Page 17 of Vicious Hearts

He doesn’t reply, but his silence suggests he didnotknow that. His features are impassive, but his eyes grow stormy as he digests what I'm saying.

"I think Farraday was framed." I watch Ben's face, still looking for a reaction, but he gives nothing away. "The evidence against him was inconsistent. There was no suggestion that he was a menace to society either—he took his medication and turned up for work every day. His wife was horrified, and no one who knew him ever said they'd suspected him."

"That's not unusual," Ben says. "People don't like to admit it when they've known someone for years, only to find they misjudged them and had a monster in their midst."

"You'd know, I guess."

I didn't mean to say that, but it's too late to take it back. Ben's face, already stony, seems to close up even more.

He gets to his feet and storms over to the coat hooks, snatching up my coat. He drapes it over the back of the armchair before picking up his glass again, draining the wine in one.

"Take all this to Hillard and Farraday's lawyers. It's none of my business. The right guy was caught, and I got paid. I'm sorry if he regrets it, but he doesn't deserve a pass. Six little kids aren't getting a second chance. Why shouldhe?"

I'm crying again. I can't help it. Ben looks at me in confusion.

"Jesus, Roxy. Why does thismatterso much?"

I try to reply, but my words catch in my throat.

"Find your voice. Come on."

He said that to me that night in Hawaii. Because he wanted me to cry out when he made me come.

I cough and compose myself. "Okay. Firstly, I don't want to see an innocent man suffer and more kids get murdered when I might be able to stop it. And secondly, The Dollmaker is still out there. I know it for sure."

I turn around in my chair and lift my hair, exposing the nape of my neck. My fingertips trace the raised edges of my head wound.

Ben says nothing for a moment. Then, without warning, he hurls his wine glass at the wall, shattering it into a million razor-sharp shards. If they hurt his feet as he moves toward me, he doesn't seem to care. He's beside me in an instant, his hand in my hair, the other cradling my head as his thumb touches the stitches gently.

He's tender with me, so careful, but I feel his muscles tensing. I'm reminded of the raw strength I felt when I lay next to him in his bed.

His voice is low and calm when he speaks, but the simmering rage is impossible to miss.

"Who is the soon-to-be-dead cunt who hurt you,charodeyka?"

"I don't know," I whisper. "But God help me, Ben—I gotta find out."

"How did you escape?" he asks. He sits next to me on the armchair, pulling me back toward him until I'm resting against his chest. His hand cups my cheek, my tears running over his fingers.

"Luck. And carelessness on my abductor's part."

"And you think it was The Dollmaker? Why?"

"Samemodus operandi, mostly. But I'm not his usual victim type, so it's got to be for practical reasons rather than for fun. He must have planned to kill me to shut me up and keep Farraday where he is."

Ben's fingers are on my neck, and his thumb grazes my lower lip. His movements are slow, as though he doesn't realize he's doing it. His other hand holds my hip, kneading it.

"How dare he," he murmurs. "How dare that slimy piece of shit lay a finger on my girl. I swear to God, Roxy, I'll make him beg for your mercy. He'll bleed rivers under your fucking feet."

* * *

Ben

I need to let go of her.

She's in no state to handle me even if I was on an even keel. And I'm not. I can feel the ropes that hold me in place whipping loose, the broken parts of my mind thrashing to get free.

Seeing Roxy hurt, knowing some bastard injured her, frightened her—it makes me want to do something terrible. But holding her like this, feeling her softness against me? It's gonna kill me.

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