Surprise splays across Kent’s face. “If you weren’t ready, you weren’t ready.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
He nods slowly. “I know that now.” His tone is soft. “And Keanu doesn’t hold it against you. He never has, and he never would.”
“What if I’m never able to let it go, Kent? What if my past follows me around the rest of my life? How on Earth is that fair to him? To me?” I slap a hand across my chest, fighting a swelling of emotion. “Because I deserve to be normal. I want to make love with my boyfriend and not worry about falling apart!” I blurt.
Oh God. I can’t believe I just said that. And to Keanu’s man-whore brother of all people. I look away, embarrassed and pissed.
“Selena.”
I tilt my head up.
“It’d be worse if you went the opposite way,” he says. “If you used sex to try to fix the broken parts. You haven’t done that, because you’ve got more respect for yourself and my brother.”
I peer deep into his eyes, and I see so many hidden depths. Kent is nothing like I expected. I don’t know if he’s different with me because he thinks I’m that fragile or if he’s showing me a part of himself he normally keeps locked up.
“I wish it was about respect,” I say after a few beats of silence. “But it’s more to do with fear and guilt.”
We stare at one another again.
“What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?” he says, winking as he pushes off the counter, breaking whatever moment we were having.
“Yes,” I whisper in agreement, long after he’s exited the kitchen.
* * *
“Are you sure you don’t want to postpone it?” Keanu asks again as we pull up outside the FBI offices in Chelsea.
“I’d rather get it over and done with.”
“Baby.” He takes my hand, rubbing soothing circles on my palm with his thumb. “We’ve had a rough night and a rough morning. We can push this out if you need more time.”
“It won’t make a bit of difference, K. I’ll still be on edge tomorrow or next week or whenever I decided to do this. This isn’t going to be pleasant or easy for either of us.”
Pressure settles on my chest, pushing and pushing, until it feels like I can’t breathe. I inhale deeply, drawing long breaths in and out, until the edgy feeling subsides. Keanu has already removed the lavender oil from his pocket, rubbing a couple drops on my wrist.
On instinct, I lean over and peck his lips. “You look after me so well.”
“I love you, and I want to take care of you,” he quietly admits. Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, he looks like he’s contemplating something. “Forever, Sel. I want to take care of you forever. You get that, right?”
“Even if I—”
He places his fingers to my lips, shoving the words back inside. “Don’t say it. We are going to have it all, Sel. I trust in us. In you. And maybe this hypnosis therapy will work.”
I’d conducted some research on hypnotherapy before my Wednesday session with Denise, so I was somewhat informed. Denise explained hypnosis can help with unlocking traumatic memories and it might even enable me to process and heal in a quicker time frame, but it’s not without risk, and it comes with no guarantees.
She has recommended EMDR therapy, which is a form of therapy that enables people to heal from the symptoms and emotional distress emanating from traumatic life experiences. She told me although it’s widely assumed that severe emotional pain requires a long time to heal, this form of therapy has proven that the mind can heal from psychological trauma in the same way the body recovers from physical trauma. It’s all centered around changing the neural pathways in the brain. She reminded me she had brought it up in the past, but I’d always dismissed it.
I don’t remember that.
But I’m willing to give it a try now.
It might help uncover memories that will aid the FBI investigation. And it might give me some semblance of closure. Some peace of mind.
Denise said she had a patient who was a victim of sexual abuse as a child and the therapy made a vast difference in her healing. She recovered her memories and processed them, and it made a huge difference in her life. She couldn’t go into details, for obvious reasons, but hearing that helped me make the decision to pursue it.
Denise knows a specialist who practices EMDR therapy, and she’s arranging an initial consultation for me.
It’s good to feel like I’m doing something. Because I need something to move forward.
I can’t forget Clive Lawrence is in this city, not a million miles away from me, and he could discover me at any moment.
Although my bodyguards go everywhere with me and they drive me to and from school, yoga, and the grocery store, I’m still on edge. Still constantly looking over my shoulder. And I’m never going to move forward until I’ve dealt with him and other aspects of my past.
Which is why I need to do this today.
Keanu’s troubled eyes meets mine as he waves his hand in front of my face. I zoned out, and now, he’s panicking. “Sel?”
“I’m okay.” I rub my thumb along his inviting lower lip. “I want them to catch that bastard so I stop worrying about him coming for me.” Thankfully, Keven’s boss agreed to investigate, and that’s why we’re here. I open the car door, glancing over my shoulder at my boyfriend. “C’mon. Let’s do this.”
* * *
“It’s nice to meet you, Selena,” Supervisory Special Agent Clement says when Keven ushers us into his superior’s office a short while later. “Although I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.” He extends his arm to me, and I shake his hand.
“And you must be Keanu,” the SSA says, and Keanu nods. “The family resemblance is striking.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, sir.” Keanu shakes his hand while keeping one arm locked around my waist.
“Please take a seat.” He gestures toward a black leather couch at the other side of the room.
Keanu and I sit down on the couch while the SSA and Keven take two of the three chairs in front of us.
“We usually conduct these meetings in an interview room, but Sinead thought a more relaxed environment might suit better.”
“Sinead, Agent Cunningham, is one of my colleagues,” Keven explains. “She should be here any second now.”
A sharp knock on the door heralds her arrival just as the words leave Keven’s lips.
A slim woman in a gray pantsuit enters the room. Her dark hair is cut into an angular bob, framing a heart-shaped face and button nose. Her hips sway as she strides confidently to where we’re sitting. She stops in front of me, placing a brown paper folder on the coffee table before extending her hand. “I’m Sinead. I’ll be working on the investigation with Keven.”
“I’m Selena, and this is Keanu.” I take her hand, hoping she doesn’t notice how badly I’m shaking.
“Thank you both for dropping by. I know this must be nerve-wracking,” she says, sitting beside Keven. “But I want to reassure you anything you tell us will be treated with the utmost privacy. Our team has been working hard these past eighteen months to bring these criminals down, but we keep meeting roadblocks. We’re hoping you might have some intel that will help us to break the case.”
“I’m not sure that I do, but I’ll tell you all I can.” I clasp my necklace, tracing my fingers back and forth across the cold metal.
“Sometimes, even the smallest detail can matter,” Keven says. “Some of these guys are already on our radar, but your knowledge could make all the difference.”
Keanu takes my free hand, squeezing it firmly, and a layer of stress lifts off my shoulders.
“I thought it might be helpful to outline some of the background before we discuss the specifics of your case,” the SSA says.
“Okay.” I wet my dry lips, willing my heart to stop careening around my chest.
“If you need to take a break at any time, just let us know,”
Keven says, reassuring me with his eyes.
Another knock on the door elevates my blood pressure higher, and Keanu sits in closer, sliding his arm around my back, lending me more physical support.
A woman wearing a black skirt and white blouse enters the room, carrying a tray. She sets it down on the coffee table and leaves without uttering a word.
“Can I get you a coffee or some water, Selena?” Sinead asks.
“Water, please.”
She pours water from a bottle into a glass, handing both to me. Kev pours Keanu and himself a coffee while the SSA and Sinead grab a water too. When everyone is settled, they begin to explain.
“There are several criminal organizations operating in the Massachusetts area,” the SSA explains. “And their main sources of income are racketeering, drugs, guns, and the sex trade, specifically prostitution and the exploitation of minors.”
“Like I explained,” Kev adds, jumping in when the SSA looks to him to continue, “there’s been an escalation in violence on the streets since Jeremy Garcia’s death, Daniel Stanten’s imprisonment, and Carmine Mancusso’s passing. But it’s still business as usual, and that means every week more girls are brought into the city and forced into prostitution. Sinead and I have been following the trail, and the supply is coming from two main areas. Mexico and Texas.”
“However,” Sinead says, picking up where Keven left off. “The operations in Mexico and Texas are supplying various different entities, not just feeding the pipeline here in Massachusetts. We’ve heard rumors of an elite organization, headed by a powerful figure in the US political arena, that operates on a private island, off the coast of Florida.”
My pulse thumps wildly in my neck, and sweat coats my palms. I sip my water, praying I keep it down.
“Our intel suggests this island is a haven for wealthy, powerful, well-connected men to indulge in illegal sexual activity with minors forced into prostitution,” Keven says. “We are building profiles on some of these men, thanks to a few informants, and that is how Clive Lawrence first came to our attention.”
“Does the name Gerald Allen, Junior mean anything to you?” The SSA asks as Sinead pulls a photo from the paper file now resting in her lap. “He’s a senator from Florida.”
My mouth turns as dry as the Gobi Desert.
“This is him,” Sinead says, handing the picture to me. I put my water down and accept the photo with trembling fingers.
I stop breathing the second I glance at the photo. His mocking green eyes stare at me from behind a large, mahogany desk. His tailored suit and the expensive watch on his wrist, along with the opulence of his surroundings, convey power and confidence, and he looks like the classical definition of a successful businessman.
Except he’s not.
He’s a monster who preys on vulnerable children and exploits them for monetary gain.
My hand visibly shakes as I hold the photo, and I know everyone can see. My breath lodges in my throat and nausea churns in my gut as memories of encounters with that pervert flood my mind. Every muscle in my body is stretched tight, and a physical pain sits on my chest, compressing my air supply, making breathing difficult.
Keanu raises my wrist to my nose. “Breathe, baby. In and out. Nice and slow.” I stare into his eyes as I focus on my breathing. Keanu’s chest rises and falls in sync with mine, and his steady, supportive expression, as well as the scent of lavender on my skin, helps to quell the storm rising inside me.
“Are you okay to continue?” Sinead asks, and I’m grateful for the lack of pity in her matter-of-fact gaze.
I give a curt nod of my head, handing the photo back to her. “That’s him,” I quietly admit. “That’s the man who owns the island.”
“You’ve met him?” Sinead asks.
I nod again, looking down at my hand curled around Keanu’s. “He came on the weekends when most of the parties took place,” I explain. “Although, Freddie was the one who ran the island, ensuring everything went smoothly.”
“So, you have been on the island?” Keven inquires.
“Yeah. When I was first taken there, I didn’t know where I was. I could’ve been in outer space. We weren’t allowed outside beyond the main facility, so I couldn’t see for myself, but clients referred to it as an island, and when Lawrence took me with him, we went on a ship.”
“Are you okay to look at some other profiles?” Sinead asks.
“Okay.” I glance at Keanu, and he presses a kiss to my temple.
Sinead lays several photos on the coffee table. “Point to anyone you recognize. Anyone you remember seeing on the island.”
I point out nine of the fourteen men in the photos.
The SSA and Keven trade a look.
“These men were on the island?” Sinead asks.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?” she probes.
“I haven’t forgotten any of their faces.” Not when I’ve spent years regularly seeing them in my nightmares. “I’m sure.”
“And what about these men?” Keven asks, laying another six photos down.
A violent shiver works its way through me as I stare into the face of pure evil. My stomach wrenches, and a strangled sound rips from my mouth. Keanu rubs my back, and I lean into him, needing his support. “That’s Freddie,” I croak, pointing at the man who made my life a misery for years. “And that’s Hudson, his second in command,” I add, pointing at the photo next to his. Another shudder whips through me, and I bite down on my lower lip so hard it’s no surprise I draw blood.
“You’re doing fantastic, Selena,” the SSA says, nodding. “And this is already helping a lot. You’ve just identified a number of high-profile figures we suspected were involved, and you’ve pinpointed a number of men within the organization we’ve been watching and building profiles on.”
Sinead gathers up the photos, putting them back in the file, and I slump against Keanu.
“If you feel up to it, we’d like to ask you some questions about the island,” Keven says in a gentle tone.
Reliving my existence on that island is the last thing I want to do, but I knew coming here they would want to know. I’ve already warned Keanu this won’t be easy to listen to, but I need to remind him again. I twist around, peering deep into his eyes. “Are you sure you want to stay for this?”
His eyes probe mine. “I’m going nowhere, Sel. Unless it’d make you more comfortable to talk about it with me not here.”
I vigorously shake my head because nothing could be further from the truth. But I’m scared what he hears today might color his view of me.
As if he’s read my mind, he says, “Nothing you say here will change how I think or feel about you, Selena. I know you were forced to do things against your will. I also know you survived because you are smart and strong and you did what you had to do.” He brushes a stray hair off my face. “Say what you need to say, and if it gets too much, we can leave.”
“I love you,” I mouth even though the others can see.
“I love you too,” he mouths back, reassuring me with his touch and his eyes and his cautious smile.
“Okay.” I sigh heavily as I turn around. “What do you want to know?”
22
Keanu
I’ve never felt more helpless than I do as I sit listening to my girl explaining how life on the island worked. Or more sickened. But I deliberately force my feelings aside because this is about supporting Selena. And I know it’s much harder for her to relive it than it is for me to hear it.
“When I first arrived, I was trained by some of the older girls so I’d know what to expect the first time I was raped. Master Allen sold my virginity at an auction.” She visibly shivers, and I’m struggling to breathe. “After that, I was expected to become knowledgeable in all things sexual. We watched porn, watched others having sex with clients, and were made to have sex with the guards, all in the name of ‘training.’” Derision drips from her tone and her expression. “The only positive to come out of
it was after we were deemed skillful to let loose on the clients we were off-limits to the guards. Not that that stopped Freddie.”
Her eyes darken, and she clenches her teeth. Every tendon in her body is locked tight. I smooth a hand up and down her back, but nothing relaxes her.
“We were pampered and well looked after, provided we cooperated,” she says. Her eyes dart all over the room, and I know it’s hard for her to relay this, let alone look these FBI agents in the eyes and tell them directly to their faces. “We had to look a certain way for the clients, so even when we were punished, they never marked our faces.”
“And how often were clients on the island?”
“Most of the clients arrived on weekends, but some came for weeks at a time. Like a vacation.”
My stomach tightens into knots as I exchange a loaded look with my brother. He’s around this stuff all the time. He knows what kind of sick, twisted bastards prey on the weak and vulnerable, but I can tell this is especially hard for him. Because Selena is an extension of me—this hurts him too.
“And what happened when clients were there?” the SSA asks in a gentle tone.
“We were assigned certain clients,” Selena explains in a neutral voice, and I know she’s gone to that place inside where she shuts everyone and everything out. She’s on autopilot mode, clinically explaining how things went down, while she keeps a tight rein on her emotions. It’s the only way she can do this. I hold her closer, needing her to know I’m in this with her.
“Some clients would request certain girls. They had their favorites. On Friday nights, they held these massive parties in the large ballroom. Clients would get drunk and high and fuck their way through the room. There were no rules and no limitations. We did whatever was asked of us.”
She stares off into space, and I think I might puke. Sel has told me some stuff, but she’s never gone into detail, and I’ve never asked.
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