ROMAN #2
Training hours are logged beneath the measurements.
Observations are written in tidy handwriting about physical development and “progress.” Vaginal circumference seems to be measured and re-measured over time as if tracking recovery from surgery.
There’s also a table highlighting their body responses and muscular tension from sexual intercourse.
My eyes skim the page until they land on sexual preferences being jotted down like a symptom of a disease.
It isn’t written like desire. It isn’t even written like perversion.
It’s written like research. I slam the book shut and swear.
Not from shock or even from disbelief but from the sheer, methodical cruelty of it.
Against every instinct telling me to leave it closed, I open it again.
This time I don’t land on a random page.
I go back to the list and scan properly, forcing myself to take it in.
The names blur at first before they settle into focus.
Robyn. Hazel. Fae.
I close the book carefully, as if it might burn through my skin, and hand it to Felix without looking at him.
“Bag it,” I demand in a clipped voice.
He doesn’t ask what I saw but I see a crease form between his eyebrows like he wants to know.
I scan the room again. We already have the black book.
We already have enough to bury him. But enough isn’t the same as everything.
This isn’t just the workspace of a violent man.
It belongs to a doctor. And doctors document.
If he has built an empire out of girls and silence, then somewhere in this room is the paper trail that holds it together.
Fae has been hunting leverage for years.
Something that doesn’t rely on testimony or bruises or broken girls standing in front of a council.
I want enough weight in our hands that when she comes home and walks into that room, the ground shifts under all of them.
I spot a thicker ledger on a smaller desk against the far wall that is partially hidden beneath loose paperwork and I move toward it.
Flicking it open, it’s the same structure as the black book.
Instead of names though there are initials.
There seems to be a repeated sequence of numbers and letters that mean nothing at first glance.
I flick through it, absorbing as much information as possible, until I land on a page that makes my breath still.
At the top of the page is a symbol. A red cross.
The same red cross that was on Tyler’s keyring.
My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears as I scan what looks to be an invoice.
This ledger isn’t about girls. It’s about the members.
If I can figure this out, it will blow the whole operation apart.
I hand the ledger to Felix again before I make my way over to a hidden laptop.
Flipping it open, no password prompt appears, just a dimmed screen that wakes under my touch.
I don’t waste time trying to navigate it.
I just close the lid and slide it into my bag as I see Felix doing the same thing with more files.
As I walk to the door, something catches my eye on the shelf.
It’s half-hidden beneath a stack of loose papers.
I move quickly but my hand stills before I touch it.
A photograph of me and Fae stares back at me.
It was the day I took her to the beach. We are unaware that we are being watched, holding one another close as we look out over the horizon. Her brown hair is caught by wind and there is a softness in her expression that she saves only for me. I pick up the photo as I run my finger over it.
Maybe she was right when she said I couldn’t protect her from him…
How long has he been watching us? The paper crumples slightly under the pressure of my grip before I force my fingers to relax.
I fold it once and slide it into my jacket before we sweep the rest of the house together.
Nothing else of substance shows up and Felix calls time on the operation.
My muscles burn through adrenaline and when we step back outside, the rain has softened but the night hasn’t.
Victor and Riggs nod to us before climbing in the van and putting their focus back on Emily.
Felix follows me to drop off our findings in my car before we make quick work of dragging the guards out of sight.
Each one is carried across the threshold and laid inside the cottage.
Felix pours the accelerant in steady lines as I tip up furniture.
I take a look around at this house of horrors and wonder just how many girls have been through here.
Taking a breath, I pull out the matches as Felix stands next to me, shoulder to shoulder.
The dry timber beneath the thatch begins to take and the fire moves quickly once it finds oxygen.
It curls through beams whilst devouring paper.
We step back as heat pushes outward and make our way to the car.
The cottage glows orange against the wet black of the countryside and smoke punches into the sky as the roof begins to crack and spit.
I turn to see Felix is transfixed by the fire and for the first time, I understand whatever his and Riggs’ fascination is.
We sit in silence, waiting until the building is engulfed in flames before I lean over and the grab the ledger to read it. The code swims at first as numbers blur under the shifting glow. A name embedded inside the cipher, partially obscured by shorthand catches my eye.
Ackworth.
My blood runs cold.
Felix sees the change in my posture and sits up.
“What?” he demands but I have no words.
Instead, I turn the ledger toward him and tap the line. His expression empties first. Then hardens.
“Fuck,” he screams and slams the book. “That MOTHERFUCKER!”
Ackworth being involved was never in question for me. I already knew that. He was complicit in Fae’s abuse long before I ever understood what the keychain meant and once I saw that symbol in his hand there was no room left for doubt.
But this feels different.
This isn’t the passive rot of a man who benefits from a system and pretends not to see it.
This ledger reads like structure. Is Ackworth the boss?
Is this the ghost we’ve been circling from the start?
The thought makes my blood run hot and vicious.
I glance at Felix and he looks just as wrecked by it as me.
“You think he’s the boss?” Felix’ voice comes out harsh, echoing my thoughts.
“I think,” I say slowly, watching the roof cave in on itself, “that this is bigger than us all and we’ve been aiming too low.”
“Let’s just fucking go,” he grumbles.
Felix throws the ledger to the back seat as I turn the car on and reverse out of the space. The cottage burns in the rear-view mirror, shrinking as we pull away down the lane. For the first time since this began, I feel the limits of my own reach. And I hate it. But I know what I have to do.
“I’m going to see my dad,” I state and Felix grunts.
If there’s one person who can help, it’s my dad and I’m no longer willing to allow my pride to get in the way.