Page 75 of Dolly

“A cloud of smoke?”

He grimaced. “Yeah. Nothing worthwhile, nothing to help us find her or any of the girls.” He pauses. “But the stuff we have now is everything. We’ve already uncovered three girls. Found them still being held. They’ve been rescued.”

I should feel lighter at this news. It will definitely make Abigail happy, but I sense the dread coming. There’s another side to this coin.

“But…”

He shakes his head. “But the guy holding them—the fucker had all three.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. The weight of his job is crushing him. I wonder if he can see it as plainly as I do. I sure as hell didn’t realize it when I was in his position.

“He’s up there, right? Has connections in high places and probably won’t see so much as an interrogation room?” I fill in the blanks. The form hasn’t changed. Nothing’s fucking changed.

“Yeah.” Pierce sighs and drags his fingers through the thin strands of what’s left of his hair.

“Two BLTs and a side of fries.” The waitress shows up, sliding our plates in front of us. “Can I get you boys anything else?” she asks, wiping her hands on her faded brown apron.

“No thanks. We’re good.” Pierce forces a smile for her sake. I don’t bother.

“Just holler if you need me,” she says, then heads back to the counter where two truckers are sipping coffee.

“You’re not here to arrest me then.” I pick up a fry and toss it in my mouth. Hot and salty. Fuck, it’s good.

Pierce sighs again. I can sense the turmoil within him.

“The lawful thing to do is bring your ass in—and Abigail. Hell, you both probably belong in a fucking psych ward. No jury will put you in prison, but they’ll be sure you get the help you need.”

I run my tongue over my teeth.

“You killed people, Brian. The way…” He huffs. “The way they were killed…I can’t—I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Dolly did most of the killing, but I’m not saying that out loud.

“Did any of them not deserve it?” I ask.

His eyes widen. “That doesn’t matter in the eyes of the law.”

I pop another fry in and chew slowly, nodding in agreement.

“You think I should sit in prison for killing men who have kidnapped, raped, and profited from raping girls for years.” I lean forward. “Not just these past few months, but years.”

Pierce doesn’t touch his food.

“No. I don’t. To be honest, I think you went easy on the sons of bitches.” His fingers play with the prongs on the fork sitting on the white paper napkin beside his lunch.

“Tell me about Sarah and Ella Romero.” I change the topic. Whatever Pierce brought me here for, it isn’t to arrest me and bring me home.

“The young girl is home with her parents. She had mostly superficial wounds, but she’ll be scarred for a long time. That fucker—” He bites down on his lip before continuing. “He carved his fucking initials into her ass. They’re going to do a skin graft to get it off. But the biggest hurdle isn’t physical.”

“I know.” And I do. Abigail and I both still bear the mark of Bossman on our bodies. A branding to know who we belonged to. For us, it’s a mark of who we were, where we rose up from. Abigail is making strides, but the memories haunt her, and there are moments where she’s quiet and huddled under the blankets, reliving her hell. I can’t always reach her when she goes back there, but I’m always waiting for her when she comes back.

“Ella Romero didn’t make it,” Pierce says, flattening his hands on the table.

“What do you mean didn’t make it? She didn’t have any injuries when we left her.” She’d been in perfect fucking health, as far as I saw.

“After she gave her statement, detailing years of her own torture and her part in helping her father abduct three girls in the past few months, she was released into her mother’s care. Ella went home and took her own life.” There’s no emotion in his tone. Just a flat statement. Maybe he’s had to harden himself to all this. Maybe I should have some point. Maybe one day I can. Or maybe, he’s not handling this as well as he pretends.

“What about her mother?” I ask, because how can a mother do this to her child? I didn’t get an answer from Abigail mother, maybe Mrs. Romero will have one for me.

“She said she knew nothing of her daughter’s abuse or anything her husband was doing. And to be honest, the woman is so deep in a bottle—it’s quite possible she didn’t.”

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