Page 38 of Tormenting Me

Tears well up in my eyes as I absorb her words. Wes’s commitment to justice, his unwavering dedication to killing people, suddenly makes so much more sense. I admire him for his bravery and selflessness, but now I realize the depth of his motivation. It wasn’t just about seeking justice for Siobhan; it was about preventing others from suffering the same fate.

“He’s always been different, hasn’t he?” I whisper, my voice filled with awe and admiration. Wes’s mother nods, a bittersweet smile on her face.

“Yes, he has. And we couldn’t be prouder of him. He’s faced unimaginable pain and loss, but he’s turned it into something positive. He’s making a difference, one criminal at a time.”

A wave of gratitude washes over me, both for Wes’s family and for Wes himself. To have their unwavering support, to know that they understand and accept him for who he is, is a gift beyond measure. It solidifies my love for him, my admiration for the man he is.

I hear a car pull into the driveway and peek out the window to see Wes and his dad getting out of the little SUV. “Should we go help?” I ask her.

“Absolutely not. They’re the men. I’m sure they can bring the stuff in themselves.” She laughs as hands me more pictures to look at.

The door creaks open and Wes enters, followed by his dad. Wes probably has ten bags in his arms, compared to his dad carrying two. My giggle catches his attention, and he pivots his head to see where it came from. His gaze shifts from my face to the stack of photos and albums on the coffee table. His face turns a lovely shade of pink in embarrassment.

“Ach, Ma. Fàg e dhut airson nàire a thoirt dhomh dha mo bhean, le dealbhan dhòmhsa fhad ‘s a tha mi air falbh. (Ah, Ma. Leave it to you to embarrass me to my wife, with photos of me while I’m gone.)“ He tramps off to the kitchen with the bags, mumbling in his native tongue. It might just be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen him do.

Did I just witness my badass of a husband get embarrassed?

I hear the fridge slam shut and more mumbling from the kitchen.

Totally embarrassed.

His mom shrugs and gets up to head to the kitchen and I hear them, bickering back and forth. I begin to clean up all the photos but stop on one of a younger Wes. The smile that appears in many of these pictures of him is now gone. Stoic and cold-looking, it’s a photo of him and his parents on the steps of what must have been their home in San Francisco. There is no light left in his eyes. He is a shell. It breaks my heart to see him like this. Wes enters the room, takes one look at the photo in my hand, takes it and throws it at the table. He grabs my hand and pulls me towards the back sliding door. We leave the house and his strides have me struggling to keep up.

“Wes, can you slow down? My legs are shorter than yours. You’re practically dragging me here.” I puff out a breath.

We’re heading toward the tree line as Wes’s parents’ property is on acres of forest land.

“She didn’t say anything embarrassing, well, except for bringing up your time in the Science club during high school. But I thought that was cute.” I say, shrugging my shoulder. “ You were adorable in high school, I would have had the biggest crush on you.”

Wes gives me a small smile, his eyes softening as he squeezes my hand. “You always know what to say to make me feel better,” he says, his voice filled with gratitude. We walk in silence for a few more moments, the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath our feet the only sound breaking the stillness of the forest.

We reach the tree line and Wes stops and turns to face me, his gaze filled with a mix of vulnerability and determination. “I want to show you something,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. I nod, curiosity piquing my interest.

We continue walking, and soon enough, we come across a small clearing. In the center stands a beautiful oak tree, its branches stretching towards the sky. Wes takes a deep breath and shares his story.

“This tree,” he says, his voice filled with emotion, “it’s special to me. It’s where I used to come when I needed to escape, to find solace.” He pauses, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “When my parents moved here a year after Siobhan’s murder, I spent most of my time out here when I visited. I thought I could feel Siobhan out here. She used to love playing hide and seek in the wooded park near our old house in the city.”

I reach out and gently touch his arm, offering him silent support. Wes continues, his voice steady but filled with pain. “That photo you had in your hand, the one where I looked so…sad... during a time when I felt lost. I felt like a shell of myself. My parents were going through so much emotionally, that I didn’t want to burden them with my feelings. I had to rely on myself to feel better.”

Tears roll down my cheeks as I listen to Wes’s heartbreaking revelation. I can’t imagine the pain he must have endured, the loneliness he must have felt. Wes takes a step closer to me, his hand gently cupping my face. “Meeting you changed everything,” he whispers, his voice filled with love and gratitude. “You saw me for who I truly am, and you chose to love me unconditionally. You brought light back into my life, Layne.”

Without a second thought, my mouth is on his. Wes grabs me by my thighs, lifts me and wraps my legs around his waist, walking us toward the trunk of the tree. I can feel the coarse, dry bark of the trunk through my shirt as Wes pushes into me.

“God, I need you right now. Are you feeling up to it, Ma Petite Mort?“ He asks, his lips on my neck, biting and sucking.

What a strange question coming from him.

“Wes,” I grab him by his hair, pulling him away from my neck so I can see his face. “Why would you ask me that?”

His eyes glint with excitement, “I just thought maybe you weren’t feeling well or maybe are not in the mood.”

I take all but three seconds to figure out what he is hinting at. Jesus fucking Christ, even he thinks I might be pregnant.

“Layne,” he presses, “are you… you know…pregnant?” His green eyes stare into mine, and I can feel the longing, the want. It’s seeping from his pores and into the air.

“I don’t think so. But I also haven’t gotten my period. So I guess it’s possible. But why would that stop me from fucking you right now?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

Chapter twenty-five

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