Page 30 of Shadow's Edge

I turned in his arms, wrapping myself around him, pressing my face to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

And then I went for it.

“After the baseball bat, I startedplanninga way out. The things she told me about my dad, about thethingshe did—the women, the illegal shit, thewarehouse full of girls—it was all too much.She made sure I knew that I wasn’t enough, that I should never have been born. That I was the biggestmistakeshe’d ever made.”

Jagger’s arms tightened, his lips moving against my hair, murmuring something I couldn’t quite make out.

I took a steady breath.

“One afternoon, I pulled up to the compound and she wasthere, running out, screaming, weaving around, drunk out of her fucking mind.” I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the memory wrap around me like a vice. “I took her home and got her into bed. The whole time, she wasspittingat me, clawing my arms. I gave up, went downstairs, sat on the couch—just sat there, wondering how my life hadgotten this bad.” The words slowed, thickened. “I was counting down the days until I couldleavewhen I heard the bang.”

A gunshot. I’d heard so many since then. Butthat one? That was the one I could stillfeel.

Jagger’s grip on me tightened. “You werein the housewhen it happened?”

I nodded against his chest. “I walked upstairs. Stood in front of the bedroom door for a while before I walked in.”

Blood. So much blood. The walls, and the sheets were covered with it. The gun still clutched in her lifeless hand.

And the letter beside her, with my name scrawled on the envelope.

“I knew what she was going to say in the letter she was clutching when I found her,” I whispered. “But knowing she used herlast minutes aliveto write it gave the words extra weight.”

Jagger pulled back slightly, gripping my shoulders, his eyes locked onto mine. “She wrote you a letterjust before she killed herself?”

I nodded and shrugged. “Yeah.”

His jaw clenched. “Holy fuck, baby.”

I barely had time to react before he pulled metightagainst him, his entire body shaking slightly. But he didn’t know the worst of it, he didn’t know what the lettersaid. Didn’t know that my mother had used her dying breath to rip my heart out.

That she had told meeverythingabout Preacher. How she had walked in on himthat day, screwing Store. How he hadbeggedher to have a kid with him when they first met—only to abandon her the moment I was born because I was a girl. Because I wasn’t thesonhe had wanted.

How on thevery dayshe put that gun to her head, he had told her to leave and to takemewith her. Every word had carved into me like a blade, and I hadrun.

I’d finished reading the letter that day, turned and packed a bag. Once I had what I needed, I’d driven to the only person IknewI could trust—Uncle Duke. He was Preacher’s brother, but he had always beenmine. He had alwayscalled, alwaysvisited, alwayscared. He was the only one who had ever made me feelsafe.

Jagger reached past me, turning off the water, his movements careful, deliberate. Then he took a towel and started drying me off, his touch gentle in a way I didn’t know how to handle.

Normally, when I talked about this shit, I feltraw. Exposed. But now? It felt…therapeutic. Like heunderstood, and maybe hedid.

I looked up at him, met his gaze, and what I saw there made my chestache. Jagger leaned down, pressing his forehead to mine, his eyes closing briefly.

When he opened them again, his voice was low. Certain. “You matter.” His fingers tilted my chin up slightly, his thumb brushing over my jaw. “Youmatter,” he repeated, like he needed me to hear it.Believeit. Then, quieter—softer—he whispered, “And I couldn’t be prouder to have you asmine.”

JAGGER

Listening to her story—trulylistening—was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. Knowing what she had gone through, and how much she had suffered. Knowing that while she was baring her soul to me, I was still keeping afuckingsecret from her. It was eating me alive.

I wanted to tell her everything.Neededto. But what I knew was only a fraction of the truth. Therealsecret, the one that could either break her or finally set her free, was buried deep with Preacher, andonly hecould tell her. Still, maybe I could give hersomething. Some small piece of the truth that would make ithurtless.

I was just about to speak, but she beat me to it.

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” she whispered, pressing up against me in her towel.

Her body was warm, damp from the shower, but it was the look in her eyes thatguttedme.

Raw. Needy. Vulnerable.

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