Page 145 of Can You Take It?

“Yeah. He was Victor’s right-hand man. He handled the ‘discipline,’ as they called it. One time, I pushed back too hard, and he... he sold me off to some stranger. It was meant to break me, to remind me that I was nothing more than property.”

I’ve never wished death on anyone before, but right now? I’m so fucking glad Charles is dead. The world’s a better place without him. “He’s gone,” I say, more to myself than to her. “That bastard’s gone.”

She doesn’t react, just keeps tracing patterns on my chest, like she’s distracting herself from the horror she’s reliving. I can’t stand it. My hand instinctively goes to her scar, the one I know she’s never fully explained. The one that’s haunted me since the day I first saw it.

“How did this really happen?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.

She stills again. For a moment, I think she won’t answer, but then she takes a deep breath. “My mom did this to me,” she whispers. “To keep me from procreating. Apparently, that was Victor's agenda. He wanted to get me pregnant and have this nonsensical family beneath another family. Like some sick pyramid scheme of human lives.”

I feel a surge of rage so intense it almost blinds me. The thought of Victor doing this to her, of forcing her into some sick, demented plan—it makes my blood boil. I want to kill him. Right now. Rip his fucking throat out with my bare hands. No, that’s too quick. I want to make him suffer, to feel every ounce of pain and fear he’s inflicted on her. My fists clench, and I have to remind myself to breathe, to stay calm for her sake. But fuck, it’s hard. Every instinct in me is screaming to hunt that motherfucker down and end him.

As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Izel props herself up on an elbow, peering down at me with those intense eyes of hers. It’s like she’s trying to read my mind.

“What are you going to do to him?”

I want to tell her all the things I want to do to him, all the ways I imagine making him suffer. I want to describe the pain I’d inflict, the slow, torturous methods I’d use to make him pay for every moment of agony he’s caused her. But I can’t. Instead, I force myself to focus on what needs to be done. What I actually can do.

“I’m not going to disclose his identity as Ghostface Striker,” I reply. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Why not?”

I take a deep breath. “It would put you in danger. You gave the FBI a bogus description, hid his identity. Concealing information or providing false information to law enforcement can carry serious penalties. You could be facing charges of perjury, obstruction of justice, or aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

Her face pales at the thought, and I hate having to lay it out like this. “But I’ll do everything I can to protect you,” I add quickly, hoping to offer some reassurance. “I won’t let them railroad you, Izel. I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you safe.”

She sighs, her eyes darting to mine before flicking away again. “I know you will,” she finally says.

The room falls silent for a moment, both of us lying there, breathing in sync. I feel her hesitate, like she’s holding something back. And then she finally speaks again.

“Are we not going to talk about the fact that I killed Isla?”

I feel my chest tighten at her words, but I don’t react. I knew this was coming. I wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer against me, my thumb brushing her arm. She’s waiting for my response, but I don’t want to push her too hard.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say after a beat. “Victor made you do it. You were just a kid, Izel. You didn’t stand a chance.”

She shifts, pulling away just enough to look me in the eye. “You don’t even know what happened, Richard. You weren’t there.”

“I don’t need to know.” I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. “If you want to talk about it, get it off your chest, I’m here. I’ll listen to every detail if that’s what you need. But I want you to be fucking ready for that. And just so you know, nothing you say is going to change how I feel about you. I meant every word I said back at the motel.”

She nods, understanding dawning in her eyes. “So, what’s going to happen to him?”

“He’ll be tried for your and Ava’s abduction, and Isla’s murder.”

“In Hollowbrook?”

“That’s right,” I confirm. “And he’ll likely be looking at a lifetime behind bars.”

“Because there’s no death sentence in Hollowbrook,” she finishes.

I pause, a trace of curiosity crossing my mind at her knowledge of the legal system. But I push it aside when she asks, “Does it fuck with you? Knowing all the shit you know, seeing the things you do?”

I chuckle, a low, throaty sound that feels almost sad. “Babe, if I didn’t have a bit of a loose screw myself, I wouldn’t be very good at my job.”

“Fair enough,” she concedes, laying her head back down on my chest. My fingers resume their dance along her spine. “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t get all hero on me and try to ‘save’ me. I’ve had enough of being seen as a victim.”

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