Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
I dismissed the fear that seeing me had somehow set him back. It was just another layer of guilt I wasn’t prepared to deal with.
But I also knew why I was really here.
It wasn’t to apologize to him for what I’d done, because there was no way to apologize for something like that.
I’d destroyed his life.
My brother, Vaughn, had tried to convince me otherwise, but I knew the truth. I’d promised to save him, and I hadn’t done it. I’d chosen another child to save instead of him.
And I’d ended up destroying them both.
I refused to let my mind shift to my son, Gio, because I just wasn’t capable of dealing with that right now.
I couldn’t even deal with the fact that Remy was Billy and that the boy I’d thought I’d never see again was standing right in front of me.
He’d been around thirteen or fourteen when I’d last seen him. The information I’d managed to have my private investigator pull together on Remy in the last few hours had been sketchy at best, but one thing was clear.
He’d never gotten to go home.
I only knew that because Remy’s identity on paper had begun only two years ago. He’d been issued a new Social Security number and there’d been no mention of any kind of previous history in his records. His credit and employment history were only two years old, and there was nothing about parents or family in any of the little bit of a paper trail my investigator had managed to find. Normally, I’d have any one of my brothers do that kind of research, but I definitely hadn’t wanted to explain to King, Con, or Lex anything about Remy and why I was trying to dig up information on him.
Vaughn was the only one who knew what I’d done to Remy, aka Billy, eight years earlier when I’d entered a world I hadn’t fully understood… one in which kids were sold and traded for sex.
Remy had been one of those kids.
My son, Gio, had been too.
I’d been trying to find Gio when I’d met Remy. I’d thought myself so lucky to have managed to get access to the sex trafficking ring that had stolen my child from me, but when I’d been led into an old farmhouse several hours west of Chicago, I’d known it wouldn’t be so simple to find my son and bring him home.
But I’d been desperate, and I’d understood that my only chance of finding Gio had meant playing the game. Only, I hadn’t understood the price I’d have to pay until I’d walked into a dirty, dark, nearly empty room with a single bed in it.
I also hadn’t understood that I wasn’t the only one who’d have to pay a price.
After hanging up, Remy merely dropped the phone to the floor. The entryway to the apartment was carpeted, so it barely made a sound. I could see the young man was agitated.
Really agitated.
He was shaking with whatever emotion he was dealing with.
I almost laughed at that… like it was a question or something. Like I didn’t know exactly what the fuck he was dealing with.
He was dealing with having run into the man who’d promised to save him but had left him to his fate.
Do you know how long I fucking waited for you to come back for me?
I must have made a sound as I remembered the pain in his voice when he’d asked me that very question this afternoon because Remy froze, then turned to look in my general direction. The section of the apartment I was sitting in was dark, but his eyes landed right on me.
I expected him to say something or at least turn on the lights for the rest of the apartment so he could see me, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked at the wall in front of him, then slowly eased the messenger bag off and dropped it to the floor next to his phone.
“You’re late,” he said softly. “By about eight years.” He leaned against the door so he was still facing the wall. His voice sounded resigned and all the agitation just fell away until there was nothing. He pulled in a breath and said, “Actually, eight years, four months—”
“—three days, six hours, and thirteen minutes,” I finished for him.
He glanced at me in surprise for the briefest of moments, then the emotion slipped away.
“Who’s Joe?” I asked.
Remy let out a soft laugh, then turned so he was facing me. He reached out with his right hand to flip on the lights. “What?” he asked dryly, his lips pulling into something of an amused grin. But it wasn’t a natural one. “You worried I’m not quite right up here?” he asked as he pointed to his head.
The reference to his mental health hit a little too close to home considering what my son was currently going through, but I managed not to react. Although Gio had been rescued from the man who’d hurt him for so many years, my child wasn’t okay.