Page 71 of Desperate Needs

I would do anything to avenge this woman’s grief.

Clementine had a heart bigger than the world. I just hoped I didn’t ruin my shot with her. I wanted her with me, always.

I’d been something of a troublemaker, a real bastard of a brawler, for most of my life. But starting fights wasn’t why I was born.

I could see that now.

No, I was born to keep this precious woman safe. To shield her heart from the harsh cruelties of the world.

I could do that. And I would. If she let me.

Please let me.

“I was so stupid. So sheltered and naïve. Safe and protected by my parents’ love. But it turned out Andrew was right. His father wasn’t cut from the same cloth as mine.”

“What did that bastard do?” I asked, my gaze riveted to hers.

Her pain was hard to watch, but I wouldn’t look away. I was there to bear witness. It was an honor that she trusted me enough to tell me her secrets, and I would listen for however long she wanted to speak.

I squeezed her hip again, rubbing it over the sheet, encouraging her to continue at her own pace.

“He had his son abducted in the middle of the night right from his own bed. It was one of those ‘reeducation camps’ you hear about in documentaries on streaming networks,” Clementine spoke with revulsion oozing from her words, and I could not blame her one bit.

The Group had worked on a case not too long ago where a divorced couple had argued over custody, so the mother had her child sent to one of those camps. The father hired us to bring the kid back, and we did.

But what we found was deplorable. Kids being bullied and starved, forced to perform manual labor I’d only seen in foreign prisons where lives were cheap, and punishment was hard.

We rescued the kid. And the camp was closed a week later.

It was hard to run those things without employees, and what job was worth your life?

Not many.

“I-I wasn’t there. I didn’t listen,” she said, a sob breaking through her control.

“Jesus fucking Christ. That wasn’t your fault, Darlin’,” I said, pulling her to me, grateful when she didn’t push me away.

She sniffed, but let me hold her, and I was so fucking grateful.

“Andrew was having thoughts like he might be gay and at my insistence his parents would love him no matter what, he went and told them. Th-they sent him to that awful place. He managed to get away, and he came right to school. But no one believed him about what was going on. School called his parents, and they took him back before I could get Pop involved. By the time his team reached that horrible camp, Andrew was dead,” she whispered, and my heart squeezed for that poor boy, but mostly for her.

“They’d placed him in an isolation chamber, little more than a coffin really, and he had some sort of attack and suffocated.”

She was sobbing openly, and I cursed roundly, hugging her tighter.

“There was nothing you could do, Clementine. You told your father though, and he tried his best.”

“Pop tore that place apart after Andrew’s body was recovered and found evidence of severe mistreatment. The owners and head counselors were all charged.”

“That’s good. How did they fare?”

“Oh, they never made it to the trial. There was a fire in their main office, and they died inside,” she told me, her voice hard.

I kissed her head and grunted, imagining that Josef Aziz had done that for his sweet, big-hearted little girl. God knew I would have, too.

“This is why you’re opening a shelter?” I asked, completely amazed.

“Andrew was my friend, but I failed him. I couldn't believe parents could do such a thing to their children. And now he's dead, but others don’t have to suffer that fate. That is what I am building now. It will be a haven for anyone who needs a hand. We’re going to provide family counseling, and planning, housing solutions, and legal advice,” she said with a decisive nod.

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