Page 57 of Lust

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

SYDNEY

Ilook to the ceiling, quietly praying to God—a God who is probably disgusted with me right now—to help me open this damn box. I try to rationalise what I’ve done with the idea that I can save any other women suffering at the hands of JC. And maybe, just maybe, God will forgive me my transgressions and those of my pa. Either way, I’m not going to walk away. I can’t. If I do, JC is going to keep coming after Pa and me and hurting people.

I look to Roman, who is already watching me, and as I turn to look at Blake, I realise he’s on the phone.

“Oz, get your arse to Kincaid’s house and bring your code breaker.” Pushing the phone back into his pocket, he says, “He’ll be here in fifteen. In the meantime, I’m guessing you don’t have any thoughts on what it might be?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m surprised the safe code was still the same.” I stare at the box. “It’s not like I really know who my pa is anymore.” My words are flat, uncaring, but that’s a far cry from what I truly feel.

What I do know, is whatever is inside that box has to be important. Why else would he have put it in a box only he can open? I walk around the bed and drop down onto it. But Iquickly get to my feet. This feels so wrong being in here knowing what I do. This room, this house, feel like strangers. Every memory I’ve ever had in this house feels off, tainted, dishonest.

Needing some air, I go downstairs and step out into the back garden. It’s small but neat and tidy. One of the patio chairs has been moved away from the table and faces out to the garden. Pa must have been sat out here recently. The thought sends a pang of sadness through me, and it’s quickly joined by anger.

I wrap my arms around myself as I sense someone behind me. Blake’s distinct scent envelopes me as his arms join mine, wrapping around me over the top of my own.

“You okay?”

I shake my head, afraid to speak for fear of breaking down.

“You know, and this is not an admission of approval, but Kincaid clearly cares about you.” I try to spin around, but his arms tighten. “Hear me out, Syd.” I sigh and relax a little. “Good. He’s lied and protected himself by not going to the police about JC. But he’s also protected you.”

I scoff. “Yeah, how’s that?”

“What do you think would have happened to you had he gone to the cops when he realised what JC was doing?”

“Well, obviously, dozens of girls would still be alive, but Pa would be in prison. Your point?”

“And you? What would have happened to you if Kincaid had gone to prison when you were just a child?”

My shoulders sag in understanding and a little defeat. “I’d have gone into care, but that’s not reason enough to have hidden who he was, who my mother was and certainly not enough to have almost protected JC all these years. By keeping quiet, he’s just as responsible for all those girls’ deaths as JC.”

Voices drift out from inside the house. Oz must have arrived.

I break Blake’s hold on me and spin to face him. Before I can say anything, he kisses me. I’m not sure why, but I get theimpression this kiss is to reassure me I’m safe, that even if Pa isn’t here to protect me, he and Roman will be. I take it, but I don’t give all my hope to it.

No man can truly protect you, no matter how much they wish it. Besides, once this is over, they will return to their lives while I try to piece together my shattered one.

Breaking the kiss, Blake tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Turn it off, Syd. We aren’t going anywhere.”

“So you say now. But once this is done, you’ll find something prettier and more thrilling to fill your days with, Blake. I know it and so do you. Let’s not kid ourselves.” I push out of his arms and head inside.

I find Roman and Oz in the kitchen, the black metal box sitting ominously on the table. Roman catches my eyes as I enter, and I know he and Oz heard our conversation. Something in his eyes hints he’s not happy with what I said, but I don’t care. Not caring seems to be becoming a theme for me lately. And I should be concerned about that, but I’m not.

Turning my attention to Oz, I watch as he gets to work. He attaches a small black hand-held device, similar to a mobile phone, then we wait while it runs through all the possible code scenarios. Thankfully, it’s only a four-digit code, narrowing the possibilities from one million for a six-digit code to a mere ten thousand.

Numbers flash across the small device at an incredible speed and within ten minutes, the box clicks open.

Oz detaches his device and steps back, allowing me to take the space in front of the box. Reaching out, I lay my hands on the top, preparing to open it. With a deep breath and a quick look at Roman and Blake either side of me, who both give me a weak smile and a nod, I lift the lid.

I’m not sure what I expected to find, maybe a Jack-in-a-box laughing hysterically, but it wasn’t this.

I was not prepared for this at all. Releasing the lid, which drops back and hits the table with a clunk, I step back, desperately trying to look away from the photo sitting front and centre. But it’s impossible to look anywhere but at the woman and man and the child in between them.

This is my mother.

A woman who has been nothing more than a thought inside my head all my life. A question, a dream, a ghost.

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