“He left no tracks, no DNA, no clues,” I explain, “Even after he attacked me and sent flowers to the hospital, the investigators couldn’t trace him. He was invisible.”
I hold Dean’s stare, urging him to understand, “The police said the investigation was open and active, but I don’t think they really cared. So, I left. I got a fake ID, and I called Savannah.”
“Your name isn’t Sloane Reynolds.”
“My name is Sloane,” I place the bottle down, lifting Lily so I can tap her back, “Sloane Harding.”
“You’ve been hiding from him.”
“The best I can,” I nod. “The cops wouldn’t help me, so I did it myself. I took all my money out of my account so my card couldn’t be traced, and found a lease with someone willing to take cash and no documents. I closed all my social media accounts, my email, got rid of my cell and got a sim only. I didn’t want to exist anymore, Dean.”
A silence falls between us, my words hanging in the air.
“I left everything behind, my whole family, my job, and my friends. And I live in fear every single day. I see him everywhere, in everybody. I hear his voice. I don’t sleep, I don’t switch off. Whenever I turn the light off, I feel like I’m being dragged under. I am surviving, Dean, but I stopped living. He did manage to kill me that night, in every way but physically.”
He continues to stare at me, his eyes bouncing around my face, and my skin prickles with the intensity of it. I can no longer take the silence and stand.
“I’m going to take Lily to bed,” I stand from the couch, walking by him and head up the stairs, only for him to follow. He watches me the entire time, while I change and ready Lily for bed, while I rock her until she’s almost asleep and then place her in her crib and after I step out the room and pull the door up, I move to head back downstairs, but his hand circles my wrist, stopping me. I turn to him, a question on my lips, but he just gestures to the door beside Lily’s, silently requesting me to follow.
I do as asked, following him into his bedroom until we stop at the bed, and he turns, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the mattress, his hand falling to the curve of my hip. His eyes stay on mine as his fingers dance at the hem of my top, and when I don’t stop him, he lifts it, slowly revealing the angry scarring at my hip.
It isn’t the first time he’s seen them, but this time feels different. There are no lies hiding them.
His finger runs the length of the one that severs my butterfly in half, his touch so gentle, it’s as soft as the whisper of a feather. “It takes courage to continue when everything has been ripped away from you.” He rasps as he leans forward and touches his lips to the scar. My skin pebbles and heat explodes in my lower abdomen, my heart starting to pound. The scratch of his facial hair and the pillowy softness of his mouth are a juxtaposition that throws my body into the kind of meltdown I’m not sure I’ll recover from.
“Dean,” I whisper his name, for what? I don’t know. A plea for more, perhaps, or for him to stop? All I know is that I like his mouth on me. I like the way his hair scratches my skin, how his warmth rolls over me and heats me from within.
“Live, Sloane,” He moves his mouth to my hip bone, “Keep living, keep going.”
My knees begin to wobble as my nipples pebble, the warmth blooming between my legs. He runs his lips along one of the smaller scars and then stops at the broken butterfly, pressing his mouth to it.
“You survived, Sloane Harding,” He looks up, “So live.”
“I don’t know how anymore,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Then we start one day at a time.” He looks away quickly, “But there’s something else I need to tell you.”
He moves further back, allowing my top to fall back into place, which leaves me cold. I wrap my arms around myself, readying myself, knowing I’m not going to like what I am about to hear.
“The man I killed today,” He gently coaxes me to sit beside him as he speaks, “He works for a very dangerous man.”
“Like you?” I press.
“No,” He sighs, “We have rules, Sloane. We are not good, but there are lines we do not cross.”
I nod, swallowing, “Okay.”
“The man he works for, Richard Taylor, will do anything for money and power. He’s been trafficking women.”
My heart drops into my stomach.
“I was working on getting information about him, and he found out. That’s why we were shot at. He was trying to stop me.”
“So, what does that have to do with me?” There are razors in my throat, scratching at it with every word.
“He’s realized you’re important to me, and that makes you important to my organization. He has threatened to use you as leverage.”
My eyes squeeze closed. No. No, I can’t do this again. I can’t.
