Page 64 of Shadow Man
“My father sold her into a sexual trafficking ring.” He says it brusquely to conceal his emotion, but I can hear the distant echo of it anyway. “It’s the same ring we were tracking last year.”
“The same ring that stole and a-abused me,” I say, stumbling over the word, and hating myself for showing him weakness.
“Yes.”
“Are they all dead?”
“What do you think?” He flicks me that cold, killer gaze again.
“Did they suffer?”
“Not enough.” He plunges a needle into my arm near the wound. “Local anesthetic. This thing needs stitches.”
“Thank you for killing them,” I say quietly.
“Joseph did most of the dirty work. Maybe thank him with something other than words... I’m sure he’d appreciate it.” He dark gaze is mocking me now.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be fixed enough for that,” I say blushing.
“Then I’ll share with you what I told him yesterday. Everything can be fixed if you’re willing to pay the price.”
“Maybe I’m too emotionally broke to pay it… How do you know how to do all this?” I watch him chuck the empty hypodermic onto the metal tray.
“I’ve been on the frontline of a few battles in my time.”
“You mean in the military? With Joseph?” I glance toward the bed again.
“Yes.”
“Did you meet his wife?”
“Once.”
“Caleb—?”
“Was his son.”
“Was?” I gasp out, pouncing on the word.
“Some accident. Years ago.” He’s predictably sparse on the details. The man has the sensitivity range of a robot.
“I didn’t know… No wonder he keeps the rings on a chain around his neck.”
“Those aren’t his wedding rings. He buried those with Rebecca.”
Rebecca.“Then whose —?”
“This isn’t fucking twenty questions, either,” he snarls. “Want a sob story? Switch on the news. We’re done here.”
“Back to being an ‘murdering motherfucker’ so soon?” I say sweetly.
The next thing I know, he’s leaning forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head between his shoulders. It’s such an uncharacteristic stance for him. It’s like the last few moments before a bomb drops.
“I’ve only given two fucking apologies in my life,” he begins slowly. “One to the man in that bed and the other to the woman who is now my wife. Yet, here I am, standing, or rather sitting, on the precipice of another.” He locks his dark eyes onto me for the third and final time. “We fucked up,” he states bluntly, rocking me to my core. “We knew they were coming for you six months ago, but we didn't act quickly enough. By the time we got our asses in gear, the Russians had already made their move.”
“Did you hang me out as bait?” I whisper, feeling the color drain from my face.
“We had a couple of men outside your apartment, but you should have had more,” he admits. “You should have been in a safe house. We read the play wrong, and you suffered the consequences.”