Beneath These Scars

But I completely disagreed as to the reason why. It had nothing to do with this city and everything to do with the fact that I wasn’t willing to trust anyone the way I’d naively trusted Jay before he became a monster. Never again would I make myself such an easy target. Vulnerability was an invitation to be walked all over.

“I’m not leaving. This is my home.”

“I just think that you might be more comfortable if you—”

“No,” I said, my tone resolute. “I’m not leaving.”

Ginny’s expression fell. “I just want what’s best for you, dear. If you change your mind, you know I’m here whenever you need me.”

I leaned forward and pressed a heartfelt kiss to her cheek. “Thank you. You know I never would’ve made it this far without you. I promise I’ll be fine. This town is just going to have to be big enough for both of us.”

Which was ironic, because he was going to have to stay away from me at all times. My restraining order would be active when he was released from prison. But that flimsy piece of paper wouldn’t keep me safe if Jay decided he wanted to get to me.

Geneviève squeezed my hand once more before turning to leave. Unease filtered through me, along with a sense of loss. The loss was my delicate feeling of safety shredding to pieces. Thoughts of vigilantly watching my back at every moment of the day hammered me. Would I ever feel safe again once he was out?

The door chime jangled again, and Levi poked his head out of the back room. “Everything okay out here?”

“Everything’s great,” I said, forcing cheer into my voice. “Everything’s perfect.”

But it was all a big, fat lie. And the lie started to crumble when my cell phone rang a few hours later.

“He’s out.” It was Valentina—Jay’s other victim, the judge’s daughter—and her usually confident and calm voice shook.

“What?” My voice trembled to match hers.

“He’s out, Yve. They let that animal out of his cage, and they didn’t even give me the warning I was supposed to get first. I just got a call from the victim’s rep, and he was oh-so-apologetic that they were calling late.”

My phone slid from my grip and thudded to the counter. Geneviève had been wrong—Jay wasn’t getting out soon. He was already out.

I snatched it up again. “Holy shit.” My response wasn’t eloquent, but any other words escaped me.

“My daddy’s PI has been on the trail since about five minutes after I got the call, but he’s coming up with nothing. It’s like Jay got picked up at the gates and just disappeared. We’re still trying to get the security footage. How that asshole got out of going to a halfway house . . . Well, I’m sure we can both figure that out. Money talks.”

Those feelings of safety I was hanging on to? Sliced to pieces by her words. But my determination to stand my ground? Multiplied exponentially.

“Watch your back, and I’ll watch mine,” I said.

“I’ll be watching mine with a loaded weapon,” Valentina vowed. “He comes near me, he dies. Dead men make excellent witnesses. Be safe, Yve. I’ll call if I hear anything at all.”

“You be safe too.”

When we hung up, I considered my options. I would not let Jay control my future; I’d already let him have too much of my past.

I picked up my phone and dialed another number. “Hello, this is Yve Santos. I’d like to make an appointment to speak with one of your small business loan officers.”

Dirty Dog was going to be mine. Jay would never control my life again. I wouldn’t hide from him, and I wouldn’t let him run me out of this town.

And I definitely wouldn’t let him win.

I SLAMMED THE DOOR OF my Aston. It was the only exhibition of frustration I allowed myself. Then I dialed Colson to fill him in on my meeting with Johnson Haines.

“How’d it go?” Colson didn’t bother with a greeting. We didn’t do meaningless small talk.

“He wants too much.” I’d expected big demands because all politicians operated on a quid pro quo system, but Haines’s request wasn’t something I could agree to lightly.

“Like what?”

“An open-ended favor. Anything he needs, whenever he needs it. And a hefty donation to his re-election campaign.”

“We expected the donation.”

“No shit, but I’m not going to be at the beck and call of some pompous politician.”

Haines had been the caricature of a Southern politician, his big gut testing the limits of his suspenders in his navy pin-striped suit and red power tie. All he’d been missing was a big fat cigar.

“He’s a power junkie. Having you on his list of favors would give him a boner. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Colson was right. Haines was the kind of man who liked having others under his thumb, and I could see the power light his expression when he’d explained that in exchange for my marker, he’d have to call in several others. But he was confident he could swing the tide in favor of the bill.

When I didn’t respond, Colson asked, “What’d you say?”

“That I’d think about it.” The money wasn’t the problem; it was being beholden to someone. I didn’t put myself in a position of anything but power, and owing a favor like this jeopardized that. I fucking hated politics, and this was exactly the reason why.

“He give you a deadline?”

“No one gives me goddamn deadlines, Colson. I make the deadlines.”