Page 53 of Wes

I close my eyes for a second, shaking my head, unable to believe my ears. “What are you saying? Did they molest you?”

She nods and my lungs stop pumping air for a second. I gasp.

“I mention all this for you to understand the environment I grew up in. I refused to get into drugs because I saw what they had done to my mother. Still, I wanted to escape reality. As a teenager, battling issues of self-image and self-worth, I turned to sex for that.”

My heart breaks for lost, young Maria. I mumble, “So sorry to hear that.”

“I know.” She lifts her face to dust my lips with hers. “When I turned sixteen, one of mom’s billionaire acquaintances asked my hand in marriage. It was such an old-fashioned thing, but it worked, and she signed the papers authorizing it.” Her voice quivers and I rub my hand up and down her back. “For two years, I lived with Ken in his six-bedroom mansion in Pacific Heights.”

“That’s where you live now,” I grumble, surprise at the stab of jealousy that hurts my chest.

“That is correct. And there’s no need for that reaction.” She smiles and swats my biceps.

“I’ll behave,” I promise.

“During those two years, we never had sex. Ken was twenty-six when we married. He said that sleeping with a minor wasn’t his thing and that the marriage was the way he found to legally get me away from my mom’s friends, to protect me. Plus, that would give us a chance to know each other. He even promised to give me a divorce and a lifelong allowance if I decided I didn’t want to be with him. By the time I turned eighteen, we had fallen in love and looked forward to starting a family.” Maria pauses and presses trembling fingers against her temples.

Conflicting emotions chase themselves in my head. Jealousy pops up again at the sound of his name. But also admiration for his strength of character and confusion at the numbers she’s giving me.

“Wait a second.” I ask her as I rush to do some math. “If you’re twenty-eight now and, I’m guessing Ken died ten years ago–”

“That’s exactly right. It happened a couple of months after my birthday.”

My stomach sinks like an iron anchor hitting the bottom of the sea. “Fuck, Maria. That’s just fucking awful. You two never had a chance.”

“That’s not the worst part.” Her lips become a thin line and she squeezes her eyes shut, heaving a deep breath. “I have to do this like ripping off a band-aid, that is, in one shot. If I hesitate, I don’t think I can finish it.”

She pauses and searches my gaze.

“I get it. Go on.” I mime zipping up my lips.

“Growing up, there were these four guys in a famous rock band who used to hang out at my mom’s house. They were charming and fun to be around. Even Ken had a good time with them, trusted them.” She pauses. My guts twist at this introduction. I dread where this is heading, but I keep my promise to her. She continues, “Ken and I were spending a weekend in our house in Carmel, a sprawling property in a secluded little cove, not far away from a venue where they were playing. We invited them over. On the day after the concert, two came for dinner; the others arrived later.” She pauses again, this time her chest wheezes when she takes in air.

I break my promise. Cupping her cheeks, I beg, “Please don’t do this if it’s too much. It’s hurting you.” I leave out the fact it’s killing me to see her this way.

“I have to do this,” she rasps. I squeeze my arms around her as she continues in an even tone. “What we didn’t know. Hell, nobody had a clue. But those guys got their kicks robbing houses, torturing victims, degrading women. After dinner, they told us they had come to rob us blind. However, they said that witnessing us together had made them sick just because it looked like we were still in our honeymoon two years into our marriage.” Another pause, much longer this time. I want to punch a hole in the wall the size of the endless pit churning in my chest. This whole thing is disgustingly sordid. In truth, theywerein their fucking honeymoon. I swallow hard and bite my tongue watching Maria struggle to keep her composure. She taps her fingers on my chest as if to ground herself. “You see, they held a grudge for years because I never slept with any of them. So, on the spot, they changed their plans. They tied Ken to a chair with zip ties, kept a knife to his throat, and made him watch as they gang raped me.”

Her words hurl me down a pitch-black abyss. I shake my head. “No! No. No!” I repeat with different degrees of rage, frustration, and pain. I crush her face between my hands. My blurry vision makes it hard to distinguish her features. “You don’t deserve that. Nobody does, but you–” I choke on my feelings and can’t complete the thought.

She rubs her cheek against mine. “I know.”

Our tears mix as I stroke her hair and she smooths my shoulders. We mumble reassurances to one another, dusting kisses on lips, noses, and faces.

When the excruciating pressure in my chest dwindles a little, I whisper, “Please tell me the police got these guys. And who exactly are they?”

“The police got them and they’re currently serving life sentences.” She runs her knuckles along my jaw.

“That’s not all I asked? What band was it?” I need her to trust me completely. When her silence stretches too long, I ask again, in a low and ominous voice, “Who. Are. They?”

“The Flower Power Kids, okay?”

“You’re fucking kidding me! They were gifted musicians, super popular, and had a clean image for rock and roll standards.” I gape at her. “I thought it was them because the case got a lot of attention. But the victims’ identities were never disclosed.”

“The police agreed to keep Ken’s and my name out of the press. They didn’t go to trial, didn’t need my testimony. The band confessed and agreed to a deal to avoid the death penalty.”

Struggling to process all the information, I lean my cheek on the top of her head and gaze at the empty fireplace. Numbness makes my arms and legs weigh a ton and I lose track of time without reaching any conclusions.

Maria fidgets on my lap, crossing and uncrossing her legs at the ankles and smoothing the front of my T-shirt until it’s practically wrinkle-free.

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