Page 40 of Everything After

His hands move until he can gently grab the back of my neck and pull me closer to deepen our kiss. I roll my hips, and we both groan. “My needy girl. What do you need, my love?”

“You,” I say. “Just you.”

“I’m right here,” he says, smiling against our kiss.

As he slides his hands under my shirt, the doorbell rings. It keeps ringing, and it sets alarm bells off in my head. It’s like someone is rapidly pressing it.

We both jump up, and Beckett grabs his gun before going to the front door. I stay behind him but hang back at the end of the couch as he opens the door.

It’s pitch black outside as he takes one step out. There is a shadow of a person, but when Beckett flips the light on, I let out a shrill scream.

“Fuck,” Beckett snaps. He shuts and locks the door before immediately coming to me. I am sobbing when he picks me up from the ground to move to the couch.

Anthony is hanging from a noose on the front porch with his abdomen sliced open so that his innards are spilling out of him. His tongue has been cut out and his eyes removed. On his chest, the word “Rat” is carved into him.

I am curled up in Beckett’s lap as he talks to someone. He makes a few different calls, but continues to hold me closely.

Eventually, police show up. Mason and Bella are sitting with us, and I am still in shock. I’ve prayed for that man to die so many times, but seeing it is different. The look on his face tells me he felt every second of that. Why does that make me sad? This man tortured me for seven years. That doesn’t mean he or anyone deserves that kind of end.

Okay, maybe he does deserve it.

But why? Why him? Why me? Why now? He could have killed me, but he didn’t. He was sober. It’s like he was only there to warn me that there is more to this than I realized. Someone has betrayed us. I was in the way, and they needed to get rid of me.

“Good luck with them.”

That’s the part that stumps me.

Them?

Them who?

Is it one or more people?

Let’s face it, though. Ronan couldn’t have gotten rid of me himself. He would have needed help. I can’t imagine a world where that man could have organized all of this and maintained it for almost a decade.

Anthony was choosing prison over the freedom he’s had for eight years. Even with being recently discovered, he was free. This only makes me wonder… was Ronan the one to call in the tip about seeing him? If the walls have ears, or whatever, why even come here? Also, what the fuck does that even mean? Maybe he was just psychotic.

“Hey,” Jerald says, patting my back before sitting on the ottoman behind me. I turn in Beckett’s lap and sniff back my tears as I wipe my face.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Sierra,” Jerald tells me. “Look, I know that man was terrible to you, but it’s okay to be sad.”

“It’s not…”

“It is. He was part of your life for seven years. You felt something for him, even if it was a projection of the abuse; you are still allowed to be sad.”

“I keep losing time,” I admit. “I… just…”

“You have PTSD, and you disassociate,” he says. “It’s unfortunate, but normal.”

“What now?” Beckett asks.

“Well…” Jerald sighs. “Now we take his body and let you all get some rest.”

“You aren’t going to investigate us?” I ask.

“Do I need to? If it was one of you, we never would have found his body,” Jerald says. I can’t help but smirk because he’s right.