I clenched my jaw. Anger rose inside of me, but I tried to ignore it.
I had to do this. Had to talk about it.
Needed to do this. For him as much as for myself.
“Do you think he took you off the case because…” My throat was a desert. I couldn’t finish the question because if the answer was yes, then I was going to lose my shit.
“No,” Ford rushed to say. His warm hand was on my arm, grounding me as my vision clouded to the point I couldn’t see anything but white. “No. I don’t think he had anything to do with the case either way, actually. It would have looked good for him if I’d helped to bring the C&D Killer down because he’d put me in that seat. That was all. I really don’t think he gave a shit about saving your—”
“Don’t,” I cut in, mouth dry. “Don’t call him…”
“Hey,” he whispered softly. The couch shifted, and then he was right there, his arms pulling me into his warm body. I went willingly. My face fell into the crook of his neck, and he held me while I tried not to fall apart. “We don’t have to talk about it. But I didn’t want to keep it from you. Secrets hurt the people we care about the most, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
I believed him.
Which hurt even more that I’d treated him the way I had. That I’d wanted to lie to him, even if the lies always seemed to get stuck in my throat.
“He’s a monster, and I wish I’d never known him,” I said. Those words had been dying to get out for years. I didn’t regret them, and I sure as hell didn’t wish I could take them back.
My father was a fucking monster.
And I wish I didn’t share blood with him.
He killed twenty-seven women, that they had proof of. Another five he’d confessed to, but he refused to give up the locations of where he’d left the bodies.
“He killed my girlfriend,” I said, a wave of anger following those words. I pulled away from Ford’s embrace but didn’t put distance between us. His knee was pressed against mine and his hand came to rest on my thigh. “He strangled her with her own underwear, carved his mark into her chest, and then…”
I choked on the words. A huge lump was in my throat that I couldn’t move past. I didn’t have to tell Ford any of this, it was likely he knew the details of how my father killed his victims. Each one was the same. Each one suffered the same fate. Each one of them deserved so much better.
“And then he dumped her where he thought no one would find her. Like she was trash. Like she didn’t matter.” That was why they dubbed him the Carve and Dump Killer, or C&D Killer for short. The name alone made bile rise up my throat. I exhaled a heavy breath, the weight of saying it out loud for the first time lifted enough that I felt like I could finally breathe. “He pretended to head a search party when we thought she was missing. He stood by me and her parents, pretending to be worried, spilling words of God like that alone would give us strength and absolve him from his sins at the same time.”
He ruined so many lives.
I fucking hated him.
Which meant, that most days I hated myself. Hated my reflection. Hated the choices I’d made in life. Hated the blood running through my veins.
Hated that I could have been able to stop him, but I had been blinded by the false pretty picture that had sucked me in since I was a child. I had been taught that you didn’t ask questions. That God would lead you to the light as long as you had faith in Him, and as long as you walked with others who had faith, you’d never be led astray.
My dad was a man of God. He spoke the word of God to a whole congregation of people. So, therefore, there was no way he could have been evil.
Every week he stood up there preaching those things, hope and love and “do unto others,” and the whole time he’d been harming innocent people… like he had the right to.
People like him made me sick. Made me hate the world. Made me want to rid the earth of all of them.
It probably wasn’t healthy, but it was what kept me going.
My chest expanded with a deep breath, then caved with a sob. The tears were hot as they ran down my face. Ford wrapped his arms around me, holding me while I broke down.
It didn’t last long. Yeah, that mentality of ‘gotta stay strong’ was still woven deep in my bones. I didn’t think less of anyone that gave a good masculine cry, but the rules were completely different when turned on myself. That was something I’d have to work on later.
Ford must have been a damn magician because I couldn’t begin to say how I went from crying into his shoulder to lying on the couch, trapped between him and the back cushions. His arms were around me, and he gave me what I probably needed the most, silent understanding and support.
I breathed him in, holding him back as tightly as he held me.
In and out.
In and out.
