Since the principal called to ask about my absences, they allowed me to go back to school. Corbin didn’t want to raise any red flags. They made me quit my jobs.
“If you say a word, Ava will pay for it,” Corbin threatened me.
34
Wes
Abby skims through the report and points at the picture of the guy lying on the floor outside her house.
“He was one of his biggest clients,” Abby says letting out a breath. “His business shifted once Mom learned what he was doing. He pimped everyone he could. Shaun, Ava, Mom, the other women he lured to the house …”
Me, she mouths.
Anger spirals in the pit of my stomach as I learn of the hell she lived through. While at the same time I have flashes of my old life, the women crying and the men mounting them.
She sends an indifferent glance around the room. “Some days were worse than others. Mom didn’t care if they killed me or not.”
Not Abby, I repeat in my head. I knew it was bad but this … I’m breaking inside and holding back the tears. How could someone be so evil?
“What happened to your mother?”
“She fell sick and never recovered. Ava swore that Corbin killed her. Not that I care.” She’s cold and distant.
“This guy was a detective,” she continued, completely detached from herself. “He liked to play with Ava and his gun. He did crazy things with both of them, but swore he loved her and was faithful to her—only Ava.”
“Some nights, Corbin made me watch because he knew how much I hated to see them hurt her. She was so tiny and fragile. I was unable to save her.”
Her chin quivers. “I tried so hard to protect her. Sometimes I would bring her food from school knowing she hadn’t eaten for days.”
“And you?”
She shrugs.
“You weren’t eating either, were you?”
“I wanted to die. I was ready for it. We had a plan, Ava and me. She’d help me. We’d take the gun away from the detective, and she’d shoot me.”
“Abby,” I gasp.
“It all went wrong. She fought for the gun; Shaun was armed too. He tried to shoot the guy but instead, he hit his sister.” Abby touches her face. “Right here.”
“Shaun reacted right away and unloaded his gun on the detective.”
My heart thumps fast as I wait for her to continue.
“Where were you?”
“Close to her, frozen.” Her eyes open wide. “Angry because she didn’t deserve to die. It was my bullet. I had wronged her so many times, and I was so tired.”
Her words puncture my heart.
“Corbin ordered Shaun to take the computers and all the equipment to his car. To use the back door. In the meantime, he trashed the house.” She turns the pages, looking at the pictures.
“He stopped right in front of me and ran his gun down my face and my throat. ‘A thief came in and you hid in the closet. You heard Ava crying and then the gunshots. You didn’t see anything,’ he ordered.”
She laughs hysterically. “Kill me,” I begged him. “Finish me now!”
“He laughed at me and then said, ‘If you breathe one word about anything that’s happened in this house, I swear I’ll have Shaun teach you a lesson, and then, I’ll cut every inch of you.’”
I’m speechless, my arms are too heavy to reach out to her and hug her. She needs me, yet, I can’t seem to react.
“Shaun came back to the room wearing a ski mask. He broke the window and threw the body outside. They escaped from the basement. Once they left, I cried and held Ava. After a while, Corbin came back and right behind him, the police. I wished they had left a gun behind, so I could kill myself.”
“Abby,” I say once she’s finished.
“They broke my body and my mind. I still don’t know why he didn’t shoot me. When the police told me they’d put me into foster care I was confused, but relieved. I thought I was free. I’m not. He’s been keeping tabs on me.”
“Are you sure?”
“On graduation day, I saw him. Corbin. He’s watching me. Even now, I think he’s keeping an eye on me. I’m not sure how or why … or maybe he was right and I’m mixing fantasy with reality.”
What she’s telling me sounds scary and more like a horror movie than real life. I’m numbed as I process everything she’s told me.
She stares at the pictures of Ava’s dead body. I wipe the tears tumbling down her cheeks. We don’t say anything for a long time. I’m stunned silent, blinking up at her as I wish I knew what to say.
“What can I do for you?”
“I need a shower,” she says jumping off the bed and closing the bathroom door behind her.
The documents remain on the bed. I pick them up, yet I’m looking away from them. It’s like looking at a fresh crime scene. Carefully, I set them on top of her nightstand and go to my room. I send a message to the private investigator I hired to find the whereabouts of Corbin and any information he could send about his businesses.
I call Mom who picks up right away.
“Did you know?”
“What are you talking about, Weston?”
“Abby, did you know what really happened to her?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she claims innocently, but I know her.
“She was abused,” I grunt.
“She told you?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t sure,” she says. “She wasn’t my first foster child, Wes. I’ve seen and heard a lot of horror stories. A malnourished girl who wouldn’t talk. Her sister was raped and killed. According to the forensic report, she had been physically abused for a long time. Your dad and I just assumed that the same happened to Abby.”
“What do I do?”
“She needs love, understanding, and support from her family. Everything that we’ve been doing for the past six years. Nothing different, Wes.”
“Everything is different, Mom.” I hang up the phone.
She’s asking me to sit down and do nothing. All I want is to kill the mother fuckers who hurt her. I let go of all the tears I held in while she told me the story. I cry as if the ferocity of my tears might erase her pain and those horrid memories. As if the sheer force of my grief could undo the past.
How can I save her? Is it too late? I change my clothes and go out for a run, dissolving myself into the night, wanting to disappear because there’s nothing I can do to make this better. I can’t save the woman I love. Even if I find them, whatever I do wouldn’t give her back what she lost. Still, I think about the ways I could kill those sons of bitches. As the sun comes up, my legs start to give out, and I drop to my knees. The sounds echoing across the lake are of birds singing accompanied by my wailing carried in the damp air. Everything is static, frozen. Helpless, just like me.
35
Wes
“Why are you here?” I ask Sterling when I enter the house.
“Mom called a few hours ago saying, ‘your brother needs you,’” He explains, shrugging. “I found myself a private jet, a pilot, and came to check on you.”
He pretends to check his watch and says, “I arrived a couple of hours ago. The door was open, and Abby has been taking a shower since then—or before I arrived. What happened?”
“Nothing.” I walk into the kitchen where I find the scattered police reports. “What are these doing here?”
“Since there was nothing else to do, I decided to entertain myself.” He taps the papers. “Interesting shit. I assume the old wound is open and gushing.”
I nod, flinching at the gory way he said it.
He shakes his head.
That’s all we exchange for several minutes as we both stare at the gruesome pictures and read the testimony of the neighbors.
Nice family, quiet girls.
They kept to themselves.
The Dad’s charming. Poor man. Since he lost his wife he’s been a total mess, still a great father.
&nbs
p; There’s no mention of Shaun in any of the papers. Did she make him up?
Fuck, I sound like every other person who has doubted her. No wonder she’s afraid of that.
“I have no idea what happened, but I know of a few places where she can go.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Her best bet is going to a trauma and PTSD rehabilitation center,” he says in a dry tone of voice. “This is out of your hands. Even the great Weston Ahern can’t do much. You need therapy too. Your girl, the woman you love, lived through a hell on earth, and she relives it daily. That is hard to deal with.”
I scrub my face with both hands. Is he right?
“I told you, you can love her, but you can’t save her,” he reminds me of what he said only yesterday.
“Let me check on her.”
He checks his watch and shakes his head. “Nah, give her space. She’s annoyed with me. I’ve been checking on her every fifteen.”
“Why are you here?” Abby is at the bottom of the stairs. She wears her running outfit and is shooting daggers at Sterling with her eyes.
“You told him?” She points an accusatory finger at me.
“We had an issue earlier and the janitor is at his apartment—fixing the mess. I had to find another place for Terry and me,” Sterling says casually as he tilts his head toward the sleeping dog.
“These?” she gathers the reports.
“Found them in your room and read them while I waited for you two.”
My brother is amazing at impromptu answers. There’s no fucking way I could’ve come up with that as fast as he did.
“That’s a crazy crime scene,” Sterling continues. “You should go to rehab.”
She huffs. “Rehab won’t do shit for someone like me. Thank you for the advice, though.”
Abby grabs a granola bar and walks toward the entrance. “I’m going for a run.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” I offer, as my legs protest.
There’s no fucking way I can move another inch for the next couple of hours.
“Nah, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share more with him,” she says, emphasizing the last four words.
“I won’t.”
“Uh-huh.” She nods her head. “He’s a good liar, but I know his tells. And yours.”
Abby rushes out of the house without saying another word.
“What did Mom tell you?”
“Nothing, I swear. She said that you needed me. Since Abby wasn’t herself while I was here, I figured she was telling the truth.” He shrugs. “It’s not often that my big bother needs me. I had to come to your rescue.”
I don’t need rescuing, but I could use some guidance. I’m way over my head with Abby. She needs my understanding, but all I can think about is killing the men who hurt her.
My phone rings, I answer immediately worried about Abby. Did something happen to her?
“Hey,” I greet her.
“This is Johnson. The private investigator.”
I check the number and realize that it’s not Abby’s. My shoulders sag with relief. “What do you have for me?”
“I emailed you some basic information about Corbin Stanley. From what I can tell, Shaun Stanley doesn’t exist. Are you sure about the name?”
“He’s his child.”
“The man doesn’t have any children.”
“Ava Stanley?”
“The deceased?” he asks. “I would have to dig for more information on her. That’s going to take more man-hours. You haven’t approved the quote yet.”
“I don’t care how much it costs. I need to find out whatever I can about this man and make sure he stays away from my girlfriend.”
“For protection, you’ll need a bodyguard. I have a good contact. If you want, I can send you some information. They’re pricey, but worth it.” He goes silent. “They might be able to help you more than I can on this particular case.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Stanley’s records are sketchy. I don’t have all the resources that this security company has. They can provide you with more intel and even protection.” He chuckles. “You can say that this is above my paygrade.”
I rub my chin staring at the police report. These people he mentioned might give me exactly what I need to protect Abby, and to keep this from ever happening again.
“Send me the bill and the contact for the security company,” I say hanging up the phone.
The moment I receive the details for HIB, I dial their number, but the voicemail picks up.
“Our hours of operation are Monday through Friday from eight to five Pacific Standard Time. If you reached us outside those hours, please leave a message. If you need immediate assistance, send an email to our hotline.”
I send an email, and their automatic response arrives with a generic message that they’ll look at my case and get back to me within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. The time frame works for me. I still don’t know what I’ll do with the information that they might be able to provide for me.
Maybe once I know who I’m dealing with, I’ll be able to figure out a solution. In the meantime, we’re sticking to my original plan. Abby and I will remain in Tahoe for the next month. Knowing what I know now, there’s no fucking way I’d take her back to Denver. Fuck, she should hate me for forcing her to come back with me.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” I announce.
“Hey whatever you're thinking, you should stop,” My brother says.
“Why?” I finally pay attention to him.
“You’ve been lost inside your mind since you received that call. What are you trying to do?”
“Nothing,” I disregard the question and leave.
“Weston,” he calls my name a couple of times, but I ignore him.
— — —
Once I prepare breakfast, I set my computer on the counter and start reading the reports Johnson sent me. As he mentioned, the info is pretty basic. Corbin Stanley is fifty-two. He lives in Thornton. It disturbs me that the house he lives in belongs to Abby.
“Fucking hell.” I run a hand through my hair.
“Why are you doing this?” Sterling is reading along with me.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Stop.”
“He shouldn’t be in her house,” I exhale harshly. “I can have him kicked out of there within the next couple of days.”
“Is that what Abby wants?” Since when is Sterling the logical sibling?
I rub my temple and ignore him. Anger rises when I read that he lives off of his investments. Well, he’s about to lose his savings and everything he owns. If I talk to the right people, I can fuck him seven ways to Sunday. He’ll pay for what he did to Abby. We’re going to bury that asshole.
Would she be willing to talk to the police?
My heart stops. I can’t put her through that again. If I do this—catch the fucker—I’ve got to do it without Abby.
HIB security could be the answer. I just need to research more about them. They might be able to help me in more ways than I can imagine. The price doesn’t matter.
36
Abby
“Sterling,” I greet him entering the house. “Why are you here?”
He shrugs.
“I called Mom last night,” Wes’ voice resonates through the house. I look around and find him outside, sitting by the patio. “It didn’t make sense to me that she didn’t know.”
The words ring in my head like a cymbal crash. Did Linda have any idea? I find my strength and walk toward the backdoor like a skinless snake on broken glass. I lean against the door frame. He’s sitting by the table focusing on his computer.
“Did you tell her?” I square my shoulders shooting him a venomous look.
He shakes his head. “She already knew because of Ava’s forensic report. Mom and Dad assumed but never pushed you to tell them any details.”
That’s a freaking lie. They push
ed me to talk. Linda insisted on therapy. She asked me if something had happened to me that night. If the man had touched me. I responded with the truth.
“No, that guy never touched me.” I hid the rest.
“Do you know that the report says, Ava Lyons-Stanley?”
My eyes open wide, and I shake my head.
“Nothing in those documents make sense. Corbin said that he loved you two like his own. I have so many questions. I find it strange that after the forensic report they didn’t question him again.” He shrugs, glued to his computer. “Anyway, Mom worries about you and for some reason she thought it’d be a good idea to have Sterling with us.”
The Wes who listened to my story is gone. This version of him is controlling and doesn’t care about the people around him—including me. I hoped I was wrong and that he wouldn’t look at me differently, but I’d already felt him changing as I told my story. Our bond snapped like a fragile twig being stepped on by a child. I lost him, or I never had him in the first place.
“What are you doing, Weston?” I can’t help but ask.
If he’s going to end it, he might as well do it right now. I know that face, the posture. He’s working on something. Obsessed. He’s throwing himself back into work and trying to ignore me. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not the girl he wanted. The pure, defenseless Abigail Lyons.
“Doing some research,” he answers. “I’m talking to my lawyer about your house.”
The blood drains from my face. No, no. I need to scream, but my body has become petrified stone, and my voice disappears.
“He’s going to send you a power of attorney, so he can proceed on your behalf.”
The air becomes hot and heavy. I stiffen, shivering with anger and fear.
“Let it be,” I say harshly. “You shouldn’t be fixing what’s not broken.”
“Your grandmother left it to you,” he refutes, matching my tone. “Both the house and money you haven’t claimed.”
“I don’t need the money.”
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