Best Laid Plans(59)

She didn’t want to open her eyes, but they opened anyway. All around her were computer screens, reflecting the violence that had been done to her. And flashes of the disclaimer.

Fantasy rape role playing. All participants are actors.

No! Don’t believe it! It’s not true.

Then she saw him watching.

Sean.

He was standing there, not looking at her, but watching the multitude of videos all around the room. He saw everything. Her pain and suffering, her humiliation. How could he ever see her as she was? Maybe because this was who she was. A victim. Maybe this was why he stayed, too scared to let her go. She was broken, she was beaten, she would never be able to give Sean what he deserved. A home. A family. Happiness.

Mona Hill walked into the room. She laughed at Lucy. “Really? Tears? It’s just sex. Do you know how much money I make selling sex? Who do you think is in control? Not the men. It’s us, sweetheart. You and me. Well, me. Because I know how the game is played. And you’re just pathetic.”

She laughed and laughed and then there was silence.

There were no lights, no sounds, only Lucy shaking on the cold, filthy mattress. The door opened and she saw him.

“Please, no.”

“Your fans have voted.” Trask lifted his hand. A knife glittered in a spotlight. Because this was a show. It was Trask’s show. “You must die so I can live.”

“No!”

“Look at the audience, Lucy. Look at your biggest fan.”

She closed her eyes, but they were pried open. She was on a stage and in the audience was one person. Sean. His hands were strapped to the seats. He was forced to watch her die. And there was nothing either of them could do about it.

“Why, Lucy?” Sean cried.

Because she’d failed everyone. And here she was.

Trask took off his clothes and came toward her. “Only you can help me, Lucy. Only you.”

The sharp blade cut into her neck and blood dripped onto stained satin sheets …

She opened her mouth and screamed.

*



Sean jumped out of the chair before he was fully awake. Lucy’s screams echoed in the large house. He’d fallen asleep in his office, and as he ran up the stairs two at a time, he vaguely realized that it was three in the morning, that the house was quiet but the lights were still on.

He flung open the door of their bedroom.

Lucy was sitting on the edge of the bed, her body convulsing in violent sobs but no tears.

His chest hurt seeing Lucy in such pain. He sat next to her and held her tight. Her body shook, every muscle frozen, and she was icy to the touch. She crawled into his lap like a child and clung to him.

Guilt washed over him. He should have been here, in bed with her. She needed him, even if she hadn’t admitted it. His research into Mona Hill had told him why the woman had gotten to Lucy. But he’d been hurt and angry that she’d shut him out. He didn’t want to think that staying downstairs was his way of punishing Lucy. That he’d just been working when he decided to rest. It was his own damn insecurities that drove him to such pettiness.

“Lucy,” he whispered as he stroked her hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Shh. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

“I don’t want you to see.” Her face was buried in his chest. Her arms were so tight around his neck that he couldn’t move.

“Honey, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! Don’t say it’s okay, I never wanted you to see me like that.”

He didn’t know what she was talking about.

“It’s just a nightmare, princess. Just a nightmare.”

And then the flood of tears came with a guttural cry that tore Sean apart. He held Lucy tight, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to take away this pain. Had she been suppressing this anguish every night when she woke up, unable to sleep? Because she didn’t want him to see her suffer? How had she done it? What was inside her head? He would do anything to help her.

He pulled at a blanket until he freed it from the bed and wrapped it around Lucy, holding her close. He held her, rocking her in his arms, because he didn’t know what else to do. He held her because he loved her and her pain was his pain. There had been times when Lucy had been upset or woken from a bad dream when he wanted to hit someone. Beat senseless the people who’d hurt her. Anger helped him cope with her suffering.

Now, all he wanted was to make things better for Lucy. Forget those who hurt her—they were all dead anyway—and focus on the present. Something had happened to trigger these nightmares in Lucy after more than a year of peace.

The first step was for him to address what she was scared about. He had an idea about what it was. It pained him to talk about what happened eight years ago, so they never really talked about it. They talked around the events. Because he’d worked so closely with her brother Patrick, he knew the truth. He hadn’t been a part of her life then, so it was easy to avoid the conversation. They’d first met after one of her rapists had been murdered by a vigilante. They’d never had to talk about what had happened because she knew he knew. He’d thought it would be better that way. Was he wrong?

When he’d first met Lucy, she had a hard, icy exterior that not only prevented anyone from getting too close, but also kept her emotions buried. He’d recognized that she needed him from the very beginning, to ground her, to give her a wall of protection so that she could let down the shields and relax.