Page 72 of Wicked Duty
It’s not Lucy’s fault she sneaks behind my defenses. I shouldn’t be unleashing my anger on her. No matter my feelings on the subject, no one should be blackmailing her with that photo.
Lucy’s the victim here, and I’m a dick for hurling that in her face.
For fuck’s sake, I can’t stop morphing into a caveman around her.
I need to apologize. “Lucy, I?—”
“Screw you, you unfeeling fuck stick!” Her elegant frame shakes with rage, vehement eyes shining. “You think I let someone take those pictures of me? I was sex trafficked. I didn’t have a choice.” Her voice cracks. “I didn’t…have a choice.”
The world drops out from beneath my feet.
Sex trafficked.
The term pings through my skull, driving needles into my brain. Darren said Lucy got mixed up in a sex trafficking operation run by the Russian Bratva. Nobody told me she herself was a survivor of one. The thought of Viktor Roguilin or his men abusing her, touching her, worse…
My body flips between white-hot rage and cold horror so quickly I can’t keep up with the emotions. My fingers clench and unclench. My head buzzes.
I wonder again how hard it would be to find that fucker and strangle him with my bare hands.
I have no idea what to do. What to say.
I can’t even breathe.
And Lucy…fuck, Lucy…
I’ve never seen anyone appear as broken as she does right now.
“Did you even bother to look at the photo?” she chokes out. “I mean, really look…”
My heart pounds violently enough to punch a hole between my ribs.
In her next breath, she covers her face and begins to sob. Big, helpless, horrified tears. I ripped the fight right out of her with my careless words.
The picture… I don’t want to even glance at it again, but I have to.
When I do, my heart stops. Upon closer inspection, I notice the details I missed the first time due to my anger.
Lucy’s not seductively posing for the camera. She’s terrified. The streak of dirt by her chin and her lank hair suggest she hasn’t showered in days, and her arms…fuck. I see multiple bruises. Some faint, some newer.
My eyes slip shut.
All our interactions over the past few weeks race by, little indicators clicking into place. She freezes, uncomfortable and afraid, when I invade her personal space or threaten to restrain her. The nightmares. The way she bristles at being followed. Her defensiveness right from the very beginning.
Remorse and shame numb me for a few awful moments, and then I move. I gather Lucy in my arms, stroking her purple-streaked hair as she shakes within my embrace.
She shoves weakly against my chest. “Let me go.” Her voice catches on another sob.
I hold her closer. She crumbles, hiding her face again as she cries.
I’m such an idiot. There’s nothing I can say.
All this time, I’ve been thinking she was some wild party girl.
Now, the puzzle pieces finally snap together.
When Darren, Veronika, and Maya briefed me on this assignment, I could tell they were withholding information. Ijumped to the conclusion that they were hiding Lucy’s voluntary involvement with Viktor Roguilin. Instead, they were protecting her dignity. Bringing me onboard without revealing the ugliest extent of what she’s suffered.
And I misread absolutely everything.
