These are all pointless, futile thoughts. I couldn’t have known who was behind the wheel of that car, and I couldn’t have known to murder his ass. I had no idea how I was going to wind up feeling about the beautiful redhead curled up into a ball in my arms…
She doesn’t even stir when her father races into the police station wearing basketball shorts and a rumpled t-shirt that he’d obviously been sleeping in before he got the call from the cops. He’s unshaven, the stubble peppered with grey around his chin. The shadows under his eyes are so dark they look like bruises. He ignores me at first, his focus entirely on his daughter.
“Presley! Oh my god, Presley, what the hell’s going on?”
She wakes, blinking blearily as he drops down onto his knees in front of us, his hands shaking as she sweeps her hair out of her eyes. Chase flinches when she sees her dad. She flinches even harder when she realizes that she’s being cradled in my arms. I won’t let her go, though. Not yet. I fucking can’t.
“Dad,” she whispers.
“They told me what happened. The policewoman on the phone. They—” His brow creases into a million lines. “They’ve gotten everything mixed up, sweetheart. They told me Jonah attacked you. I told them there’d been some kind of mistake, but—”
“No mistake,” I grind out. “That fucker’s twisted in the head. He raped her.”
In my arms, Presley whimpers, screwing her eyes shut. She’s shaking so hard, I can feel her trembling like a leaf. She can’t bear to see the look of horror on her father’s face, and my heart fucking breaks for her. My firebrand. So strong. So fierce. She shouldn’t have had to be. She should have been able to tell this man what his evil, sick son had done to her, and she should have known he’d have her back. I hate him a little bit, but not as much as I hate myself. She should have been able to tell me what had happened to her. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with protecting myself, keeping her at arm’s length, then she might have done just that.
Chase’s father looks at me finally. Recognition flashes across his face—he remembers me from the restaurant. I’d promised to look after his daughter. I’d sworn I would, and now here we are, five hours away from Mountain Lakes, and Chase was attacked because I blackmailed Jonah into staying in the city, all so I could satisfy my own stupid curiosity. I expect to see recrimination in Robert Witton’s eyes, but all I see is confusion and hurt. “You’re sure?” he asks quietly. “You’re one hundred percent sure it was him? There wasn’t a chance—”
“He did it, Dad,” Chase whispers. “He’s been doing it for…a while.”
I’ve never seen a man so desolate and harrowed until now. It’s as if Chase’s father ages twenty years right before my eyes. He looks like he’s about to throw up. He covers his mouth with one hand, staring at his daughter.
Chase pulls in a deep breath, ribcage expanding beneath my hands. She looks at her old man, steeling herself, and then she says, “He cut my wrists. He wanted me to die. He made me swear I’d lie about it or he’d hurt Mom.”
A smothered cry slips out from between Robert’s fingers. Twin, fat tears streak down his face as he processes this information. He can’t seem to get his head around it, but he takes Chase by the hand and squeezes. That’s not enough for him; he takes her from me, pulling her into his arms and crushing her to him. “God, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t even…I don’t know what to say.”
I can’t blame him for that. Maybe he ought to have seen the signs. I mean, it’s almost impossible not to notice Jonah’s insanity, but people like his son are master manipulators. They’re very good at hiding their darkness. And what father expects this kind of evil behavior from their child?
Chase starts to cry again in her father’s arms. No, she doesn’t just cry. She breaks, and it’s too much for me to bear. I clear my throat, getting to my feet. “I suppose I’ll head back,” I say softly. “I think it’s time for me to go.”
It causes me physical pain to turn and walk away from Chase. It feels fucking wrong. I don’t want to do it, but I have no place here with them right now.
“Pax, wait!”
Chase’s choked voice stops me in my tracks. She stands, walking toward me on unsteady legs. When she reaches me, she throws her arms around my neck and leans into me, still shaking, still crying. I hold her to me, closing my eyes, trying to breathe…
“Tomorrow. I’ll come to the house tomorrow. I’ll be there at eight.”
I nod.
I won’t be seeing her tomorrow, though.
I’ll be lucky if her father ever lets her out of his sight again.
46
PAX
* * *
I can’t go back to the hotel. I can’t go back to Mountain Lakes. I’m sick to my stomach, exhausted and in considerable pain. All I can do is walk.
I have no idea how it happens, but I somehow show up at the warehouse in Soho, where Callan Cross and Hilary are waiting to commence day two of our shoot. When Hilary sees me, she blanches, the color draining from her face. “Whaa…?”
I’ve never seen her lost for words before. “Don’t start,” I snap.
“Hammered shit, Pax. That’s what you look like. Hammered. Shit.”
“Why thank you.”
“I wasn’t paying you a complement, you facetious little prick. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror this morning?”
“I have not.”
“You’re covered in blood!”
Hilary looks like she’s about to have an embolism, which makes sense. She fought tooth and nail for this gig. I think she might have bartered away the first-born child she’ll never make time to have. And here I am, showing up for the second day of a shoot, looking like I got smoked by the A train.
“God, did you even shower? You smell like shit.”
I pour a huge amount of coffee into my mouth and swallow. “No. I came straight from the cop shop, and they don’t have a med spa on site.”
Hilary gapes at me. “The police?”
“I kicked the shit out of someone.”
“Pax!”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to read all about it in the paper later. But yeah, it’s as bad as you’re imagining.”
“Just…Christ! What the hell were you thinking?” Hilary asks. So disappointed. Always so, so disappointed. I am the physical embodiment of Hilary’s living regret. You’d think she’d be used to this by now. She opens her mouth, ready to launch into another tirade about how fucked up I am, I’ll bet, but I cut her off before she can start.
“No. Just…no. A girl was about to get pinned to the ground and raped. Was I supposed to kindly ask the motherfucker if he’d mind not doing it?”
She tries to speak again, but she’s not listening. Doesn’t care. I can see it on her face. I hold up a hand; my patience isn’t wearing thin. It’s non-existent. “Fuck off, Hilary. I’m going to finish this coffee, and then I’m gonna pour myself another one. The moment Cross sees me, he’s gonna send me home. Nothing to be done about it. So let’s just postpone all of the screeching until a later date, yeah? My head’s pounding.”