That somehow this was all a misunderstanding.

“Please, Leeta. I need to hear you say it. If you still want to hate me, then fine, but you’re going to know the whole fucking truth before you make up your mind.”

“Fine. It’s not like I can go anywhere, is it?” I spat back. He cringed at my sarcasm.

Where was he going? I watched him head for the door, this time leaving me alone in the tiny motel suite. Where was I? The drive hadn’t looked familiar at all, though by the time I’d regained consciousness we were almost at his destination.

The images of him with those other women were running constantly through my head. It was like there was nothing I could do to shut it off. It was complete torture.

How had my sweet guy gotten mixed up in something like that?

I wasn’t an idiot. There was something creepy and disgusting about those videos. This wasn’t just about him being unfaithful. Those women had been so out of it. And that voice giving Mace instructions . . . I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d stumbled upon, but it wasn’t good.

I guess what made the whole thing worse was that it wasn’t the first time a serious boyfriend of mine had turned out to be some kind of sexual sadist. Except with Ben, he was much more full-on—to the point of wanting me to participate in things I couldn’t even mention. I felt sorry for any woman he ended up wooing into his bed.

God, I sounded like such a prude, and I wasn’t. Far from it—I loved sex, and considered myself very experimental, but some things just went too far.

Thinking about Ben made me wonder if he had responded to my email. A thought hit me that made me feel sick: what if Mace had checked my emails? Mace knew about Ben, but not the full story behind our demise.

Part of me hoped he wouldn’t reply. While I had no feelings for him anymore, the thought of seeing him again made me sick. God, even speaking to him. I’d been such a different person back then. I was so much stronger now—though right now I didn’t feel it.

Tears pricked my eyes as I tried not to think about how fucked up this was. What if he was actually planning on hurting me? I didn’t know him at all. That’s what scared me the most. I was so in love with whom I thought was the perfect guy for me, and he turned out to be a psycho. It couldn’t be a coincidence that it had happened again.

What was it with me that attracted these guys?

Chapter Twelve

Mace

I had nowhere to be. It was fucking seven in the morning on a Friday.

I just couldn’t stand being in that room with her any longer, knowing how much she hated me right then. I had to get out of there and clear my head. I needed to speak to Dad. I thought I could handle this on my own, but I was fucking everything up royally, and as much as I hated to admit it, I needed his help.

I turned onto the freeway and headed toward the state prison, thirty miles east. Pulling off the freeway and into a roadhouse to fill up with gas, I decided that I might as well have something to eat and a coffee. It was either that or wait outside the prison until they opened for visitors.

I walked inside, the smell of bacon and eggs frying making my mouth water. The place was empty, aside from a couple of truckers enjoying some breakfast, and an older waitress slumped behind the counter. She perked up as I approached.

“What can I get ya?” she asked.

“A coffee, back thanks. And a plate of bacon and eggs.” I handed her a twenty, waving at her to keep the change.

I wandered through the restaurant over to one of the corner booths, and sat down.  Sighing, I rested my head in my hands. What was I doing? This had to be the stupidest idea ever. How could I possibly see this ending well? Not only had I well and truly fucked things up with Leet, but my chances of finding the guys who raped Anna were slipping away.

I smiled at the waitress as she dumped my breakfast in front of me.

“Call me if you want a refill,” she muttered.

I tucked into my undercooked eggs, and burnt bacon—so well done I almost broke a tooth—washing it down with the coffee.

Shit. Finn. I winced as I pulled out my phone and found his number.

Dude, sorry not well. Won’t be in today. Just do what you can and leave me a list.

Getting to my feet, I nodded at the waitress and headed out to my car. What I needed to do was stop being such a pussy and focus on what needs to be done. I was going to catch these cunts. No question.

I just have to pray that I’m getting closer. So long as I can remain in the loop, eventually they’re going to fuck up, and I’ll find them. So help me God when I do find them.

They’re going to wish they were dead.

#

Dad saw me approaching the visitors’ area as I walked through the gates. His eyes widened in shock. Not that surprising, considering I visited him maybe once every six months—unless I needed something. He crossed his arms and waited for me to approach his table.

The visitors’ area was outside, with a large section undercover. Bolted down steel tables were scattered around the area. It was depressing, but you’d expect that from a maximum-security prison. I studied Dad as I sat down. He looked older. Tired. His dark hair had begun to pepper with grey in the past few months.

“Mace.” No how are you, or good to see you. It was typical Dad.

“Hi,” I muttered, sliding onto the bench seat. I rested my arms on the table.

“Didn’t expect to see you anytime soon,” he said. That was probably as close to a positive comment as I was going to get. I sighed.

I didn’t have time for small talk. And when he found out what I’d done . . . well, let’s just say he was going to be pissed.

See, Dad had it in his mind that I was better than him and Cash. Knowing I was messed up in something like this, whatever the reason, was going to crush his perception that maybe he wasn’t that bad a father.

“You here for a reason?” he asked, lighting a cigarette. I nodded. We didn’t beat around the bush.

“I’m in some trouble.”

He stiffened, as if he hadn’t been expecting that. Wait till he hears the full story.

“Yeah? How’s that?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

“Things are pretty messed up. I think you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t come to you unless it was bad.”

Dad chuckled and nodded. “You always were one to try and deal with things yourself. How bad?”

“Bad,” I said. I hesitated, for the first time doubting telling him everything. He had always thought Anna’s suicide had been related to depression. And it had, but he’d never known the full story behind her death. Maybe that had been my problem. Maybe letting the guy in prison for life deal with this would’ve been the way to go.

Too late now. Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

“Are you going to tell me or make me guess?” he growled, butting out his half-smoked stub on the side of the bench.

“Long story short, Anna had a reason for killing herself, Dad. She sent me a letter. It came the week after she died. Along with a tape.”

“And you’re telling me this now?” He cursed and smashed his fists down on the table between us. He was so pissed—to the point where I was glad there were more than ten guards within the vicinity of us. “What do you mean, a reason? What the fuck aren’t you telling me, Mace?”

“She was raped, Dad.”

“Raped? What . . . why didn’t she come to you? You would have helped her. She had to have known you’d have had her back.” He was echoing the same thoughts that had been banging through my head for the last year. “Do you know who did this?” His voice was tight. I was impressed at how controlled he actually was then. Dad usually didn’t hold back.

“It’s complicated . . .” I sighed. How the fuck did I put the next part into words? “Anna’s rape was put up for auction. She was raped under the instruction of the winning bidder. I guess, in a way, she was raped twice.”