Page 100 of Ashes of Saints

I head back to my bedroom and climb into bed. I don’t care about anything. Not anymore.

I have no idea who I am or where I belong. I never really have.

Now I know why.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

PARKER

Two weeks have passed since I left Aurora’s house with as many video tapes as I could carry. There aren’t many, but there are enough to go to the cops.

That was the plan.

But I haven’t.

The stress it will cause Aurora will be enormous. Who knows if it will leak and then she could end up with cameras in her face? I can’t do that to her.

But I’m consciously aware that there could be other children being hurt. Fuck, of course there are. The pedophile industry is thriving. Even if Mary-Anne’s ring ended.

I should be happy I’ve found the tapes. Never in a million years did I imagine I’d find so much evidence. But here I am sitting on them.

Aurora won’t speak to me.

I could show up at her home, but I won’t do that to her. I’m processing the shock myself, and I knew about it. She didn’t.

I want to hold her in my arms while she cries. I want to ask her what she meant about Mary-Anne not being who she said she is.

But she needs space.

Another few days or a week isn’t going to change anything.

Except I fucking miss her. I’m worried. I walk circles around my office and penthouse.

My mother messaged telling me how disappointed in me she was for not showing up to Michael’s birthday, and I almost replied telling her to fuck the whole way off.

She doesn’t know what’s going on, but she should. She is my mother. After apologizing for fucking up, she should have stood by my side, supported me, nurtured me. Loved me.

Instead, she gave birth to Parker Version Two and is doing her best to make him her perfect child.

I can’t deal.

Aurora is my priority.

I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. I think about her all the goddamn day and night. My cock aches for her.

My heart fucking aches for her.

I send off another message and let out a long sigh. I need to make a decision about how to move forward if she doesn’t reply. Ever.

It’s a possibility.

A few days ago, I shared what happened with the guys over breakfast at Dune.

“Jesus.” Maddox shook his head as he held his fork a few inches from his mouth. “How many?”

Killian, Travis, and Zayne looked just as shocked.

“At least a hundred. Maybe more. Two entire fucking walls.” I said, playing with my coffee mug.

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