Page 50 of Deceive Me
“Because Mansa enslaved her mother, raped her for years, and then blew her to goddamn bits!”
The words were low, too quiet for Sydney to hear, but venom dripped from each one.
“That personnel file you read?” Dain smirked, the expression holding zero amusement. “It’s fake, all of it. No one knows that but me. No one would know because I’m good at what I do, and I made sure her background was airtight. Want to know why?”
No, he didn’t, but he arched a brow anyway.
“Because if Mansa ever found out she was still alive, then there was every chance he would take steps to reacquire her. The only way we’ve kept her secret is by limiting the knowledge to two people: her and me. No leaks, no risks. Coming here, revealing who she was could blow all of that to hell in an instant. But she still came. She knows what Mansa can do, what it’s like to be his slave. She was born on Dhambi Isle, a product of rape. That tattoo between her shoulders?”
“Her what?” But he knew. The number fifty-seven flashed in his mind’s eye, the feel of the inked skin beneath his fingers this morning. He’d wondered, but he hadn’t asked. His mind had been on other things.
His stomach knotted.
Dain nodded, confirming Deacon’s sick intuition. “That’s her product number. Mansa breeds children—boys and girls—for sale, and when he kidnapped her mother from a Peace Corps convoy, he knew he’d gotten something special. Small, delicate. Blue eyes and white-blonde hair.” Dain’s voice choked off. He swallowed hard. “He knew her children would be worth a fortune, and he did everything he could to make sure she bred quickly. Elliot was born eleven months later.”
And somehow her mother had escaped. Something clicked in Deacon’s brain. “The ‘case’ from early in Elliot’s career.”
“Very early. She was thirteen when Mansa caught up with them.”
“What happened to her then?”
Refusal tightened Dain’s expression. “Anything else is for her to tell.”
“That doesn’t seem to be her strong suit.”
“Not her strong suit?” A choked laugh escaped him. “You have no idea what you’ve done to her, do you?”
“What I did?”
“That’s right.” Dain pushed away from the wall. “You. You slept with her, but you didn’t trust her.”
Deacon felt his eyes go wide.
“What, you think I couldn’t tell?” He dared to lean forward, a finger jabbing close to Deacon’s chest. “I know her better than you ever will, lover or not.”
Red sheeted Deacon’s vision. He moved closer until that finger hit his sternum. “I’ll just bet you do, Daddy.”
The anger building in Dain’s eyes satisfied something dark in Deacon’s soul.
“That’s beneath you. Elliot sure as hell doesn’t deserve it, but I’ll spare your teeth since I think that’s how she would want it.”
Probably. If he knew Elliot—and that was a big if—she’d rather punch them in herself.
“I know what her childhood was like,” Dain was saying. “I know everything she hides—because she trusts me. Because I’ve earned it. I know exactly why she is the way she is, why she couldn’t bring herself to claim that bastard aloud and see the look on everyone’s faces when they found out. On your face.”
“If you know so much, then maybe you should explain it to me, because right now all I know is I’d like to do a little punching of my own.”
“You don’t get that piece of Elliot from anyone but her. I’ll tell you one thing, though. You want Mansa to come to you?” He jabbed at the window now. “Your biggest piece of bait just drove out that gate. You want the bastard? You better get her back.”
“We can outwait Mansa.”
“You can? Think Fionn agrees with you?”
Fionn. His best friend, lying on a couch downstairs getting holes in his body sewn closed. Mansa’s message rang in his ears: I won’t kill this one. He’s my gift to you.
Fionn hadn’t ended up like Trapper because of Elliot.
Dain smirked. “You might want to think that one over. And if you decide I’m right, meet me downstairs at”—a glance at the thick black watch on his wrist—“1900 hours.”
