She lifts my head and looks at me with anguish in her eyes. “Jesus, Gavin, no. Of course this isn’t your fault. You didn’t let me down. This isn’t even your battle. Brooke wasn’t involved with the cartel; Ash was. The day she died, you were set free from this madness. You never needed to think about gangsters and drugs again. This was my fight, and I made it worse for myself every step of the way by making stupid, short-sighted decisions. This can’t be your fault because it isn’t your war. It’s Ash’s war, and I inherited the baton. This is my responsibility.”
I place her hand over my heart. “Your fight is my fight. Your pain is my pain. If someone goes to war with you, they go to war with me, and I will not stop until we unleash a reign of fury upon them of epic proportions. Don’t you see? In my eyes, there is no you and me—there’s only us.”
She lets her head fall onto my shoulder as she cries.
I stroke her hair and speak softly, hoping to soothe some of her pain. “I wish I could reach inside you and absorb all the pain and hurt you’ve endured. I wish I could find a spell to erase these horrors from your memory, but I can’t. All I can do is promise to be there for you. To spend each day trying to make it better than the last, trying to help you find your smile again. When we do, I’ll make that smile a little brighter every day. I can’t take back the wrongs done to you, but I can try to smother those memories with so much laughter and love that they become nothing but a flicker in the back of your mind.”
She pulls away, tears rolling down her flushed face. I hold her until her body calms and the tears dry. A scab has been forming over her emotional wounds, and I’m about to pull it off. I’ve been dreading this conversation, but it has to be now. She needs to know. It will break her heart no matter when I tell her.
“I know you’ve been sliced open and torn in two tonight, but I have something to tell you,” I say.
“What?”
“You weren’t the only one the cartel went after. The night before you were taken, they went on a rampage, killing anyone who had ‘crossed them.’ Lorenzo and Carlos were both murdered.”
She gasps. What little flush she had in her cheeks drains away. “No!”
“Lily, I’m so sorry.”
“No!” She buries her head in her hands. “They went out on a limb for me. They put everything on the line for me! This is all my fault.”
“I feel horrible that they died, but they made the choice to live a life of crime. They knew the risks,” I say, holding her hands. “They both had been in the life for a very long time, and I can assure you they had more blood on their hands than we could ever measure. I know I didn’t know either of them, but I believe they chose to help you because you were a bright spot in all the death and destruction clouding their lives. The people they work with are all tainted, shrouded in sin. You’re an innocent, someone who deserved protecting. I can’t imagine they got to do very much good in their lives. You were their chance, and they took it.”
“They died defending me!”
“They died doing the right thing. You shouldn’t be in this world, and everyone knows it. You didn’t ask for it; you don’t deserve it. They knew the risks when they helped you, but they did it anyway because you do not belong in this cesspool! Their deaths shouldn’t make you feel guilty. This should show you how important you were to them. This should make you feel loved.”
She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t say anything again until the sun rises over the horizon. “I’m scared. I don’t know how to do this without them. You’re right—I don’t belong in this world, but I’m in it, and they were my guides. Without them, I feel lost.”
“You’ll never be lost because you have me. We have each other. What else is there?”
She lays her head against my chest. “Nothing that matters.”
Sometime later, Mason knocks on the door with a tray of tea and different types of bread. The cakes are still warm and have that fresh-from-the-oven smell.
“I haven’t had much of an appetite, but that smells amazing. What is it?” she asks as she sits up, tucking the sheets around her.
“I think this is banana. This one looks like a chocolate-potato pastry of some sort, and this other one is a cheese and bacon scone, I think.”
Her eyes light up. “Bacon?”
“Yes, they’re heavenly too.” I place the tray on the bed in front of her. “Can I tempt you with some?”
She looks at the spread. “Maybe I’ll pick at the bacon one.”
I place a plate in front of her.
“And maybe the chocolate one too.”
I smile then put the pastry on her plate. I pour a cup of tea and place it in front of her.
She wrinkles her nose. “I’ll stick with water.”
I can’t help but smile. She’s still my Lily.
“You said Hazel made these?” She breaks off a piece of scone and pops it in her mouth. Her eyes roll back, and she moans. “Holy shit, these are good.”
My whole body warms at the sight of her smile. “She and Mason have been cooking up a storm. The refrigerator is overflowing.”
“I was kind of out of it when we arrived. Where are we?” she asks as she takes another bite.
“My family’s estate in Hampstead,” I reply as I take a scone from the tray.
“Is this the place you told me you hate?” I nod and smirk as she looks around the room, glancing at the gold-trimmed molding, the Savonnerie carpet, and the heavy drapes. “I don’t recall any of it from when you carried me in, but this room’s… kinda stuffy. It’s pretty and I’m sure everything in here costs a fortune, but it’s… it looks like something you see in a magazine rather than a place people actually live in.”
“My thoughts exactly. It’s one of the many reasons why I moved out.”
“Thank you for not bringing me back to Knightsbridge.” She looks down, pulling bits off of her scone. “I don’t think I could handle that.”
“Nor I. I don’t think I can ever go back there.”
She looks around with a funky expression. “So will we just stay… here?”
I haven’t given that much thought at all, but it occurs to me that she may not want to stay in London after all of this. After everything she’s experienced, I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to hop on the first flight back to the US. I move onto the bed so I can sit next to her. Isla’s words echo through my mind. Am I being naïve about our relationship? Am I being unfair to Lily by placing unrealistic expectations on her? On us?
“Gavin,” she says, “I asked if you think you want to stay here.”
I thread my fingers through hers. “Do you think you want to stay here? In London, I mean.”
“Yes… I think.” She runs her fingers through her hair with her free hand. “It’s hard to think past the next minute. Going to the bathroom feels like climbing Mount Everest.”
“We don’t need to make any decisions today, tomorrow, next week, or next year. When you’re ready, whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, we’ll make it happen.”
She leans her head on my shoulder. “We don’t have to go back to the flat, right?”
I kiss her forehead. “Never. We’ll start over, someplace that will be just ours, where we can start fresh and build new memories.”
“A fresh start sounds really nice,” she says in a tone that sounds almost hopeful. “I can’t fathom it right now, but it sounds really, really nice.”
“I’ll make it happen, luv.” I pull her close. “No matter what I have to do, I’ll make it happen.”
“I know you will,” she replies.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lily
I step out of the shower, wipe the steam off the mirror, and take a look at myself. The bruises are darker, but I think they need to get uglier before they get better. It’s all part of the healing process. The cuts and bruises are almost a road map of that night. I remember each slap and punch, how everything unfolded. When the bruises heal and the cuts are nothing but f
aint scars, will I still remember as vividly? Will the memories fade as well?
“You okay, luv?” Gavin asks from the other side of the door.
“Would you believe me if I said yes?”
“No,” he says with a laugh. “I’m coming in.” He opens the door and puts one hand on each of my shoulders. “You don’t have to do this. Not now. It can wait.”
I lean against the marble countertop. “Yes, I do. They can’t close the case on O’s murder until I do this. Her family deserves to mourn, and they can’t really do that until I give my statement. And I need to do this for me. I’ll tell this story one last time and then hopefully put it behind me. I can’t move forward until I do.”
“Okay, if this is what you want.”
I nod. “I do. Now get out of here so I can finish getting ready.”
He kisses my forehead then leaves, closing the door.
Now that the steam has cleared, I have unadulterated view of myself. Do I look different? Could someone look at me and know I’ve killed a man? With the exception of the bruises, I look the same, but I feel like a completely different person.
Out of nowhere, I’m hit by a tsunami of doubt. What if they don’t believe me? I’ve seen enough Law and Order to know that the victim can easily be made into the villain. What if they claim it wasn’t self-defense? As the thought swirls in my head, I know it’s preposterous. No woman would bite off a man’s penis unless she had to. I’m just psyching myself out. I need to calm down.
You can do this.
After brushing my teeth and pulling my still-wet hair into a braid, I get dressed and leave the bathroom. When I walk into the bedroom, Gavin’s waiting for me.
I could have had the interview anywhere, but I’m not ready to leave the sanctuary of this room. The thought of it makes me hyperventilate. I don’t understand why. I don’t even particularly like this room, but for whatever reason, I feel comfortable here. I’ve never felt panic like this, and it’s freaking me out. They could have come here to do the interview, but the notion of strangers in my sanctuary made me panic even more.
Always resourceful, Gavin orchestrated a video conference. It’s not protocol, but based on the circumstances, the investigators are being flexible. From what I understand, because of the complex nature of this case, a task force was established to investigate, and they’re under major pressure to make progress, so they’re willing to accommodate me. Since all of the assailants are dead, I’ll never have to testify in court. This is really just about paperwork.
Gavin sets up the laptop on the coffee table, and I sit on the sofa in front of it.
“You’ll be here, right?” I ask.
He squeezes my hand. “Of course! Are you sure you don’t want a solicitor? I don’t think you’ll need one, but it certainly can’t hurt. Ewan’s a good chap and has already danced with them once.”
I shake my head. “No lawyers. I just want to get it over with.”
Gavin sits next to me then pushes the connect button. “Here we go. Remember you can stop any time.”
A rumpled, pudgy man named Leo is on the other end, along with a woman who introduces herself as Gertrude Poole. She has a helmet of brown hair and cigarette-stained teeth, but there’s something kind about her. They prattle on for a bit, but I can’t focus. I’m sure if it’s something important, Gavin will catch it. I just need to get this over with. Until I do, I can’t focus on anything else.
I clear my throat to get their attention. “I’m sorry, but can we just start? I’m a little nervous, and the longer I sit here, the more I’m psyching myself out.”
Gertrude and her horrible teeth smile back at me. “Of course, hun. Start whenever you’re ready.”
I take them through the story. I’m able to remember more details than I did when I told Gavin. Granted I’ve slept, eaten, and had some Valium since then, but I feel as though I have more clarity now. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. This isn’t something I really want to remember in high def.
Gavin never lets go of my hand. When I talk about Jimmy Dean’s hands on me, in me, his eyes water, but he does his best to stay strong. I’m so very lucky I have him. Not once has he looked at me with anything other than love. I know this hasn’t been easy on him either, yet somehow he has the strength to be there for me with unwavering devotion.
He hasn’t talked much about what he went through while I was gone, but then again, I haven’t asked. Leo and Gertrude allude to Gavin’s tireless participation with the investigation. Max mentioned a few things in conversation, indicating that Gavin’s going after the cartel. I don’t know how he’s been so strong.
If the roles were reversed and I thought he was gone, it would tip me over the edge of sanity. I’m not sure I’d have the strength to sit here and hold his hand while he talked about the abuse he suffered. I’d probably crumble like a stale cracker. I look at him and give him a reassuring smile. I hope to god he knows how much he means to me.
After I finish my narrative, Leo and Gertrude ask questions. It’s not an interrogation by any means, but they are looking for clarification and more details. The harder I have to think to find the answers, the faster my heart pounds, the sweatier my hands get, and the harder it is to breathe. I reach for my cross, but it’s gone. Patting my neck as though it may magically reappear, I rack my brain, trying to remember when I had it last. My hands were bound most of the time I was away, so I couldn’t have played with it then. I know I had it on when I was in the flat. The chain was so thin, the clasp so delicate that with the way I was manhandled, it could have snapped any number of times. I close my eyes and try to remember the last time I felt it around me. After a minute, the memory comes flooding back. When I was going down on Jimmy Dean, he pulled on my hair. I remember feeling it pull against my neck. For all I know, it’s still tangled in his stubby fingers.
I continue to answer their questions, but I have trouble focusing. Without my cross, it’s as though I’ve lost my last connection to my parents. With each passing year, my memories of them become hazier, feeling more and more out of reach, as though they’re slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. But I always had my cross. Like a talisman, it made me feel as if they were somehow still with me, and now it’s gone. They’re gone. They gave me that cross on my first communion. But since I’m a murderer now, I’m pretty sure canon law bans me from receiving communion, so maybe I really don’t need it anyway.
Leo and Gertrude finish up, telling us some sort of update on the investigation. He gives Gavin advice for going after the cartel, but I just keep thinking about what my parents would think of me now. Are they looking down at me, wondering where I went so wrong?
Gavin closes the laptop and looks at me. “I know you’re not all right—how could you possibly be after that—but… do you want to talk about it?”
“Do you ever wonder how we got here? To this place? How we became these people?”
“Lil—”
“When did my life go so off course? I’ve been kidnapped…” I count on my fingers. “Four times. Who gets kidnapped four times other than characters in a bad suspense movie series?” I run my fingers through my hair and pull at the roots. “I was raised by good people whose biggest issues were that the deer ate the arborvitaes and if Susie Cummings was going to drink too much at the church fundraiser. Our house was full of laughter and fun. They were good people who lived good lives. Honest, clean, and completely free of boogeymen. They weren’t the kind of people whose daughter ends up bound up in a storage unit in the outskirts of London with a pile of bodies in her wake. If they were alive… if my parents were alive, I’d never have gone to Tucson, never met Ash, never been in this situation. I’d probably be married to some sweet boy who… I don’t know… works at a bank, or some normal nine-to-five job, with no one trying to kill me. I know since the day they died, I’ve slowly drifted away from the person they hoped I would be, but fuck, Gavin. How did I get from there to here?”
“You can’t pl
an the direction life will take you. It doesn’t work that way. I fought with everything I have to break free of my parents and Edwards, yet after all that, I still ended up the head of the company. Choices are made that lead us down paths we can’t foresee.”
I snort. “It seems I’ll be paying penance for my choices for the rest of eternity.”
“Catholics,” he mutters and takes my hand. “I know you have it stuck in your head that your abdicated your right to happiness when you married Ashton, but you didn’t. This is not the end of your story. You’re not condemned to a life of solitude and misery because you married a wanker. You’ll move past this, and I promise with every fiber of my being that I will spend every moment of my remaining days filling yours with the happiness you so richly deserve. You just need to hang on whilst we get through this. It won’t be forever.”
I look him square in the eyes. “It’s the cartel. They won’t stop until I’m dead. You know as well as I do that when you get in bed with the cartel, you’re in it for life. I may not have chosen this life, but like it or not, I’m in it until they take it from me.”
“That will never happen. I will stop them. And then, if what you think will truly make you happy is living in a speck of a town in western Massachusetts, married to a man who works in a bank, then I’ll buy a bank and we’ll move. I’ll plant a forest of trees for the sole purpose of you bitching about the deer eating them. But I don’t think that’s the answer for you, not any longer. For better or worse, the destiny of your parents’ daughter shifted, took you down a long and winding road, and it brought you here. To me. It may be bloody selfish, but I thank God for that every day.”
Gavin’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but I hate to think that the only path to Gavin was paved with tragedy. Tears well in my eyes.
“You’re right,” I say as I wipe the tears away. “But don’t you ever feel… I don’t know… lost? Alone? I’m not sure how to explain it.” I look at him. “You lost your family. Don’t you ever just feel like a nomad? Like you’re floating in this life without belonging to anyone?”
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