Bryce didn’t glance up from the document. “I’m not so sure,” he said.
“What do you think it is, then?”
“It says unspecified merchandise.”
“So? What merchandise could he be talking about? It’s just code. He paid Justin’s dad off not to turn him in for murder.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have to think like my father.”
“Uh…okay.”
“He was a trafficker. To him, people were merchandise.”
My stomach dropped. “You think…”
“You said Colin thinks his father sold him to my father, right? Does he have any proof of that?”
“He must, or he wouldn’t have said it. I guess I forgot to ask him while we were being held captive.” I hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but I did.
“Honey, I’m not blaming you for anything. We need to talk to him. Find out why he thinks that. But right here I think is documentation not of a payoff but of a purchase.”
“You think Justin is alive.”
“I think he was alive then. I don’t know about now.”
“But you said—”
“The memories are fuzzy. I know that. But his lips and skin weren’t blue when we found him by the river. And then he and his family just disappeared.”
Nausea welled in my throat. Bryce’s dad had truly been evil. Not that I’d ever doubted it, but to buy a kid? And what the hell kind of parent would sell a kid?
Ted Morse.
This guy. Bert Valente.
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t understand.”
“Be glad you don’t,” Bryce said. “I am. Every day.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he grabbed me and crushed his lips to mine.
But almost as quickly, he pulled back and pushed me away. I lifted my eyebrows.
“Too much in my head,” he said.
“Let me help, then. Let me be your escape.” I cupped his cheeks and pulled his lips down to mine, opening for him, urging him.
His tongue invaded my mouth, filling me with a raw need. He was taking, escaping—I could feel it in the way he kissed me, as if I were a drug he needed for survival, a salve to take away a crushing pain, a knowledge he wished he could erase from his mind.
I kissed him back, showing him how much I needed him in return. We needed each other.
When would this vicious cycle end? When would we each be free from the ghosts of our past?
Even now, as I reveled in Bryce’s kiss, the scar on my upper thigh itched. Just the thought of the blade hidden in my purse would have calmed it.
But the blade was no longer in my possession. Would never again be in my possession.
Bryce didn’t need a blade to relieve his guilt. He was using my body instead, so I’d do the same.