Page 62 of The Marriage Auction 2: Part 4

“He’s teaching PE at the high school and coaches the girls volleyball team. He bought a house across the street from your mom and stepfather.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Maia said, covering her face with both of her hands. “I should have gone to the police in another state and filed charges, but I was too scared. I didn’t have a family or a home. I lived on the streets. I was filthy and half-starved most of the time. Who would believe some ‘runaway’ over a decorated member of law enforcement or his son for that matter? That’s what I was classified as—a runaway. Even though he kicked me out and threatened to kill me if I ever came back. I…I should have done more. Then maybe Maisie…”

I tossed the file on the nightstand, then turned to Maia and pulled her into my arms. She came willingly.

“You were a child. A teenager yourself. Scared and alone. The fact that you aren’t dead, a prostitute, or some junkie in thestreets is a testament to your strength and will to survive. Since the moment I met you, your entire focus has been on finding a way back here. To help your mom and siblings. There’s nothing more you could have done. Get that outta your head right now. I’ll not have you, an innocent victim of multiple years of abuse, taking on the burden of their crimes. No way. All of this is on them, and they will be punished.”

“You promise?” she whispered.

“I promise to do absolutely everything I can to get your family away from those men and to have justice served. They cannot use the law to protect themselves from the filthy crimes being committed behind the scenes any longer.”

Maia clung to me as she buried her head between where my neck and shoulder met. The warmth of her breath was a comforting sensation battling against the fury boiling within my soul.

We stayed that way for a long time, neither of us talking, both simply breathing the other in and holding on tight.

* * * *

The funeral hall was mostly quiet as we entered. Only a dozen or so people, either sitting down in one of the pews or standing and chatting with one another, were in attendance. The door behind us slammed closed, causing most of the people in the funeral home to turn around at the noise.

A woman with the same face and beauty as Maia was the first to make eye contact. She was sitting in the first pew, with a few people beside her. When her teary gaze transformed into a look of sheer terror at the sight of Maia, my stomach lurched with concern. Sitting next to who I believed was Lena, Maia’s mother, was a teenaged girl, hair down around her face. She glanced up long enough that I could see her face more clearly, eyes the color of warm caramel. But those eyes were vacant, devoid of any lightor emotion. I assumed the girl was Maisie. To the young girls right was a young man, maybe in his mid to late twenties. His arm was locked around the girl. His lips curled in disgust when his dark gaze landed on Maia, putting me on instant alert.

Evil oozed from that young man’s gaze as he glared in our direction. Maia held my hand so tight I was no longer getting any blood to my fingers, but I wouldn’t dare let go.

“That’s Derrick,” she half-whimpered.

Lena, stood up and swayed, her hand over her heart, focus completely on Maia. That was when the man sitting next to her stood, a snarl on his thin lips. He had a too-long mustache, beady little eyes, and bushy blond eyebrows. When he stood, his rounded gut hung over his belt, the buttons of his dress shirt straining against the bulk. His stance and bravado screamed “I’m the man in charge,” which pegged him as Damon, Maia’s stepfather.

Next to Damon sat a young male teenager with light hair. He watched us approach with a curious expression plastered across his pale face. His eyes were the same color as his younger sister’s but held an edge of despair. His bottom lip was scabbed over from what could only be a recent injury. When he lifted his arm to the back of the pew, I noticed his wrist was also in a cast.

Motherfucker.

I had to hold my breath in order to bank the anger that wanted to come out like a category five hurricane, obliterating everything in its wake.

“Maia!” The woman finally gasped and dashed toward us, her hands up in the air, her eyes wild with concern. “Honey, no, you shouldn’t be here!” she cried on a sob, embracing her daughter. “I left a note,” she whispered into Maia’s ear, but I was close enough to hear every word.

“I know, Mama, but we need to talk.”

“Well, well, well,” came a sneering tone from behind the women. “Look what the cat dragged in from the garbage.”

Lena dropped her arms from Maia and went straight to her husband’s side on autopilot. “I had no idea she was coming. I’m sorry, Damon. They’ll just be on their way…” she pleaded almost hysterically. In this light, I could now see the ring of bruises around her neck—as though someone had been strangling her. Not to mention the poor job she’d done covering up the black eye and swollen cheekbone she sported with makeup.

“Excuse me?” I interrupted. “This is the funeral for Evelyn Fields, Maia’s grandmother, is it not?”

“It is.” Damon practically spat, his eyes flicking from me to Maia.

“Then we’re in the right place.” I held out my hand, pretending to be civil. “I’m Rhodes Davenport, Maia’s fiancé. When we heard about Evelyn’s passing, we hopped on a plane to be with her family and mourn together. It’s good to meet you.”

Lena didn’t say a word, nor take my hand. Damon reached out, a scowl marring his ugly mug, and took my hand, gripping it unnecessarily hard, not that I’d give him the benefit of showing it affected me at all. Instead, I tightened my own hold until he ripped his hand away, shaking it as though it were burned.

“Fiancé huh? You must not know her history…the filthy, little, lying slut,” he sneered at Maia.

I took Maia’s elbow and pushed her behind my considerable bulk. Her stepfather might be law enforcement, but I was taller, in shape, and knew without a shadow of doubt I could bring him to his knees with one punch if I were so inclined.

“What did you say?” I got up close and personal with Damon, my face only inches from his.

“You heard me,” he sneered, but stepped back, then shifted his blazer to show his shiny badge. “You might want to settledown, Mr. Davenport. You wouldn’t want to go to jail for threatening an officer of the law, now would you?”

“I asked you what you said, and I didn’t so much as touch you. How in the world could that be threatening?”

---