12
“ W here’s Wolfe?”
Waking up the next morning after a long overdue sleep, I go on a hunt to find Wolfe. Talon is the first person I see, so I figure I’ll ask him, even though he scares me. It’s safe to say that Wolfe spent a good solid four hours last night inside me, fucking me with not only his dick, but his mouth and his fingers. The man is insatiable, and by the end of it, I couldn’t possibly orgasm a single second longer.
I had to beg him to stop, even though inside, I wanted him to go all night long.
He fucked me one more time for good measure, my back against the door, his cock moving in and out of me as my fingers clawed at the paint behind me. Then, he pressed a long, deep kiss to my lips before slipping out and leaving me completely satiated, obsessed, and fucking confused.
“He’s with Esme,” Talon murmurs, throwing a leg over his bike.
That hits like a fist to the face.
So much so, I actually reel back, sure I’ve heard him wrong.
“What?”
“He’s with Esme,” Talon repeats, staring at me as if he’s wondering about my mental status.
“I heard you,” I mutter. “I’m just ... oh, never mind.”
“Came in here carryin’ on this mornin’ about needin’ to talk to him urgently. That’s all I know.”
He starts his bike without another word, backing it up.
“Good chat,” I mumble to myself, before turning and going back to my room.
Fucking Esme.
What could she possibly want now? One thing is for certain, I need to make things crystal clear with Wolfe. I’m not going to be his sex toy at the same time he’s rolling around with Esme. I might have enjoyed every single second with him, but I’m not here to be shared like a fucking cigarette.
If he’s with her, then he’s not with me.
I shower and get changed, then decide today is the day I’m going to face my father. If I put it off any longer, I simply won’t do it. I have a fire inside me that gives me the kind of courage I need to confront him, to see his face, to hear his truth. I guess it’s a little mix of anger and jealousy, or the fact that I spent the night with a man I think way too much about.
Either way, it needs to be done.
I don’t bother telling anybody where I’m going, I just call a cab and get the hell out of there.
The entire half an hour drive to the prison, I feel sick to my stomach.
My father never wrote a letter, never called, never tried to see where I ended up. It’s as if he forgot all about me. To face him again is going to burn like a knife to the heart. I know it’s important for me to do, so I can move forward with my life. I just hope I’m not making a huge mistake coming here.
Arriving at the prison, I pay the cab driver and get out, staring at the large building before me. It’s massive. Its stark, gray walls stretching high into the sky. Barbed wire coils along the top of the perimeter fence, a reminder to anyone looking that it houses some of the most dangerous criminals.
The entrance is guarded by a heavy, reinforced gate, flanked by watchtowers where guards are positioned, constantly watching the goings on inside. The building itself is a maze of concrete and steel, with narrow windows that offer little more than slits of light. Everything about it is cold and unwelcoming, and a shiver runs down my spine.
Approaching the entrance, I take a deep breath and step forward. The first thing I encounter is a security checkpoint. A guard, stern and unsmiling, asks for my identification. I hand over my ID, and he stares at it for a long, long moment before nodding and gesturing for me to go through.
Swallowing my nerves, I go through the metal detector, removing my shoes, my handbag, and anything else I am carrying so it can be scanned through. Nobody acknowledges me or even offers a smile. It’s a cold, empty feeling. After that, I’m directed to a waiting area. The room is stark, with rows of plastic chairs and a few vending machines in the corner offering a low hum as the only sound in the area.
I sit, my heart pounding, as I wait for my name to be called.
Finally, a guard approaches and leads me down a long, narrow corridor. The sound of my footsteps echoes off the concrete walls, only adding to my already building anxiety. We reach a heavy door, and the guard swipes a key card to unlock it. Inside, the visiting area is divided by a thick glass partition. Small booths line the room, each with a phone for communication. I’m directed to one and told to wait.
My father will be brought in shortly.
Sitting down, I swallow down my nerves and rub my stomach, trying to ease the building nausea. I stare at the empty seat on the other side of the glass. My mind races with questions and emotions, knowing that soon I’ll be face-to-face with the man who holds all the answers and yet, he might choose to give me none.
I’m scared.
Utterly terrified.
THE DOOR OPENING HAS my head turning, almost in slow motion, to see the guard walking a man in. A man that I used to be so familiar with, and yet now he feels like a complete stranger. I swallow over and over, fighting back the urge to vomit. Swiping my hand across my forehead, I feel it coat with sweat. I’ve never been so anxious in my life, and knowing that I’m about to speak to him is almost enough for me to get up and run out.
The moment our eyes meet, I see shock cross his features.
He didn’t think it would be me, that much is clear.
The guard behind me orders me to pick up the phone and I do with shaking hands. My father sits across from me, his eyes unblinking as he stares. It takes a few minutes for him to stretch his hand out, lifting the phone. I’ve never felt anything like the painful, twisting sensation tugging at my stomach. I’m afraid I might actually be sick.
“Mera?”
His voice comes across the line, and it sounds nothing like I remember. It was always soft, kind, and warm, but now it’s scratchy and uncertain. My mouth waters as I fight to keep the contents of my stomach down. I can do this; I have to do this. It’s the only way. I know it, and yet I find the words stuck in my throat.
“Mera, I ... I never thought I’d see you again.”
If I had my way, he wouldn’t.
Come on, Mera. Speak.
My ears begin ringing, and my forehead breaks out into another round of sweat.
“Please don’t be afraid of me.”
Afraid of him? He’s a fucking murderer.
“Why?” I finally croak. “Tell me why.”
His eyes drop to the table, and he stares at it for a long moment. “I wondered if the day would come that you would ask that question, and I thought of many answers I could give.”
“I just want the truth,” I whisper, not meeting his gaze.
“I’m afraid the truth simply might not be enough.”
I look up at him. “Tell me anyway.”
His lips form a line, and then he exhales. “My mother was everything to me. I thought she was incredible, and then she left one day with another man. It broke my father, turned him into a monster, and I blamed her. It was her fault for destroying him like that. Over the years, I saw so many marriages ruined by selfish women, and when your mother stepped out on me, I snapped.”
Keep it together.
Breathe, Mera.
“I wanted them all to suffer, to understand their filthy ways were ruining lives. I couldn’t help it, Mera. You have to understand. I just ... I couldn’t stop.”
Staring at him, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen the sickness deep in his soul. The desperation in his words, the truth he is clinging to, it’s all screaming to be noticed. My father is mentally unwell, but that doesn’t excuse what he did.
“You killed innocent women.”
“They weren’t innocent,” he murmurs, low. “Your mother was going to leave me, she was going to take you from me, and she was going to destroy me the same way my mother destroyed my father. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“So you killed her.”
It’s not a question.
He doesn’t answer me, but he doesn’t need to. His eyes are all the answer I need.
“You let me live my entire life thinking you were an amazing father, and that it was me and you against the world,” my voice cracks, breaking. “But all along, it was a lie. Everything I ever knew, was a fucking lie.”
He shakes his head. “No. I loved you. You were the only thing in this world that I loved, Mera. I would never have hurt you. The bond we had, it was real.”
“You’re a fucking killer,” I scream, and the guard behind me steps closer, warning me to calm down or he will end the visit.
“I would have never hurt you. You, Mera, you were good. You were pure. I was going to make sure you stayed that way.”
God.
He’s unwell. Seriously unwell.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, father, but because of your actions, I’m anything but good.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe it. I can see the goodness in your eyes. I always did.”
“You took my mother from me.”
“Your mother made a choice. She took herself from you.”
God, he won’t say it, he’s smart enough not to.
The man is a fucking broken genius.
“She loved me,” I hiss.
“I love you. It was me who took care of you. Me.”
Shaking my head, a tear slips from my eye, running down my cheek. “Those women you killed, they had families.”
“They were destroying their families, they were crushing their husbands, trying to take everything from them ...”
“You truly believe what you’re saying, and that makes it all that much worse,” I say, sadly.
“One day you’ll see, you’ll see I did it all for you.”
“Do not ever put that on me. I have enough hell because of what you did. I struggle to move on with my life, I struggle with relationships, I struggle with mental health, and the entire town thinks I’m a fucking killer. Because of you. It’s all because of your mistakes. I didn’t ask for any of it.”
His eyes flash. “Someone is out there, copying me. I know who it is, Mera. I know what he wants. He wants revenge. He wants to make us suffer.”
“Who?” I say, trying to stay calm enough for him to tell me who the hell is doing this to me. “Who is doing this?”
He glances at the guard, who steps closer.
Come on. Just say it.
“I killed them on my own, there was nobody else, but that doesn’t mean other people didn’t know. They did. I had people who helped me cover it up.”
My heart skips a beat. “Who?”
My voice is clipped, and I’m trying really hard not to lose it with him.
“Two men, they were good to me, like my own sons. I helped them, and they helped me. But, things went wrong ... One of them wants revenge, and he’s going to use you to get it. You need to be careful, Mera.”
“Just tell me who it is!” I snarl.
“Caleb, his name is Caleb. Caleb Winters.”
C.W. – just like the initials.
“Where do I find him?”
His eyes dart back to the guard, who is watching intensely. “I don’t know, but I know someone who can help.”
“Well, get to it,” I mutter. “If you care at all about me, you’ll tell me what I need to know.”
“You need to go to the local biker club and ask for Wolfe Cross. He knows everything. He will help you.”
My entire world stops as my ears ring, and every sound around me seems to come to a complete stop. I can’t hear anything my father tells me after that, because his words just keep repeating over and over in my mind. Wolfe Cross. Wolfe Cross. I can’t believe what I’m hearing, I just can’t. Is he saying that all along, Wolfe has known my father?
That he has played dumb this entire time?
“Who is this Wolfe to you?” I manage to whisper, my body humming with a rush of pain and confusion.
“He’s a friend, I helped him a long time ago. I can’t tell you any more than that, but I can tell you that he is the only one who can find Caleb and stop all of this. Caleb has that girl, and Wolfe can find her and finish this.”
Reality slams me like a knife to the chest.
W.C.C.W – Wolfe Cross, Caleb Winters.
The initials on the dog tag.
The two boys in the photo.
Oh my god.
Wolfe was helping my father.
Vomit rises in my throat, and I press a hand to my chest, dropping the phone and leaping backward out of the chair. My father is yelling something on the other side of the glass, but I can’t focus on him. I can’t hear what he’s saying, and I don’t care to listen. The guard behind me takes hold of my arm and turns me toward the door.
I need to get out of here.
The walk down the hall is a blur, and the only sound I can hear is the excessive ringing in my ears. My brain is struggling to process what I just heard, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to focus.
Stepping outside of the prison, my knees wobble as I stumble into the parking lot.
I don’t see them, not at first, but when a flash stings my eyes, my heart jerks up. Two reporters are standing outside the prison, aiming their cameras right at me. Someone tipped them off, someone told them I was here. Someone has been watching me and now the entire world is about to know that I came to see my father.
They are going to assume I am here to get his help, because they will never see it for what it is.
“Mera Sloane, is this the first time you’ve seen your father?”
“What are you doing here, Mera? Is it because of the missing girl?”
“Do you have Nia? Do you know where she is?”
“What did he say to you, Mera?”
Pressing my hands over my face, I run toward the exit.
A motorcycle rumbling has my heart jerking up, and I see Zane on a large, black bike. How he knows I’m here, I don’t know, but I’ve never been more grateful to see anybody in my entire life. “Get on,” he yells, and I waste no time jumping onto the back of the bike and pulling on the helmet he unclips from the back.
Then, he takes off, getting me out of there.
The rest I will worry about when my brain decides to start working again.
The rest, I will process when I come out of this shock.
All along, Wolfe has known.
All along, Wolfe has lied.
I trusted him.