Page 45 of Red Flag Bull

I blink away my tears, and he leans across the counter, to wipe my cheek with his thumb. “Why are you crying, Princess?”

“Because it wasn’t like that,” I squeeze past the tight grip of emotion in my throat.

“Like what?” He frowns. “Your being given an amazing opportunity to follow your dreams? Your leaving me with five fucking words, to haunt me for the rest of my life? I deserve better. Goodbye forever.”

My breath catches in my throat. “What did you say?” I croak.

“It’s not like I didn’t agree with you, Mandi. You did deserve better. I tried to fucking leave you alone, but you kept dragging me in, so I could punish us both.”

“It wasn’t like that.” I push off my seat with a scowl, spilling my tea too. “There was no art school. No Europe. No Mommy and Daddy — reluctant or otherwise — seeing a light inside me and wanting it to shine. There was no magical fucking experience for me in the hell I was sent to, Jason King.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, his face paling.

“My mother caught me sneaking out. I left that note for her. I was leaving to be with you forever, when she had Melvin hold me down until some fucking goons came to deal with me. His disgusting dick was hard the whole time, too. I threw up twice before the other men relieved him from duty, then they bound me, gagged me, and stuffed me in the trunk of a car. When it finally stopped to throw me out, I was in the middle of nowhere, trapped in a fucking prison for wayward girls, with barbed wire, high walls, and guards who’d spout Bible verses any time I asked where I was.”

Jason grips the counter so hard his arms shake. “What?”

His stool clatters to the floor, and he launches himself over the table. He takes me in his arms and holds me so close, I can feel his heart pounding against my cheek and hear it roaring in my ear. “Why would she do that?” he says, over and over again.

“Because I told her I belonged with you.”

He shakes his head and strokes my hair. “No. She was nice to me. Well, not nice, but civil. Practically sympathetic for my loss. I fucking cried when I read that note, and she patted my shoulder and said she was sorry, but maybe it was for the best that I don’t hold you back. We both knew you were too good for me, and that art school was a fresh start for you. She didn’t send you there as punishment, either. You were?—”

“Seriously?” I push him back, so he can see my face. “Why would an anal-retentive bitch, intent on preserving her fake, flawless lifestyle, be nice to a known criminal? A criminal she claimed was responsible for her daughter’s running wild? Being wild? Fucking wild? Melvin informed her at length about my incorrigible depravity — conveniently adapting the truth to avoid any incriminating details of his involvement. There was no fucking European art school, Jason.” I squint at him in disbelief when I appraise his mortified expression, because he so clearly believed the lie. “Maybe you were stupid,” I mutter.

He grips my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length, his eyes huge as he searches my face. The truth will be plain to see.

He shakes his head again. “No. No, no, no. She was almost proud of you. Her voice, she…” He utters a pained sound and pulls me back into his arms. “Tell me nothing bad happened, Princess. Tell me you were safe, laughing with your friends and living a life of color.”

“I can’t,” I whisper. “It’s taken nineteen years of fighting demons and having nothing more to lose, for me to face you again, because I’m weak and didn’t want to tell you what happened.”

“What did they do?” The words come out through gritted teeth.

My body is shaking and I can’t control it. I close my eyes and guide his hands to my throat. He wraps them around my neck, squeezing just enough for me to feel secure inside the risk of harm. “Will you show me mercy?”

“For what?” He tightens his grip.

“For not being able to stop them, when they took our baby away.”

17

JASON

My hands slip from her neck, and I sink to my knees at her feet. “Our baby?”

My girl — my poor, precious girl — young and alone, without support. And I was so filled with self-pity and loathing, I failed her worse than I could ever have imagined.

How could I let it happen? How did I not see through the lies? I believed them so easily. Wanted to believe. She deserved the golden yarn her mother had spun — the life she needed, to thrive — and I couldn’t give it to her back then, so I didn’t fight.

Instead, I kept my head down and worked my fingers to the bone, striving to create something better I could offer her, so she might consider staying if she ever chose to enter my life again.

I look up at my beautiful, miserable girl, my heart breaking for all the pain I could have kept her from, if I’d only stolen her away before they could have.

“I’m so sorry,” I manage in a strained whisper. “Sorry it happened. Sorry I wasn’t there to stop it. Sorry I left you feeling abandoned. All this time… The pain you were forced to carry… I should have protected you. Should never have let it touch you.” A husky roar of frustration rips from my throat. “I should have known.”

“How could you?” She runs her fingers over my short hair. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant. Didn’t know my mother still had use for Melvin, or that she could be so cruel in her intentions. I didn’t know the shame I could be made to feel. Had no idea how to make anyone listen.”

“I should have known,” I say again, more quietly.

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