“I spoke to Mathews, who is with Kellen and Aiden right now, and he did some digging of his own. He found multiple deposits have been made into your mother's account from an umbrella company that belongs to Mr. Baylor. Each payment was for the amount of ten thousand dollars, paid on the same day every month, until six months ago when the payments stopped.”
He looks at me, trying to gauge if I knew that, so I shake my head no. I didn't know, but I’m not surprised. I knew she’d sold me I just didn’t know what the going rate for a life was.
“Do you have any idea what he might have been paying your mother for?” he asks me softly.
“Me.” I push the word out gently, making every man in the room start cursing.
“She sold you?” Blake spits out from beside me. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he roars, moving to climb off the bed, but I stop his movements by climbing onto his lap and wrapping my arms around him, careful not to touch my jaw to the side of his face.
Nobody speaks for a while, letting me and Blake have our moment until eventually, he relaxes enough for me to let go.
“She can’t hurt me anymore,” I grit out, my jaw throbbing. “Stay with me,” I plead.
He looks into my eyes, searching for answers I can’t give him right now and proceeds to rock my world. “I am so fucking in love with you. Marry me.”
I freeze at his words, before bursting into tears.
“I don’t know if these are happy tears or get away from me loser tears,” he teases.
I chuckle through my tears before answering him. “A thousand times, yes.”
The room breaks out into cheers, but I don't smile, knowing if I tried, I’d probably pass out again.
When everyone quiets down, I face the new man again, who is watching me with kind eyes.
“Congratulations,” he says softly, making me nod in thanks.
“I’m going to let you rest. We can carry on with this conversation later when you’re feeling more up to it. Spend some time with your family,” he tells me, grief briefly marring his features before he turns to leave.
“Hey, Tate?”
The man turns back to look at Blake.
“Thank you.”
Tate nods his head in a “you’re welcome” gesture and leaves.
I look around the room at the guys and feel the love emanating from them all. My future is uncertain. I don't know what’s going on with Christian or what will happen with my mother, but with these guys at my front and the man I love at my back, I finally feel like I can face anything.
Chapter Thirty
Blake
I look over and see Callie is still dead to the world, her painkillers making her drowsy, which is probably a blessing.
We have just finished traveling back from Vegas. I’d been worried about how much pain she would be in on our journey, telling her there was no rush to get home. But of course, Callie insisted. She wanted to see Kellen with her own two eyes and sleep in our bed. I couldn’t argue with her after that, loving that she referred to the loft as home and the bed as ours.
If I have my way, she’ll never leave.
The guys, who came home with us, split off at the airport, heading to see Kellen and the damage done to our offices. Both those things are important to me, but nothing matters more than the woman beside me.
Parking the car in the garage, I climb out, moving around to open Callie’s door before unclipping her belt and lifting her into my arms.
She mumbles something and her brow furrows with pain for a moment before smoothing out as she falls back into oblivion.
I carry her up the stairs to the bedroom and lay her down as gently as possible, sliding the flip-flops Felix picked up for her from her feet before pulling the soft down blanket over her. She murmurs again before sighing and rolling over, snuggling into the blanket. I can’t help but smile. The relief at having her here, home in my bed, safe and in one piece, is staggering.
I still can’t get my head around how close I came to losing her. Head injuries are fickle bitches. She was so lucky to walk away with a concussion and the damage to her jaw. I’m all too aware of how differently our story could have ended. Even if she hadn’t been hurt, I could have lost her the minute Christian took her aboard that plane. If he had taken her abroad to marry her, it would have been near impossible to find her.
Leaving the door open so I’ll hear her if she wakes up, I head out to the kitchen to make her something to eat. I smile when I open the fridge, knowing from the overflowing contents that my grandmother has been here. The freezer reveals much the same—food bags labeled with a variety of blended homemade soups and smoothies. I need to buy that woman some more flowers.
I take out a bag of soup and warm it through while making up a strawberry-flavored protein shake. Not the cheeseburger Callie’s been craving, but at least it's not the slop from the hospital where they seemed content to sling everything on the menu for the day into a blender.
Grabbing a bottle of water and a handful of straws, I load up a tray and take it back to the bedroom for her. She’s stirring when I enter, her medications finally wearing off. It shows in her eyes that the constant dull ache is back.
“Hey, I have some food for you. Eat what you can and we’ll get you showered before Tate turns up.”
She nods, in the habit of using her words sparingly now. I let her eat, not watching her as it makes her uncomfortable, and text Tate to let him know we’ve arrived home safely.
Tate flew out earlier, needing to get back to the rest of his teammates and his job.
Christian is still in the hospital receiving treatment for a lacerated liver, punctured lung, broken ribs, shattered clavicle, and an extensive list of bruises and cuts he sustained.
Callie's mother had been transferred to a facility closer to home. She was in the ICU following surgery to remove her leg just below the knee. The operation was a success, but then an infection had set in, leaving her in a medically induced coma for now so her body can heal.
Tate made sure this place, Callie’s, and my grandmother’s was swept by the bomb disposal unit. Thankfully, we were given the all-clear to return, but while Christian is still alive, I know Callie is still in danger.
Callie waves to get my attention, letting me know she’s finished eating, so I place a soft kiss on her forehead and take the tray from her lap.
“You need a hand in the shower?” I want to tease her, but we found out the hard way not to make her laugh while her jaw is like this.
She shakes her head, so I leave her to it and take care of the dishes. As I head back to the kitchen, the buzzer rings. I dump the tray on the countertop and make my way over to the door.
“Yeah?” I question, holding down the intercom button.
“It's us. We brought someone to see Callie,” Marcus calls in a singsong voice, making me shake my head. Why am I not surprised? I buzz them up and head back to the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes as the guys walk in.
I stop and dry my hands when I spot Kellen and walk over to him.
“You good?” Apart from some gnarly bruising and his arm in a cast, he looks good.
“Yeah, I’m fine. How’s your girl?” he asks as everyone heads toward the sofas.
“She’s hanging in there. It's going to be a rough couple of months for her, I think. Doc says she can have the wiring removed in six to eight weeks depending on how well she heals.”
“Jesus, I’ve never been so grateful just to have a broken arm.”
I look up when I spot movement out of the corner of my eye and see Callie walking out of the bedroom in a pair of black stretch leggings and one of my hoodies. The guys turn and stand when they see Callie, but she only has eyes for Kellen. She walks right up to him and wraps her hands around his large ones and presses her forehead against his chest.
Kellen looks at me, likely to gauge my reaction, but jealousy is not something I’m feeling right now. Relief is all I feel. Relief that they are both standing here together when t
hings could have turned out very differently.
We all watch quietly as Kellen presses his lips to the crown of her head and whispers soft words that are meant only for her. Eventually, they pull apart and Kellen wipes a tear from her face before I step up behind her and pick her up, finding a spot for us on the sofa, sitting with her in my lap. As the buzzer for the door sounds once more I look to Arlo who heads over to answer it.
“Tate is on his way over to talk to you. You can use your phone to type your answers. Are you okay with that? I know you’re not one hundred percent yet but—”
She cuts me off with a hand over my mouth. She nods and rolls her eyes, making me chuckle.
“Okay, just remember we are all right here for you, okay?”
She nuzzles her temple against my chin, which I take as thank you.
We all turn when Arlo walks back over with Tate, Gunner walking silently on their heels. The guys stand to shake hands, but I don’t move, not wanting to jar Callie unnecessarily.
“Hey, Callie, how you feeling?” Tate asks her, sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of us. She waves her hand as if to say “so-so.”
“You sure you’re up for this?” he asks, but she’s already nodding her head resolutely, lifting a little to slide her phone from her pocket.
“Okay, then let's begin. Tell me about your mother.”
Callie types something before holding it up for me to read.
Where do you want me to start?
“Start from the beginning. I want to know what she was like before Baylor came on the scene,” Tate tells her, making me wonder how that's relevant as Callie starts typing.
Tate must catch my confusion because he answers my unasked question.
“Brenda didn’t just wake up one day and decide to sell her only child. I think there's more to know about Brenda Roberts, and if we want her to see any real time inside a prison cell, I’d like to find out everything I can about her. Then use it to nail her ass to the fucking wall.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Callie
My mom and dad always fought. I can’t ever remember a time where they were not yelling at each other before my dad would break down and apologize and the cycle would start again. I hold my phone up for Blake to read the words out loud.
“Did she get medical treatment? I couldn’t find anything before the night your father was arrested,” Tate asks.
I shake my head and start texting again, feeling a little freer with every word I type.
She didn’t get any medical treatment because she didn’t need it. She was never the victim, my father was. I lost count of the number of times I had to clean his blood off the floor.
That night she went too far. She split his head open with a rolling pin, knocked him clean out and I couldn’t stop the bleeding. I broke the rules and called for an ambulance. I honestly thought he was dead. She caught me hanging up and went crazy, but she didn’t take her anger out on me, she turned it on herself. She smashed her face repeatedly against the wall, over and over, even after her nose was clearly broken and everywhere was painted with blood.
She smashed chairs, threw vases, and then cut her arm and hands with a jagged piece of glass. I stood there in horror as my father bled on the floor and my mother attacked herself before my eyes. I had no idea what the hell she was doing, but she had clearly lost her mind. No way would she be able to talk herself out of this.
Except that's exactly what she did. The cops arrived and she spun them a tale about years of mental and physical abuse. My dad was taken to the hospital and then arrested.
“Not an easy case to prove with a he-said-she-said story. They both had injuries, and neither had a medical history to support previous abuse. So how did he get convicted and sent down for eight years?” Tate asks as I swallow down a lump in my throat. It's a question I ask myself daily even though I know the answer. But knowing doesn’t change that an innocent man went to prison for something he didn’t do.
He pleaded not guilty, denied everything she said he did, but then one day she went to visit him, and when she came back, she had this smug look on her face. I didn’t know what she did, or what she said, but he changed his story. He admitted to everything she said he did, even when she added that he sexually abused me to the story. He confessed to everything and because of that, nobody would listen to me when I told them she was lying. After all, why would a man admit to something like that?
“Nobody would,” Marcus says, shaking his head.
“They would if it was the only way to protect their child,” Tate points out, looking straight at me. I swipe angrily at the tear that escaped and type as quickly as I can.
We were staying at that shelter in Darlington. Only so my mother could play up being the terrified victim. Me, well, I was just so angry and confused. I acted out, frustrated that nobody would listen. Hurt that I was losing my dad and being forced to stay with a mother who hated me.
She made every action and reaction I made seem like a result of his abuse. She did anything and everything for things to swing in her favor at court.
I didn’t understand. All I knew for sure was that he was innocent, so no matter what happened there was no way he was going to prison. The judge, the jury, the lawyers, they would all see her lies, they had to.
The tears fall faster than I can wipe them away, but I don’t make a sound as Blake continues to read, his free arm tightening around me in support.
That day she came back smug as fuck and I knew, I fucking knew it was game over.
She admitted to me later that she had told him if he pleaded guilty she would keep me safe and fed until I turned eighteen and she wouldn’t raise a finger against me.
If he didn’t, he could take his chances with the legal system, but I would be kicked to the streets with nothing more than the clothes on my back.
I didn't care. I would have left in a heartbeat. I told the people working at the shelter this, the police, the counselors, every single person who was supposed to listen to me, but none of them cared after my father pleaded guilty.
Kellen speaks up from the other sofa. “Please believe that I’m not taking anything away from you for saying this, but the risk of you being kicked out wouldn’t be enough for me to plead guilty for something I didn’t do, especially when the sexual assault charges came into play. He could have told someone about your situation, had someone find you somewhere to stay. Hell, he could have used his call from prison to find you somewhere to go while he awaited trial. I find it hard to believe, that after everything, he would have even contemplated you staying with that crazy bitch.”
I was angry, so fucking angry. I’d have lived on the streets if it meant he was free, but even after everything she had done, after every lie she told, he bowed to her wishes.
I never really understood it myself until much later. At the time, all I knew was that my mother was a horrible person. And yet despite that, she was so good at manipulating things that nobody ever saw through her bullshit. She could make her victims feel like everything was their fault.
My father went to prison because of her, died there as a result, and yet, I know even after everything, he still loved her.
Sure, their love was toxic, but like any kind of drug, he couldn’t live without the poison running through his veins as he chased the moments of euphoria.
It was when she turned up here in Sunnyville that I knew there was more to the story. I knew that whatever she said to my father that day to make him change his plea had been way worse than she had implied to me, and after finding out she sold me to Christian I suspect she threatened my father with the same prospect back then. People would pay a pretty penny for a virgin, no?
“What did she say to you that day at your house? Did she threaten you?” Blake’s body is so tense under mine, it's like sitting on concrete.
She told me I had a week to return home to Christian before she sent him my location, telling me Christian would hurt everyone I had grown
to care about if I stayed.
“Which is when I found you crying and talked you into staying,” Blake summarizes.
“And yet people got hurt because of me anyway,” I manage to speak, the words sounding a little garbled as I stare at Kellen before turning to face Tate.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. I was told that one of his teammates had been killed in the explosion.
He leans forward and takes one of my hands in his.
“None of this was your fault. I don’t blame you and neither would O’Neil. He died doing the job he loved,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze before letting go.
Everyone is quiet for a few moments before Arlo speaks up. “I still don't understand how your mother even knew Christian.”
I switch back to typing, the guys waiting patiently for me to finish before I hold the phone up for Blake to read.
After my mother divorced my father, she married a man named Thomas Reed. I don’t know the ins and outs of their relationship as I left home the day I turned eighteen. What I do know is that he had a heart attack and died after finding her in bed with his best friend. A best friend who I just found out was Christian Baylor.
Blake pauses for a second, letting everyone absorb the information before continuing.
Thomas died right there and then on the bedroom floor next to the marital bed he caught his wife and best friend fucking in and my mother acted as if it were nothing more than a mild inconvenience. This reaction impressed Christian, the sick fuck that he is. He made a joke about how they would be the perfect couple if he generally didn’t like his women young and impressionable.
Of course, this is when my mother showed him my picture and offered me up like a sacrificial virgin, all for the right price, of course. Nothing's more important to Mother than her ability to shop.
“She sold you to a man so she could keep herself in shoes and bags?” Marcus shouts angrily on my behalf.
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