Chapter 14 – Lauren
Chapter
Fourteen
LAUREN
A t my kitchen table, I go through a few files, reply to some queries, and confirm a couple meetings. I inherited some of Samantha’s clients and have familiarized myself with their cases. One of them, Patrick Galway, has emailed her asking for a face-to-face to discuss custody arrangements of his kids after a nasty divorce. She already successfully brokered an agreement, but apparently his ex isn’t playing fair.
Sam gave me her notes, along with her more personal assessment— lovely bloke, wants the best for the children, wife is a piece of work. She did the same with all her ongoing cases, and I smile as I read through the comments. It’s like having an abridged version of her in the room with me.
Work is busy, which is good. I don’t do well with too much free time. Eventually, I reread what I have so far on Caroline Volkov, who is now officially a client. She wants to take it slow, be sure of every step, and that’s difficult to navigate—I’d much rather act quickly and get her out, but it has to be her decision. I read the pages of notes, shaking my head at the abuse she’s suffered.
We got pictures of some lingering bruises the last time she was in the office, and of course, we have Nicky’s broken arm. She’s understandably reluctant to involve him, though, and doesn’t want to put him through the trauma of testifying against his own father. That would also make him more of a threat and paint a target on his back. Caroline, like most good mothers, is happy to wear that target all by herself if it helps protect her child.
Seb gave Caroline a burner phone and has prepared a safe house for them if they need to flee, but for the time being, the bastard causing all this trouble is still away traveling on business. Probably the kind of business that involves women and children being illegally moved around the globe in cramped shipping containers. For now, Caroline feels safe and wants to maintain some normality for her son while she decides what to do next. We all know that once we file the legal papers and Ivan finds out, that safety will evaporate, and we’ll have to carefully choreograph the timing to extract them before shit hits the fan. It’s good knowing that Seb and Archangel will be there to help with that. Much as I might rail against any restrictions on my own freedom, when it comes to my clients, safety comes first.
I head to my personal email account using the encrypted browser that Jax got me to install on my laptop and work my way through the usual selection of shopping offers, spam, and ticket sales websites. Damn, I think, these things work—I’m seconds away from buying tickets to see Wicked for like the tenth time. My sister sent me photos from her holiday in Cabo, and my dentist wants me to schedule an appointment for a checkup. So far, so normal.
There are a few emails from Mamá, which actually landed days ago, before Alejandro contacted me. I’ve spoken to her on the phone since, and she was full of contrition for her maverick ways and the trouble she caused. I suspect she was sneakily proud of herself until it became obvious that she unintentionally compromised the safety of her precious family.
I click another email open and immediately realize that this is not from my mother. It might be her address, but she would never send me this, not in a million years.
The screen is filled with a montage of photos of Bailey, the yellow Lab I had as a kid. She knows that after he died at the ripe old age of twelve, I never wanted to talk about him again. I got rid of all my keepsakes, took his photos down in my old bedroom, and locked his leash and collar away in a drawer. My parents didn’t understand why—they probably put it down to grief—but they do know how much talking about him upsets me.
Even after all this time, my eyes fill with tears at the sight of his big goofy face, the way he always seemed to be smiling. I can still remember his velvety ears and the feel of his tongue on my skin. I loved that dog so much, but every day he was in my life, I was scared of losing him.
I’m still swiping tears from my cheeks when my intercom buzzes. I go to the screen by the front door and see Seb lurking outside. He looks like the kind of man you should cross the street to avoid on a dark night, but his hulking presence makes me breathe more easily. I press the entrance button and leave the front door open before going back into the kitchen. I’m glad he’s here, which is unsettling in itself.
“What the fuck are you doing leaving the front door unlocked?” he demands a few minutes later as he walks in and drops a big black bag on the floor. He’s angry with me, and maybe I deserve it.
“I knew it was you. I saw you on the camera.”
“So what? Anyone could have been waiting outside or hiding in the building. Use your fucking head, will you?”
I stare down at my hands, unable to bring myself to look at him because he’s so furious.
He puts his hand under my chin, forces my head up, and frowns at what he sees. “You’re crying. Please tell me that’s not because of me. I’m a shouty prick, but don’t take it seriously. It’s my way of showing I give a shit.”
I laugh and lean my cheek into his palm. “No, it’s not you… Although you are a shouty prick. It’s… these emails. I think they’re from Diego Torres.”
He drags a chair over so he can sit right next to me and slips an arm around my shoulders. “RIP Bailey,” he reads aloud. “Is this the dog you had as a kid? The one Uncle Arsehole threatened?”
“Yeah. Do you like dogs?”
“I bloody love them, unless they’re trained Doberman guard dogs with their teeth sunk in my shins. So, I’m guessing your mum wouldn’t have actually sent this?”
“No way. She knows I never got over losing him. Over the years, my sister had a few pets, and they tried to persuade me I should have more—I think they were worried about me, you know, because I was going through that ‘difficult’ stage. They suggested another dog to keep Bailey company—a cat, hamster, pony… They would have gotten me anything, but I always said no. While I was living there, while Carlos was still around, nothing I allowed myself to care about would ever be safe.”
“Jesus. That’s fucked up, sweetheart, feeling that terrified when you’re a kid, especially when nobody else knew about it.” The gentle kiss he places on my hair nearly takes me out completely, and I’m beyond relieved when he quickly moves on. “So. There’s more emails. You up to looking, or should I do it? Then we’d better send them to this Jax fella and keep him up to date.”
The comforting weight of his arm around me gives me the strength to nod and click on the next email. Bailey was my weak point, and he clearly still is. Not only because of how much I loved him, but because remembering him means remembering that time in my life. The way it all began—those years of torment, years of isolation. It was the beginning of Uncle Carlos undoing me, turning me into a coward who fled from her own life. I will not be a coward now, I vow, and I certainly won’t run from some overzealous little douchebag whose dad was a low-level enforcer with no heart and even less brains.
The next email from my “mom” flashes up a wedding photo—me and Marshall at the courthouse in Buffalo. We don’t look happy, not even on what was supposed to be the most joyous day of our lives.
“That’s him, your ex? Looks like a cunt. No, I take that back. It’s an insult to cunts, and cunts are among my very favorite things. Especially yours.”
He’s trying to lighten the mood, and I’m thankful because the next picture is a screenshot of a news piece from a local paper. “Disgraced accountant jailed for defrauding clients,” the headline reads.
I blink, surprised. It’s only from a year ago, and I had no idea. “He was a gambler,” I explain to Seb. “Despite seeming so dull and safe on the surface. I left him way before this happened. I can’t imagine he’s doing well in prison.”
“Does it bother you? Because I’m guessing the whole point of these emails is to upset you.”
I consider it and shake my head. “No. He made his choices. He’s a grown man, and he isn’t my responsibility.”
Seb nods approvingly, and with a shaking hand, I move the cursor to the third and final email. I have skeletons in my closet, and I can hear the old bones rattling. Do I really want to do this with Seb here?
I glance up and meet his deep brown eyes. I love the crinkled corners where his laugh lines live and the little squeeze he gives my shoulders. Yeah, I guess I do. I open the message, and my heart does a cartwheel. I half expected it, but it still takes my breath away. It’s a mug shot, very obviously taken in custody, showing a skinhead in his thirties. His blue eyes are bulging and angry, his lips curled into a snarl that shows crooked, yellowing teeth. The top of a Nazi swastika tattoo is clearly visible under the neckline of his filthy T-shirt. It’s a face that haunts my nightmares for all kinds of reasons. Beneath the shot are the words “Still missing—Brad Schmidt” and a hotline number to call.
“Lauren?” Seb’s voice drags me back from the memories. “Are you okay? Who is this bastard? And who the fuck only has a jailhouse mug shot to use when they go missing?”
“Men like Brad Schmidt. And believe me, he’s going to be missing for a while. Seb… There’s something I need to tell you, and you might not like me very much when I do.”
He sees how serious I am and nods. “Okay. We can talk about it. But first, I’m going to send these to Jax, all right?”
I nod. It has to be done, and it will lead to a whole new round of questions from my family. I’ll just have to deal with it. “You go and get settled on the sofa, sweetheart. I’ll bring the wine if you like. Is this a needing-wine conversation?”
I smile sadly. “It’s a needing-a-whole-distillery-of-bourbon conversation. There’s homemade paella on the stove if you want some.”
I do as he suggested and make my way on shaky legs to the living room. It’s a cozy space, dominated by a big comfortable couch covered in pretty pink-and-gray cushions and matching throws. I’ve moved around a lot, and I like to build a little refuge for myself in my home—an adult version of a blanket fort. Within minutes, Seb joins me, looking spectacularly out of place in this ultra-feminine environment. He sets two glasses of wine on the coffee table, then looks around and nods appreciatively. “Nice. Feel like I should have brought you flowers now.”
I laugh. “I think we’re way past the flowers stage, don’t you?”
“Never. Next time, I promise.” He sits on one end of the couch and pulls me toward him. I squeal but don’t object as he manhandles me, settling me onto his lap like a little girl. He drapes us both in one of the blankets and snuggles me into his arms. My hands wrap around his torso, and I wriggle until I’m perfectly comfortable. “That’s enough of that, madam. I don’t want a boner right now, so keep your gorgeous arse still. Now, tell me everything—it won’t be anything I haven’t heard before, and nothing on earth could stop me liking you.”
I let my head fall against his firm chest, taking strength from the scent of him. Chanel, freshly washed cotton, Seb. His big hand goes to my hair, stroking and playing with my curls, soothing me like a nervous animal. I’m cocooned in him, and he’s all around me, filling my senses. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so completely protected. I know it can’t last, it never does, but for now I will take the comfort that this surprisingly kind man is offering me.
“So, when I was living in Florida,” I begin, gratefully accepting the wine, “I took on a case in Jacksonville.” I take a deep calming breath. “A woman who was trying to divorce her scumbag husband, a neo-Nazi prick by the name of Brad Schmidt. She’d gotten knocked up by him when she was fifteen, didn’t know any better at the time, but she hated the lifestyle. She wanted out, and I was trying to help her.” I take a sip of my wine, and my hands shakes as I lower the glass from my lips. The thing I recall most about Jennie was the desperate look in her eyes. It’s a look I’ve seen far too many times.
“She was a lot like Caroline, but with trailer parks and moonshine. I suppose I underestimated him, and he grabbed me from outside my apartment building and took me to this creepy cabin in the woods.” My heart rate spikes at the memory, and I remind myself I’m safe. I’m here with Seb, and nobody is going to hurt me now. “It was miles away from anywhere, and he kept me there for three nights, chained up like a dog. He and his buddies took it in turns to rape me, to beat me, and to torture me.” I recall the vitriol they spewed at me, calling me all kinds of horrible names. All they had inside them was hate and violence, and I was their punching bag.
Seb stiffens behind me and sucks in a long breath. I don’t need to see his face to imagine the fury—I feel it in every tense line of his body. His arms come around to the front of me, holding me even tighter to him. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. How did you get away?”
“They got sloppy. They thought I’d run out of fight and left me unchained one night.” The memories try to pull me under, but they won’t win. I was dehydrated, half-starved, and lying in my own filth and blood, so I must have looked like I was done. But I won then, and I’ll keep on winning.
I drag in a shaky breath. “They used to take it in turns watching me, and the night I escaped, it was Brad himself. God, Seb, I can still smell him sometimes. When I’m asleep, I think I can still feel his foul breath on my face, his fingernails digging into my skin…” I don’t tell Seb that after he raped me, Brad liked to urinate on me. Even now, the stench of urine makes me break out in a cold sweat. Instead, I simply say, “He was evil. Pure evil.”
“Fucking hell. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill all of them.”
I run my fingers over his huge hands, feel the angry tremble in them. He means every word. I have no doubt this man would murder for me without a second thought. “You can’t, Seb. He’s dead. They all are. When I told Alejandro what happened, he and Jax came to Florida and made them all disappear.”
“I hope it involved a lot of fucking pain.”
I nod. “Knowing those two, yes, it did. The only one they couldn’t find was Brad Schmidt himself. They couldn’t find him because he was already dead—and I was the one who killed him. That night, when he rammed his filthy dick into my mouth, I bit it so hard I tore his foreskin.” I was aiming to bite it off completely, but that’s harder than it sounds. Still, it was enough. All the blood and his screams… He was caught completely off guard and fell flat on his ass.
Seb holds me tighter, his warm breath dusting over my hair while he patiently waits for me to continue. “While he was down, I pulled the gun he always carried out of his waistband, and I… Well. I failed to bite his dick off, so I shot it off instead. Then I watched while he bled out, screaming and begging for help, just like I had. It wasn’t quick and it wasn’t easy, but eventually the life just… The life went out of him. That’s another thing I still see in my sleep. His eyes, the way that they died in front of me. The way his story ended, at my hands. Logically, I don’t feel guilty about it—the man got what he deserved. In my heart? It’s not quite so clear cut. I killed a man, and you’re the first person I’ve ever told about it.”
He kisses the top of my head and tries to turn my face up to his. I struggle because I don’t want to meet his eyes. I expected to feel better after telling someone, thought it would be cathartic, but reliving it all only makes me feel dirtier.
“Look at me, Lauren,” he commands. “Now.”
I do as I am told. I seem incapable of disobeying when he uses that tone. He wipes tears from my cheeks, which is odd because I didn’t notice I was crying. I’ve kept this crap bottled up for so long I got used to ignoring it. Got used to pretending it didn’t take up a corner of my soul.
“I’m only going to say this once, sweetheart, but I need you to believe me, okay? It was not your fault. What you did was self-defense. In fact, I’d go so far as to say you did the world a favor by taking the scumbag out of play. I don’t like you any less—I like you more. You protected yourself. You survived. You did what you had to do. I know that killing a man isn’t as easy as it looks on the TV. It’s messy and hard and brutal, especially the way you did it. It takes a little piece of you, I get that—but you do know, don’t you, that it was the right thing to do?”
I nod, my lips trembling as I look up and see the truth of what he’s saying in his eyes. “Yeah. It was me or him. I do know that. And his wife… Well, she got away with her kids. She stayed in touch, married a dentist, and lives in Orlando. She’s on the PTA and plays tennis. Her life is completely different, and that makes me feel better. I mean, I know I can’t go around killing all my clients’ asshole partners, but it might save time.”
He laughs and clutches me tighter. “It bloody well would. We could form a hit squad, love. Take out the Volkovs and Schmidts of this world one by one. What did you do with him afterwards, by the way? Why is he still missing?”
“Alligators. Florida’s gift to the killing kind. We were out near the swamps, and I loaded him up in the bed of his own truck and dumped him. Then I set the damn cabin on fire and drove back to the city. I took off the license plate and abandoned the car in a part of town where I knew it would survive about as long as his body. When I was done, I called my cousin because I wanted them all dealt with—I knew from their fucked-up conversations that I wasn’t the first woman they’d brought out to that cabin, and there was no way I was going to let it happen to another. I never told him about Brad, though—I don’t know why. I suppose I was so used to keeping secrets by then, from everyone. Carlos trained me well. I might not have taken an active role in my family business, but I’ve picked up a few tips along the way. It’s like… I don’t know, Seb. I tried so hard to keep my distance from the Montoya world. I tried to walk in the light, but the darkness tracked me down anyway. Recently, I’ve been wondering if it’s just part of who I am—if instead of being scared of it I should just embrace it.”
He picks me up and maneuvers me around so my legs are on either side of him and we’re directly facing each other. Even now, after this ultra-heavy chat, I’m aware of his size, his shape, how good it would feel to slip my hands underneath the soft fabric of that T-shirt and touch his muscular chest. He takes a deep breath and runs his hand over his face before he speaks. “We’ve all got darkness inside us, Lauren. Some more than others. And… Fuck, I need to say this or I’m going to blow a fuse. What I did the other night—with the zip ties and the force. The way I fucked you on the back seat… If I’d known about this, I wouldn’t have done it that way. I feel bloody disgusted with myself now. I wanted to turn you on, not traumatize?—”
“Stop!” I yell, and he blinks in surprise. “Do I have your attention now, or are you still too busy self-flagellating?”
“I don’t know. What the fuck does it mean?”
“It means beating yourself up, you asshole. Look, what happened the other night—the hunt, the restraints, the game we played? I. Fucking. Loved it. Every goddamn second, okay? I’m a grown woman who knows what she wants. I had a safe word. I had choices. And what I chose was to let you treat me like prey because it was hot as hell. Don’t you dare start behaving like I’m some delicate flower now. Don’t make me regret confiding in you.”
He starts to grin, and it is infuriating. I’d like to slap him across the face, but he’d probably enjoy it. “All right, Hot Sauce. Message received and understood. You did seem to enjoy it at the time from the way you came all over me and screamed my name so loud.” He sobers and continues. “It’s just that hearing what happened to you… It made me think I screwed up, okay? That I went too far.”
I tilt my head to one side. “Truthfully, Seb, I don’t think you went far enough. I wasn’t lying when I said I loved it. But I… God, I don’t know how to explain this, but it touched something pretty deep inside me. It felt liberating to give up control. Like I was reclaiming something from those abusive bastards in Florida. With you, I want the darkness. I want to be tied up and spanked and whipped. I want you to abduct me and drag me into seedy alleyways and screw me. I want you to break in here and hold me at knifepoint while you fuck me in the ass. I want it all. If that makes me fucked up, if that makes me a pervert, then so be it—because a wise woman recently told me that as a feminist, I should expect nothing more than equality when it comes to orgasms.”
He raises my captured hands to his lips and gently skims them across the sensitive skin of my palms. “I don’t want to ask who gave you that advice, sweetheart. But it doesn’t make you a pervert. It makes you fucking perfect. Now, what hole would you like me to fuck you in right now?”