’ll be fine. That particular detail took me by surprise. But I’m prepared now.”
Kain described what Hawthorne forced him and his friends to do, and my stomach twisted with fear and anger.
How could people be this inhumane? I knew the world was dark.
I saw it on TV daily, but what occurred on the TV screen seemed distant.
The stories Kain revealed were evil. I heard it in his voice and saw it in his eyes.
“In order to survive, I played along. I had to rewire my mind to detach from that horror, you know? It was hard.” His eyes gleamed with tears, pain, and anger. “No child should have to endure that. I lost a part of my childhood to evil people.”
“What did he make you do with the bodies afterward?” I asked.
“Hawthorne had connections to several funeral homes with cremation services. But sometimes he displayed them with bouquets of black roses.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I sat there, listening to him unload all the pain trapped inside him.
He told me about his friends, Godfrey, Hudson, and Timber, who had escaped with him. He’d used a map etched on his forearm to help him navigate a dangerous maze. Did Stori know this about her brother?
How could society let this happen? How could people kill one another to sell organs to the highest bidder? Did they have a conscience? How could someone run a business like this? Bitterness coated my throat.
The hopeful world I believed in took on new shades and textures today.
The multiple grays and their sharp edges formed a strange composition in my vision.
I’d been living a life that was half full, like a picture that was half drawn with the other half blurred with messy scribbles that could form into anything, even a monster.
My rainbow-colored glasses consisted of owning a flower shop and finding a man who valued me as much as I valued him.
Basically, I was cocooned in a safe world, not understanding or seeing the surrounding darkness.
But now I was aware, and something in me wanted to protect Kain.
A desire to destroy people like Victor Hawthorne and his followers bloomed in me—like a compulsion from some powerful place deep within.
How could I stand by and do nothing? My children would need to live in this world, and if I looked the other way, they would have to endure what I ignored.
I didn’t want to be that kind of person.
Kain probably wondered about the silence. “Are you okay?”
“Just trying to make sense of everything.” I sighed, feeling the heaviness around me.
How did he survive such horrors? The man staring at me with concern had somehow transformed his misfortune into indescribable strength, wisdom, and success.
“Can I see your tattoos?” I wanted to see how Hawthorne had branded him. I wanted to see the artwork he’d asked his acquaintance, Razor, to etch on him.
“It’s just art covering my body,” he replied, probably fearing something in his tattoos would trigger another panic from me.
“No, it’s not.” I cupped his face. “It’s more than that. It’s your history—your pain, your hope, your dreams, and all your secrets. I want to know them all.”