He rose to his feet and held out his hand. Without hesitation, she gripped it tightly and he helped her to stand. Without another word, he escorted her out of the bathroom and back to bed. Once he had her back under the covers, he tucked her into the curve of his body and held her close like he had earlier when they had fallen asleep.
He doubted either of them would do the same this time.
She pulled away and rolled until their faces were just inches apart. Her arms wrapped around him instead of the other way around.
With a hand to the back of his head, she pressed his face into her neck and squeezed him tightly. While he couldn’t see it and she tried to hide it, he knew she continued to cry. As she did so, the hand not holding his head stroked up and down his bare back.
Since she was the one upset, he should be comforting her, not the other way around. Tonight would be the first time in the last twenty-six years he received comfort from anyone.
It took him awhile, but when he finally let his muscles loosen and he breathed a bit easier, he realized he’d forgotten what that felt like.
Chapter Eighteen
Now that it was October, the leaves were beginning to drop and the greenery dying off for winter. Time was running out before his cover on the mountain would get sparse. Once late fall and winter came, he’d be too easy to spot. That meant he would have to finish the job come spring.
He didn’t want to do that, but he might not have a choice.
His concern was, during the winter they’d bring in more men from somewhere else. That somewhere else being wherever Shirleys sprouted from when they weren’t breeding their own on the mountain.
He’d been trying to keep track of their numbers, but it was difficult since they were never all together at the same time. Most likely on purpose. His best guess was only eight men remained. And eight men could still wreak havoc on their club if they had a mind to. On that, Shade was pretty fucking sure they were planning something because their survival depended on fighting back and stopping whoever was taking out their menfolk.
Shade spotted a few older male teens who could easily step into the missing men’s spots. Some might not be more than fourteen or so but by Shirley standards that was old enough to take a female and start breeding babies, even if the woman or teenage girl was related. Most likely, they would be related. The Shirley family tree looked like a straight trunk with barely a branch to be seen.
The past few weeks, he continued to go to Chelle’s on the weekends to paint. He also went over to her house the nights the girls were working late to continue with his lessons. Even better, a couple of times during the week they met at the motel. No lessons, no painting. Just them and that bowl of wraps.
He could read a few simple words now, which was more than he ever expected, but it was still difficult. He often got the letters turned around and had a hard time visualizing the words, whether in his head or on paper. Trying to read a short sentence could be excruciating and frustrating. While he’d wanted to give up many times, Chelle refused to let him quit.
She was determined to get him to the point where he could at least read at a basic level. But all Shade wanted to do was be able to read the names on his list. He’d been working backwards, starting with David. Before he left David’s house, he forced the fucker to tell him the name of the man he bought Julian from and had him write the name, along with his own, on a scrap of paper. When he was done with “Daddy David,” Shade drew a line through his name. Just like the line he made across David’s throat. The same one Julian tried to draw all those years ago when he was fourteen and failed.
That night, Shade didn’t fail. He got the info he needed and made sure David would never hurt a child, or anyone, again.
He saved the next name, who turned out to be a broker, to memory. After finding that broker and getting him to write down three more names on his list of men who had owned Julian—names he remembered only too well—he sliced that motherfucker’s throat, too.
A different type of monster, but a monster all the same. A man who bought and sold, sometimes even traded, children didn’t deserve to breathe.
After that Shade was stuck. He had three names he couldn’t read. It hit him later he should have recorded the broker saying those names with his phone. But then, a voice memo could end up used as evidence.