“Lorenzo took a bride today,” I said, deciding he should know such things.
He let out a soft, angry huff. “Fucking prick.”
I didn’t disagree. “I expect to hear it all over the news. Wedding Celeste Vander Veer is a big deal.”
He shook his head, a muscle thrumming along his jaw.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ventured.
A sour laugh slipped from him. “Is Rosalie safe?”
“She is. Alessandro is keeping watch.”
He grunted again. “Did he say that she’s OK? I worry she’s not dealing with things very well.”
“She has struggled,” I said gently. “But it is to be expected. She is surrounded by an excellent support system right now. She will prevail. She is strong.”
“She is,” he murmured. “When can I go to her?”
“Soon,” I replied. “You need to be stronger first. You can barely walk. You have much to overcome. You want to be the best version of yourself before you return to her.”
“I’m a fucking mess,” he muttered. “My face. My scars. My eye…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Fuck.”
“We can work on those things, Evan. I promise we can. I have more doctors coming in tomorrow. Physical therapy, psychologist, all of it. You will be better.”
“And if I’m not? The dreams…” He wiped at his eyes. “I-I can still feel him i-inside my body. I can’t erase the way it felt. H-How I felt.”
I ground my teeth together at his words. He hadn’t spoken much to any of us about his trauma, and I assumed that it was far too painful.
I exhaled. “We can talk about it if you want.”
“He fucked me,” he whispered, his voice wavering. “So many times. One time, he made E watch. I-I don’t know what things he even did to E. I-Is he OK?”
“He lives,” I said. “He is… working on it. At least from what I’ve heard.”
Evan closed his eyes and breathed out. “I want Everett to die. Slowly. Painfully. But maybe not all at once. A long, drawn-out process so he knows how it feels to be tortured.”
“He will,” I said. “I will see to it. Everett Church will pay for what he did to you. I promise.”
He nodded. “I hope so.”
“I know someone who does remarkable work with tattoos,” I said, wanting to change the subject so he wasn’t in so much pain over his memories.
“Yeah?” He looked at me with interest. I took it and ran with it.
I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off so he could see the sleeve tattoos that ran down both my arms and across my chest.
“Wow,” he murmured, eyeing them. “Those are really good. Endure?”
“All things,” I answered, explaining the tattooed word across my chest. “It’s what victims do. They endure.”
“You’re a victim?” he asked as I put my shirt back on.
“I am. I-I was hurt many times as a child. It was a way to toughen me up. I was a softer boy. I liked to read. I liked playing music and writing lyrics. I was quite gifted at it. My parents did not see it as something I should be doing. So I endured years of abuse because of it.” I paused and studied him. I hadn’t spoken about my abuse in many years, if at all.
“I was… like you, but I was younger when it happened,” I whispered, unable to get the words out without my voice shaking. “Rinaldo Church. Everett’s adoptive father. He was in charge of the underground until Everett took over. He was my father’s—your grandfather’s— best friend. I was given to him to toughen up. I… he…” I frowned, my brows crinkling as I tried to get the images in my head to go away.
“You don’t have to relive it,” Evan said gently. “I get it.”
