Vicious Cycle (Vicious Cycle #1)(31)

After a moment of silence, Willow softly asked, “Did you love my mommy?”

My hand froze, stilling the sweeping motion of the brush. As I thought of the feelings I’d once had for Lacey, an ache burned through my chest. “Yeah, I did.”

“Did she love you?”

“Yeah, I think she did at one time.”

“You think when I grow up I’ll be prettier than her?”

“Probably. Let’s face it. You look just like me, and I’m pretty damn handsome.” When Willow didn’t acknowledge my comment, I said, “Yes, you’ll be prettier. Is that what you want, to be the prettiest?”

She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “Yes … as long as it doesn’t make me hurt people or let them hurt me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mommy was so pretty that she let lots of men hurt her. Sometimes they hurt me. But most of the time, it was Mommy who hurt me.”

Her words caused a volatile mixture of rage and pain to course through me. Hearing Willow talk about how much her mother hurt her made me wish that Lacey were still alive so I could kill her with my own bare hands. I knew firsthand what it was like to be abused as a kid, and I didn’t want anyone else to have to deal with that pain, especially my own flesh and blood. Even though I knew she was f*cked-up on drugs, I couldn’t imagine how Lacey could hurt Willow. Of course, when I’d started f*cking Lacey, I hadn’t actually been looking for someone maternal. She was no Mama Beth, that’s for damn sure. And even though I didn’t know her that well, I knew Alex would be ten times the mother that Lacey had ever tried to be. Wait. Why the f*ck was I bringing Alex into all this?

Placing one of my hands on Willow’s shoulder, I said, “You know that you don’t have to ever worry about being hurt again.”

“Yeah,” she replied tentatively.

“I’m serious. If anyone hurts you, I will put them in the ground. Do you understand me?”

Willow turned back to me with wide, frightened eyes. “Look, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want you to understand that you don’t have to worry about being hurt again.”

“Okay.”

As I brought the brush through her hair again, I sighed. “And I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to stop your mom from hurting you. I promise you it wouldn’t have happened if I’d been there.”

“It’s all right.”

“No. It really isn’t.” A ragged breath shuddered through my body. “You didn’t deserve that, and I should’ve been there.”

With an intuition that freaked me out, Willow asked, “Did someone hurt you when you were little?”

As I recalled the horrific memories of my past, my head began to swim, and the room seemed to close in on me. The last thing on earth I needed was for Willow to see me flake out. I was supposed to be strong for her.

I counted to ten and tried to collect my thoughts. “Deacon?” Willow prompted.

“Yeah, my old man used to beat the shit out of me after he beat my mom. Usually for no reason at all. My mom tried to get us away, but …”

“What happened to your real mommy?”

“She was murdered, just like yours.”

“Was it Mean Man?” Willow asked in a whisper.

I shook my head. “No. It was my father.”

After relief momentarily flickered across her face that it hadn’t been the “Mean Man,” her tiny brows scrunched in confusion, as if she couldn’t imagine anything so horrible. “Your daddy killed your mommy?”

“Yeah, he did,” I replied, and I hated that my voice sounded choked with emotion.

“He must’ve been a real bad man.”

“Yeah, he was.” As I swept the brush through her hair again, I said, “Guess we’re a lot alike with the fact our mothers were killed, huh?”

A solemn look came over her face. “Yes, but I’m more sad for you.”

My brows shot up. “Why’s that?”

“Because you loved your daddy, and he hurt your mommy, which hurt you really bad. Even though I lost my mommy, I still have my daddy.” Glancing at me over her shoulder, she added, “And you would never do anything to hurt me like that.”

My hands froze in her hair as I tried to process her words. In spite of all my shit, Willow thought I was a good guy—a guy who would never hurt her. I sure as hell hoped I could live up to her expectations. It was a lot of f*cking pressure. “You’re right,” I croaked. Cuffing the back of her neck playfully to ease the mood, I asked, “When did you become so wise?”

She shrugged. “Mrs. Martinez used to say I was an old soul.”

The mention of someone from her former life made me think for a minute about how she had mentioned the “Mean Man” again. The shrink she saw twice a week had warned us not to grill Willow for any information about what she had witnessed. But at the end of the day, we needed more intel. “What can you tell me about Mean Man?”

Willow immediately turned white as a sheet, and a tremor ran through her body. In a strangled voice, she replied, “No. I can’t … I can’t ever talk about him. He’ll hurt me.”

Even though I wasn’t used to showing her a lot of affection, I pulled her into my arms. “No, baby. He won’t. Me, Uncle Rev, and Bishop, and the rest of the Raiders won’t let him. He can’t get to you. I promise.”