Page 3 of The Dirty Saint

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, my voice devoid of any emotion. “Because he’s dead anyway.”

The Naval Criminal Investigative Service agent swallows a sigh before glancing down at the floor, unable to meet my stare this time.

“Is it true that he held you captive in his basement?”

I sit back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Is that what your file says?”

“You loved him, didn’t you?”

I scoff, shaking my head.

Love.

What a funny concept.

The agent closes the manila folder in front of him before placing his elbows on the table.

“Ezra—”

“Don’t ‘Ezra’ me,” I bark.

And stop looking at me like I’m about to shatter right here in this dingy-ass interrogation room.

I might be broken, but not that broken that I’m falling apart in front of a complete stranger.

“Are you familiar with Stockholm syndrome, Miss Maya?” The NCIS agent asks as he goes to grab my hands.

I yank them away.

“Is that what you think I have?” I demand. “You calling me crazy now?”

I sneer, moving my file and spilling it out right of him.

“Ed—can I call you Ed? No? Okay. Anyway, Ed, you don’t know jackshitabout what I went through. You weren’t there for the beatings or the rapings or the nights I was so hungry, I was tempted to scrape my skin off and shove it down my throat. So do not sit here and judge me simply because you can’t understand how I could havepossiblyfallen in love through all of that.”

Joey Odeh was not a good man. He hurt people. He killed people. He had a band of goons who made my life a living hell,but in the end, when it really mattered, he sacrificed himself so that I could live.

I owe himeverything.

“You don’t know what I had to do to survive in that basement, Agent, so, respectfully, shut thefuckup.”

The agent nods his head again, embarrassment starting to show in the creases in his forehead.

“And what about Michael Santo, Lieutenant?” he asks. “Care to talk about him?”

I lean back in my seat. “What do you want to know?”

Probably if I actually did what he hired Joey to figure out, which was the murder of his son.

Which I did do, by the way. If you were wondering.

Caleb Santo did not deserve to live while I had sat and suffered in silence for far too long, with the memory of what he did to me always lingering in the back of my mind.

What a piece of shit.

And hell if I was going to let him get away with his actions.

Growing bored and angry with this conversation, I get up from my seat, ignoring the sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor.

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