After the Storm (KGI #8)(60)

“Son of a bitch,” Donovan bit out.

Yeah, the bastard certainly had covered every one of his steps. He’d planned for everything, including discrediting Eve in everyone else’s minds. Her stepfather was a formidable opponent, but Donovan swore then and there that the ass**le was going down and Donovan was going to enjoy every minute. He wanted Walt to suffer every bit as much as he’d made Eve suffer.

“He then made good on every single threat he’d issued,” Eve said quietly. “He withdrew all financial support. Evicted me from my apartment. All I had were the clothes on my back and enough cash to eat for a few days. I quickly discovered just how far his reach extended when I tried to apply for jobs. I would have taken anything. I wasn’t picky. My next plan was to hire an investigator to build a case against Walt, and I needed money for that. But no one would hire me. It was like there was this giant red flag that hovered over my name. Only when I left the immediate area to seek out a job elsewhere did I finally manage to score a waitressing job. The pay was shit. The tips were miserable. But it was enough to rent a one-room efficiency apartment in a shitty part of town.

“Walt cut me out entirely. Refused to allow me to see Mom, Travis or Cammie. He said he didn’t want them influenced by my continuous bad decisions. That if in the future I proved I’d learned my lesson he would reconsider, but there would have to be a hell of a lot of changes, meaning I would have to submit to being under his thumb. A robot to act as programmed.”

“Asshole,” Donovan growled. “Did he hurt you, Eve? Did he ever hurt Travis and Cammie?”

“I’ll get to that,” she said quietly.

Donovan swore viciously under his breath.

“He kept me away from them, completely isolated for months. No calls. If I called, I wasn’t allowed to speak to any of them. They weren’t allowed to call me. I worked, saving every penny I could. I barely ate. Each dollar was precious and I knew I’d need money to build a case against Walt and expose the bastard for what he was. But I also knew that I was up against a powerful, wealthy man who had endless connections and that it wasn’t going to be easy. But I was driven. I refused to just give up and allow my mother and my siblings to suffer any longer.”

“You’re a very courageous, loyal person,” Donovan said, reaching to touch her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I’m not. If I were, I would have never let it go that long. I wouldn’t have given up. My mother would still be alive.”

Tears had thickened her voice and shone on her pale cheeks. Before he could correct her belief, she plunged forward, seemingly needing to get it done and said, like ripping off a bandage instead of peeling it slowly.

“And then she died,” she said, a sob welling from her throat. “And I knew. I knew he’d killed her. It wasn’t me being paranoid or delusional. I know that son of a bitch had killed her. Who knew why? Maybe she’d finally mustered her courage and had threatened to walk away. Maybe she tried to walk away. She would have never left Travis and Cammie there under his care. She would have taken them. Likely come to me for help. She knew I would. God knows I’d offered it to her enough times.”

“Jesus,” Donovan muttered. And yet there was more. So much more.

“I was shocked that he allowed me at her funeral. He acted . . . conciliatory. He asked me to come over after the visitation. The first time I’d been allowed in his home since that awful day I’d come with the police. He said Travis and Cammie needed me. That he needed me. I didn’t care what he wanted or needed. I was only concerned about Travis and Cammie, and I wanted to see them with my own eyes. I wanted to see if he’d hurt them—if he’d ever hurt them. I had to know. I had to see them so I could promise them I’d get them out of there as soon as I could.

“Travis and Cammie were understandably quiet. In shock. Cammie was white faced and strangely tearless the entire time. It was as if she had no clue what was going on. Maybe she hadn’t accepted that our mother was gone. I just remember how quiet and still the house was. How ominous it was. I was scared to even be there because it was a house filled with . . . evil. His presence was everywhere. His stamp was on every piece of furniture, artwork. Nothing of my mother. None of her personal touches. The entire house screamed Walt and his influence. And then . . .”

She shuddered and went silent, remaining so as she visibly grappled with her anger—and grief. When she kept silent, her forehead furrowed, her lips drawn into thin, white lines, he leaned forward, sensing that she needed more than the brief touches he’d offered.

Carefully, gauging her reaction for any signs of protest, he pulled her into his arms. After only a moment’s hesitation, she went readily, burying her face in his chest. He anchored her against him, holding her tightly, his arms wrapped completely around her. He laid his cheek against her silky hair and breathed in her scent.

She felt so soft and warm in his arms and infinitely fragile. But so very precious. He’d give anything in the world to slay her dragons and the demons that haunted her dreams—and her reality.

“Then what, Eve?” he murmured against her hair. He needed to know the rest. And she needed to rid herself of the poison that had festered for so long.

She shuddered again in his arms and tensed, as if trying to hold back the mounting sobs. Had she ever cried? Even once? Or had she been too determined to put up a brave front for Travis and Cammie?