The absurdity of that idea almost makes me bark out a laugh. “Not either of those things.”
She sighs and leans back in the seat. “So what happens now, Mr. Nobody?”
“I’m going to take you to a safe house and you can stay there for as long as you need to. You’ll be given a prepaid credit card with enough money to start over. It’s up to you what you do next, Leah.”
“And that’s it. You’re just going to leave me?”
A pang of guilt lances through me, but I’m not her fucking savior. Definitely not anybody’s hero. I already did my part, so why do I suddenly feel like shit for just dropping her at a safe house? “The house is in a nice little town. The neighbors are good people and we work with a charity from Chicago who can help you get back on your feet. You won’t be entirely alone.”
“I will be though, won’t I?” she sniffs.
“Do you have family somewhere?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“How did you end up at the auction?”
“I met this guy who offered me some work in a club. Next thing I knew I was in some house with a whole load of other girls and...” She swallows. “So how do I just go back to normal life after everything that just happened? After I killed three guys.”
“There’s not a single person with any kind of moral compass who would judge you for what you did, Leah. And as for what you do next, that’s really up to you. Get some therapy. Go to the cops if that will make you feel better. I know it won’t be easy, but those sick fucks have taken enough, haven’t they? Are you going to let them beat you, or are you going to live the best fucking life you can?”
I give a lot of them this same speech, and I mean every word of it, even if I’m always aware of the irony. Am I living the best life I can? Not even close, but I am doing what I can to pay for my sins, and maybe that’s the best life there can ever be for a man like me.
“Who are you?” she asks again. “How will I ever be able to pay you back if I don’t know who you are.”
“You want to pay me back? Promise me you’ll do everything you can to have a good life. Get some help and make some friends and go live, Leah. That’s all I want from you.”
She picks at the edge of her T-shirt. “I’ll try, Mr. Nobody.”
Chapter 19
Imogen
Pierre sits beside me on the wrought iron bench we uncovered together earlier this morning. I pull off my headphones and let them dangle around my neck. They’re the ones he kindly loaned me after lunch when he complained that my choice of music wasan abomination.
He rests his hands on his thighs and lets out a contented sigh, his face tilted up toward the sun. “I see now why this bench is here. It faces south and gets the best of the sun’s rays for the day.”
“It’s beautiful,” I agree.
“Were you listening to your awful music, mademoiselle?”
“Actually, I thought I’d give the Boss a try. I was listening to ‘Thunder Road.’”
His entire face fills with delight. “Ah, a classic. And what, pray, did you think of it?”
“I like it. Some of the lyrics are beautiful—poetic. It’s pretty sad though.”
“Sad?” he scoffs. “How so?”
“When he sings about the ghosts of all the lovers she’s lost and how they’re gone when she gets to her porch. It’s a song about regret and missed opportunities.”
He searches for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze whenhe finds it, his touch gentle and reassuring. It makes me feel strange—good strange. Like I’ve known him a lot longer than a month. “Or per’aps, mademoiselle, it is a song of hope and new opportunity?”
Maybe. Did I focus on Mary’s past rather than the future she could have if she just took the guy’s hand and climbed into his car? “Then I’ll listen to it again.”
