“Incident report says Rees stole a meat mallet from the kitchen. Cornered the guy in a cell and beat him until he almost died, but not before torturing him first. Started with breaking his fingers, knee caps, collar bone. Then, wrapped the guy’s head in a sheet, busted his teeth out, his nose, his face to a pulp. Then started on his skull.”
“How did it get that far? Did the guy not scream?”
Darby nodded to the report. “You’ll read in there that Rees gained quite the following in prison. Had his buddies stage a diversion—a fist fight in the rec room—while he beat the guy. Rees spent two weeks in the hole.”
“What was the fight about?”
“My DPD contact thinks some sort of show of power. Leadership.”
I skimmed Rees’s latest mental health assessment where the psychiatrist diagnosed him with BPD, or Borderline Personality Disorder, with emphasis on something called Borderline Rage, described as inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger. The doctor noted that this impulsivity appeared to increase with his time in imprisonment. The doctor suggested antipsychotics, on-going therapy, as well as a full medical evaluation and DNA analysis.
Goosebumps flew over my skin as I stared down at the image of Kenzo Rees taken after the incident of him beating an inmate. Short, buzzed hair highlighted a blotchy, scarredscalp and a two inch row of stitches above his right ear. He had narrow, beady eyes, a sharp nose and jawline. Tattoos colored his neck, a few extending onto his jaw. I knew his type. I’d arrested his type.
I’d kicked his type’s ass.
A flurry of thoughts shot through my head, including Rees ripping Sunny’s hair from the roots. Throwing her down the stairs, beating her head against a mirror. Then, my thoughts switched to images of her kissing him. Having sex with him. Her beinghis.
My pulse skyrocketed.
I zeroed in on a small, circular tattoo just below his left eye.
“Was Rees in a prison gang?”
“It was the assumption. The Collars, they called themselves. The crowd he ran with was no stranger to solitary confinement, let’s just say that.”
“The tattoo under his eye appears to be new. See if he got it in prison.”
Darby shook his head. “Tattoos are illegal in prison. In the US, anyway.”
“It’s amazing what you can do with a confiscated ballpoint pen.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Rees’s picture. Dark, slitted eyes with wide pupils, the irises as black as the ink below. There was a swirly look to them, feral. Crazy.
And Sunny haddated him?
My headache turned into a meat mallet pounding my brain. The fact that Sunny had dated such a loser was another thing about the woman that didn’t add up.
What the hell was she thinking?
Sunny didn’t lock her doors, didn’t listen to me, her doctor, and dated gang members?
What had she seen in him? I knew he’d been her high school boyfriend, but even if the guy had drastically changed over the years, I knew from experience, that someone who had the capability to beat another human unconscious showed signs years before the attack, sometimes as early as childhood. What had a beautiful, smart, well-kept millionaire’s daughter seen in Kenzo Rees?
I contemplated that for a minute, then realized I couldn’t see her with the captain of the football team, either. I couldn’t see Sunny with anyone. Nothing, or no one, seemed to fit the badass loner.
I visioned her from the visit that morning. The softness I’d seen in her, the nurturing care and love she put into her dogs. The dedication she put into training and rehabilitating animals.
“It’s not just time and effort, it’s perseverance. Not giving up on them.”
Her words suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks, and suddenly everything made sense.
Sunny Harper was loyal. She was the type of woman who didn’t give up on someone. She put in the work. Didn’t back down. Didn’t run when the cards weren’t in her favor.
Sunny Harper was a freaking saint.
She’d probably stood by Kenzo Rees, trying to pull him back when he strayed to the dark side. My dad had been the same way. Loyal to a fault. And look where that got him.
The thought made my skin crawl for so many different reasons. And, for what seemed like the hundredth time since I’d met Sunny, I suspected there was more to the story.
