by Bethany-Kris
Evelyn had discarded the blanket they’d taken from Sean’s car, instead opting to wrap herself with the quilt that had been tossed over the loveseat in the bedroom. “I think it would be a pretty sight, if it wasn’t so dark.”
“And foggy, apparently.” She passed him a questioning look, and Connor shrugged. “Seems the fog is going to keep us here a while longer, love.”
“Oh,” she mumbled. “Okay.”
Connor didn’t move from his position against the door, worried that Evelyn’s calm state might be broken somehow if he intruded on her space. “Are you?”
“What?”
“Are you okay?” he clarified.
Evelyn frowned, and tightened the quilt around her shoulders. “I’m better now. You’re here.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question, lass.”
“I don’t really have an answer,” she admitted. Then, like nothing was amiss, she changed the subject just as fast. “Do you think they might bring us up some food if you called down?”
Connor managed a smile. “Twenty-four-hour room service. You pay for what you get in this place.”
And the place was expensive as feck.
“Food would be nice.”
“All right.” Connor pushed away from the door. “Anything specific?”
“No. I think I would like to take a bath, too.”
“Sure, love. I’ll let you know when the food is up here.”
It took a good hour before the food arrived, and Killian still hadn’t returned to the room by that time, either. Connor set the grub up in the bedroom he shared with Evelyn, leaving the extra out in the main section of the suite for Killian to pick through when he got back.
Connor knocked on the bathroom door with two knuckles, waiting for Evelyn’s confirmation before he entered. Usually, she wouldn’t mind if he strolled right in, but he had the feeling she needed space, some time to think. He heard the splash of water just before her voice called out.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she said.
Connor almost left her alone, but the quietness of her voice stopped him. “You all right?”
Evelyn didn’t respond right away, which only ramped up Connor’s concerns.
“Evelyn.”
“I just … this soap is garbage,” she mumbled.
What?
Connor didn’t bother to wait for permission after he knocked the second time, and Evelyn didn’t respond. He turned the knob, and poked his head in, his gaze zoning in on the beautiful, yet hauntingly sad woman in the claw bathtub.
The tub was filled to the rim, so much so that water had spilled over onto the floor. The steam and smell of soap hung heavily into the bathroom, so strongly that it damn near made Connor sick. Evelyn stared at him from the tub, her wet hair hanging around her shoulders in dripping waves and covering her chest.
“What are you doing?”
“Washing,” she said frankly.
Connor didn’t think so, not by the look of her, anyway. Even from his position, he could clearly see that she had scrubbed her skin raw, the red hue making him wince. “Evelyn.”
She glanced down. “I want it all off, that’s all. I smell it on me. The dirt and the mustiness. I can’t get it off.”
He stepped into the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. “Is that all?”
His question was vague at best, and not exactly what he wanted to ask, but he was a feckin’ coward. He was scared that if he asked her the question burning on the back of his tongue, that her answer would be one that told him he still hadn’t made it in time to save her from one more man taking from her body.
Evelyn released a shaky breath, her hands skimming the milky colored water. “I don’t want to smell him, or the dirt, or feel it right now.”
“Scrubbing yourself raw won’t help.”
“Gives me something to do, Connor.”
“It gives you a distraction.”
Evelyn looked up at him as he came to kneel at the side of the tub. He traced the welts on her arm, and the ones leading to her back. She leaned forward when he asked, letting him check the tattoo on her back for any breaks in the skin. He found none, thankfully, but the area was quite red.
“You shouldn’t soak for too much longer,” he said. “Your back is going to breed infection. It’s not been properly cared for, love.”
She nodded. “I’ll get out.”
Evelyn still didn’t move.
Connor ran his fingers through her hair, untangling the waves with gentle strokes. “If he touched you—”
“He didn’t,” she cut in quickly but quietly, “not like that. He was more focused on hurting me in other ways.”
His relief was sweet.
It was also selfish, he knew.
Connor rubbed his thumb over a particularly sore-looking welt, just beneath her left breast. Evelyn winced, moving subtly away from his touch. “Sorry, love.”
“I learned something in all of this.”
“Did you?”
“There’s not a dark enough, or deep enough, place in my head to save me from pain that I don’t want,” she whispered. “I’ve always found it, but it wasn’t there this time.”
Connor leaned forward far enough to press a kiss to her temple. “You don’t need to have that place, now. You know that, right?”
“It’s always there, Connor. It doesn’t just go away.”
“It’s not the same as being forced into it to deal with your circumstance.”
Evelyn shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Come on, get out. The food is ready. I’ll clean your back up, too.”
She didn’t argue with him, instead standing up when he offered to help. He noticed the trail of pink slipping down her outer thigh as he reached for a towel. Instantly, Connor was back on his knees, trying to find the source of the blood. He found it easily enough—a particularly bad welt on her gardenia tattoo had been irritated enough to bleed.
Probably from her scrubbing.
“Oh, love, this needs something done for it, too,” he said, dabbing at the wound with a clean towel.
“He was angry.”
Connor looked up at her. “I’m not sure he felt any other emotion except anger.”
She shook her head. “No, about my tattoos. He was angry about them. He said I wasn’t as perfect because of them. I wasn’t supposed to be marked.”
It was only then that Conner realized the majority of Evelyn’s beating marks had focused heavily on her back and her thighs. She had others, of course, but those spots owned the very worst of them.
Something else to add to his pile of guilt that he wouldn’t speak of. He’d been the one to put the tattoos on her, but she had been the one to be beaten for wearing them.
He figured his guilt was worth nothing to her pain.
Connor continued dabbing at the broken skin on Evelyn’s thigh until the blood stopped leaking from the wound, and then he grabbed a new towel to finish drying her off.
“I can do it,” she said.
“I know you can, but you deserve a break.” Connor matched her smile. “So, let me do it.”
Evelyn gave him the softest kiss. “All right, you do it.”
He went about drying her off, helping her from the tub, and wrapping her hair with yet another clean towel. Once he was done, he stepped back to let her lead the way to the bedroom for her food. Evelyn settled into the bed, wrapping herself in blankets and huddling a pile of food in front of her. She ate as he went in search of a first aid kit, and never said a thing when he cleaned her back and thigh after finding supplies to use.
“You know,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, “for what it’s worth, love, I learned something, too.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t like it, either.”
“What was it?”
Connor pointed to his temple. “It’s too dark in here without you. I can’t hide it, everyone can see it, and I don’t like it.”
She didn’t ev
en blink at his admission, entirely unsurprised. “Strange how that works.”
Strange was one word for it.
It was only later, after the food was gone, after Connor heard his friend’s footsteps outside the bedroom before they disappeared, long after all the lights had been turned off, and Evelyn was hiding safely under the blankets …
It was only then that she cried and reached for him.
Connor held her for as long she wanted, safely hidden under those blankets, her soap-smelling skin pressed tightly against his, while her legs tangled around his body to keep him from leaving. He found that she was scared, even if she had hidden it well. He found that she wanted to go home, and hide away with her sketchbooks and pencils, so then she could bleed all the things from her mind.
He found she wanted him.
Connor hesitated before giving in, but only because he thought she needed sleep more than she needed him. He thought her injuries didn’t need to be irritated more than they already were from everything else.
None of that mattered to her.
He wasn’t very good at denying her what she wanted. It certainly wasn’t as rough as it usually was between them, nor was he as brutal. He swore her pleas and blissful cries had never been louder in his ears, that she had never tasted quite as sweet under his tongue, and her demand had never been so frantic.
In the morning, he decided.
The rest could wait until the morning.
• • •
“Are you sure this is a smart idea?” Killian asked.
Connor adjusted the knot on his tie, ignoring the way the feckin’ thing felt like it was choking him to death. He was not a three-piece suit kind of man, but apparently, the appearance of power and culture was more important than the proof of it in the grand scheme of things.
He had been back in New York for less than a week, and already, he knew things were not better on some fronts. Perhaps with Evelyn, yes. But on things like the O’Neil organization, a brotherhood that he had torn apart in his effort to get his lover back safe and sound, it was in a terrible state.
“You did say I made a mess,” Connor muttered.
Killian pulled the car into the first available parking spot, and killed the engine. His friend turned to look at him. “There are other ways we could handle that mess, too.”
“But what does that really fix in the end, boyo?”
“Well—”
“Nothing,” Connor interjected firmly. “It will fix nothing. There will always be a group of men who will only see the target on my back because of what they want to gain, or for others, the revenge they feel the need to seek out on me. There will always be the ones who push against what I demand, because they’ve been spoiled and accustomed to their business in the trade for too long.”
“You’re taking a huge risk here,” Killian warned.
Connor understood that.
He was still willing to do it.
“It’s more than them,” he explained quieter. “It’s her, too. We can’t ever understand what it was like for Evelyn, or others just like her, who were never given any other option. And for what? Their happiness is sold, a price is put on their soul, for the instant and fleeting gratification of someone else. So, I burned the organization to the ground, and now I can either fix it, or wait until someone comes back for me. I’m choosing to fix it my way.”
Killian frowned. “I get—”
“Respect that.”
Connor didn’t give his friend a chance to respond before he got out of the car, and headed toward the building just a block away from where they had parked. He was sure Killian had parked so far down, just to give Connor the opportunity to think and consider what the ramifications would be for what he was about to do.
He didn’t have much to think about.
He’d already done too much of that.
Connor walked into the Federal Bureau building, and tried not to feel like a million eyes were on him as he strolled across the main entrance. He had already made a call to the number that handled the trafficking taskforce, and was given a date and time to be at the building if he truly had some kind of information that would help the agents.
He had a whole feckin’ life worth of information.
At the reception desk, Connor gave his name, and was directed to sit. He only waited less than five minutes before two men joined him, sitting across from him in the waiting area. Both wore black suits, and neither looked particularly welcoming.
“Connor O’Neil,” one said. “We weren’t sure if it was really you.”
“Who the feck else would use my name?”
The agent shrugged. “You’d be surprised.”
The shorter of the two men leaned forward, putting his clasped hands between his knees. “We noticed your father had gone off the radar a short while ago. Imagine our surprise to find he had met a very unfortunate end in Ireland.”
“Did you get a decent look inside his house in Jersey?”
The taller of the two smirked. “We did.”
“Then you’re really going to want the rest of this.”
Connor handed over the file, and sat back in his seat, waiting. He knew what the agents would find inside, the missing information he had taken about his father, further proof of Sean being the Strangler who had evaded authorities for decades. But beyond that, Connor had also included a lot of other information he had been able gather.
Every single name of each and every man in the O’Neil organization that had a slave currently living in one of their homes or properties. It included information on whorehouses all across the city, which men they could be traced back to, and how exactly their names and involvement might be hidden on the surface.
But the information also went further again.
The agent held up a photo of Sean standing with his good and very old friend, Trevor. One of the two traffickers—major traffickers. “This man is one of the leaders of the largest human trafficking ring in the world.”
Connor nodded. “Seems he is.”
“A picture is nothing, Connor.”
“Also true.” Connor smiled. “However, there are girls in salons and whorehouses all over this city that will point to that man, and a few others who work with him, and name him. Several girls—too many. Forty-three that were delivered to businesses all across New York just last month alone. Most won’t speak English, so make sure you have translators on hand. I gave you the places to find them, now you do the work.”
The agent looking through the file glanced up. “And what do you want, Connor?”
“Well, that’s the fun part for me, isn’t it?”
“Pardon?”
“You’re just going to clean up a wee mess.” Connor smirked. “I’ll stand back and make sure you do a fine job, lads.”
The more days that passed after Evelyn’s return, and Sean’s death, the more Connor found himself watching his lover. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for—or rather, waiting for—but he thought … something.
He didn’t know how someone could go through an event like Evelyn had, and be seemingly no worse for wear. He understood that over her lifetime, she had likely spent time in the company of a few monsters who did not deserve to breathe the same air she did, while at the same time, being under the abuse and manipulation of those same monsters.
Connor wasn’t quite sure it was the same thing. Those men—the ones who had owned her, had kept her, and passed her on over the years—were not her killer. They were not the man who had likely looked into her crib after killing her mother, saw a baby girl, and decided to keep her like a souvenir until she was old enough to fit his preference for a victim. She had not looked them in the eyes, and saw evil staring back, simply because she was what they considered to be perfect.
To them, Evelyn had simply been a body to use.
To Sean, Evelyn had been the greatest gift he had ever given himself, one he waited forever to unwrap, and had planned on making sure that she fully und
erstood that in the end.
It was not the same.
Or at least, Connor didn’t think so.
So, he watched her, damn near constantly, after they returned home. A day turned into two, and then in a blink, two days had turned into a week. Before he realized it, between settling into his new, yet unstable, role as a boss of an organization he despised, and keeping an eye on Evelyn, three weeks had gone by, and she was exactly the same.
Exactly the same.
No difference.
None at all.
She slept fine.
She ate as she did before.
She drew, read, and went about her business.
Sometimes she talked, chatting on like the end of the world was near and she wasn’t sure she would get all her words out before it happened. And other times, she was silent, lost in her own mind, in some unseen place where Connor was not invited or capable of being with her. None of those things were new, though, as it was exactly the same as it had been before for Evelyn.
Right down to the fact that sometimes, she still looked to him for permission, to go into another room, to use the washroom, or even just to look out the window. She might sit at his feet while he worked in his studio, putting oil paints on canvas, creating the image of her profile to hang in the hallway. She had all sorts of things to wear, as he’d taken her out again to get more clothes, and yet she chose to dress down, never wearing too much color, or something that might be too pretty.
It took him coming home to the brownstone after being at The Ink Shoppe, hiring a new artist to take over his own space, to realize what Evelyn was doing. He found her in the entry hallway, sitting on the bench, silent and still, waiting on him.
She didn’t have to wait for him.
Evelyn was reverting back to the mindset that she had been in for years—that of a slave. Perhaps, she hadn’t entirely left it behind, as Connor had assumed given her freedom with him, and now it was simply becoming more and more prominent. Maybe she didn’t know what to do with herself now, considering everything and how much freedom she did have, or it could have been that she was just going back to what she knew.