Filmore gave Preacher a dirty look. “No offense, Mr. Graves, but with your past, you don’t make the most compelling witness.”
“I could testify about what they did to me growing up. The abuse,” Memphis managed, sweat once more beading on his forehead.
“Your brother abused you when you were younger, too?” Manchester asked.
Memphis shrugged. “Yeah, some. At my father’s request.”
“That doesn’t hold much weight ten years later. An attorney could argue he only did it under duress, for fear of being abused like you were,” Manchester argued.
Memphis shot to his feet so fast both officers were reaching for their weapons when they realized he was whipping his t-shirt and sweatshirt up, turning so they could see his back. Manchester audibly gasped. Preacher had to bite down on the inside of his cheek, hands fisted against his thighs as the taste of metal filled his mouth.
While Memphis’s chest and belly were smooth muscle, except for what looked like an appendectomy scar on his left side, his back was a disaster, a patchwork quilt of scar-tissue that started at his neck and disappeared under his jeans. “Does this look like something somebody did under duress? Does it? Have you ever had somebody set you on fire just for fun? ‘Cause I have.”
Preacher had seen a lot of shit in his day. A lot. Twenty plus years in prison will show you how truly sick and depraved humans can be to other creatures, especially other humans. But he’d never, ever seen anything like what he saw right then. Clearly the detectives hadn’t either because they seemed to have been rendered speechless.
“Mr. Camden…” Manchester started before trailing off.
“Nash did this?” Preacher asked softly as Memphis righted his clothing.
“Either him or my father. I’d made the mistake of falling asleep on the floor of the living room, trying to do my homework. I woke up on fire, with my father and Nash sitting in their recliners, laughing their asses off. It was my dad’s girlfriend who threw the blanket on me and smothered the flames. She was the one who drove me to the hospital and told them all about my tragic ‘accident,’” he said, hooking his fingers into air quotes.
“Jesus,” Filmore muttered, jamming his finger down on the recorder.
“Do you want to press charges?” Preacher asked.
“Statute of limitations on aggravated battery is six years,” Manchester said, sounding as nauseated as she was furious.
Memphis shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t press charges against Tennessee Camden. At least, that’s what the police chief told me when he came to visit me the day after they’d woken me from my medically induced coma.”
Manchester leaned forward. “Listen, I don’t know what kind of deal your family has with Rexford, but it doesn’t extend to us. We just want to find out what happened to your brother so we can put the right people behind bars.”
“Look, I appreciate what you’re saying, but your intentions don’t matter. If you go after my father or the Devil’s Crew, you’ll end up dead, just like anybody else who’s ever tried. That’s just how it is around here. The best thing you can do for me is help get my brother as far away from this place as possible. With any luck, they won’t look for him anymore than they looked for me.”
The whole way back to the hospital, Memphis stewed over his conversation with the detectives. He had no idea what was happening to him. He was all over the place, blaming his father and brother one minute, saying it wasn’t worth even trying to convict them the next. Showing them his back. Showing Preacher his back. Memphis didn’t do that. People he’d known for years had never seen his scars. They were just too ugly, too awful, and they led to too many questions and a level of pity that Memphis just couldn’t tolerate.
It made hookups difficult. There were too many rules for most men to bother. Don’t touch his back, don’t turn on the lights, don’t ask questions. After a while, it was just easier to jerk off. So, why had he done it? Part of Memphis was just hoping to shock Preacher, make him stop looking at him like he wasn’t broken or damaged. He was both and so much more. Then again, Preacher was a murderer, and yet, even that hadn’t shocked Memphis out of remembering what it felt like to have his hands cupping his face, his voice crooning at him to breathe. Preacher Graves was sexy no matter how inappropriate it was for Memphis to think so. There was no ignoring that.
Back at the hospital, Knox was sitting up in bed. Preacher’s friend Nicky was sitting half on, half off the mattress, a second controller in his hand.
“I’m gonna get you this time,” Knox swore around a laugh.
“You’re gonna eat my dust, short stuff,” Nicky promised, a mad cackle escaping a second before it abruptly died as a turtle shell came from out of nowhere, sending him careening off the track.
“Hah. I told you I’d beat you!” Knox shouted, fist pumping the air.
Something lightened in Memphis’s chest. Knox wasn’t lost emotionally. He could still laugh, could still feel happy. Kids were resilient. Not like Memphis. Nicky’s husband was a looming, faceless shadow in the corner, his silhouette enough to give pause to anybody who might try to hurt his brother. It made Memphis think maybe he should go. Maybe these people were what Knox needed, not some gloomy black cloud who didn’t know how to let go of his past.
“Preacher, Memphis!” Knox said, voice excited. “Did you see that? I beat him. He’s a computer guy and I beat him.”
Memphis forced a smile onto his face. “I did see that. That’s awesome.”
It felt so fake, so false, but Knox beamed at him before flopping back down onto his pillows. Nicky stood, setting the controller back down. “Thanks for letting us hang out with you for a while. Would it be okay if we came and saw you again sometime?”
Knox nodded shyly. Nicky acted like it was the best news he’d ever heard.
“Awesome.” He held his fist out, and Knox bumped it. “Blow it up?” Knox smiled, opening his fist as Nicky did the same, making an explosion sound.
As they were leaving, Memphis watched Nicky thread his and Cy’s fingers together and felt a stabbing pain in his heart. He’d never have that. There would never be anybody who Memphis could just reach for, who wouldn’t hesitate to reach back. Most of the time, he convinced himself he didn’t want that. Love only led to broken promises and broken bones. But sometimes, like now, he wondered what it would be like to trust that somebody would always have his back.
