Chapter 32

There have been less than a handful of times in my life when I truly felt fear. The first time it happened was when I was eight years old and one of my foster fathers came into my room. My eyes were squeezed tight, but slit open enough to see him standing over my bed with his dick in his hand. I laid there frozen, terrified out of my fucking mind that he would touch me, force me to do things I didn't want to do. As young as I was, I knew exactly what he was doing. Living in foster care from the time I was two years old, I learned things from the other kids early on.

The first time I saw someone having sex, I was six. My foster brother, Dustin, and his girlfriend were lying on his bed with him on top. They were both naked, and he was lifting and dropping his hips between her legs. After he caught me watching them, he ordered me to stand beside the bed until they finished. After that, he explained what sex was. Occasionally, he had me watch them do other things as well. Though I had no interest in experiencing any of it myself, I found it oddly fascinating to my young mind. He never touched me or asked me to participate. He said it was my education, so when I was ready to do those things, I would know how.

So I knew what my foster father was doing, and it scared me shitless. I was so frightened that I peed the bed while he shot his load on my blanket. The next morning, I was beaten with a strap for soiling my sheets. The sticky residue on my blanket was never mentioned.

Another time I felt true fear was when Cat, who was pregnant with Eliana, awoke one night with blood between her legs. She went into labor two months early and nearly bled to death. The placenta detached and there was no stopping our daughter from entering the world early. Thankfully, she was as healthy as a baby born eight weeks early could be. A few weeks in an incubator allowed her to fully develop, and then we brought her home.

The time I felt the most fear, which literally brought me to my knees, was when I was informed that my home had been invaded. My kids were gone and my wife was in an ambulance on her way to the hospital, fighting for her life. When I stormed into the hospital, demanding an update, the nurse could only tell me Cat was in surgery and it was possible she wouldn't survive. In front of God and everyone around, I fell to my knees when my legs buckled under the heavy weight of my body.

Never, in all the years of my life, through everything I saw and experienced living in foster care and then on the streets, have I felt such fear and helplessness. It took seven excruciating hours for the doctor, his face drawn and pale with fatigue, to emerge through the set of doors to tell me my wife had made it through surgery. Though she wasn't out of the woods yet, the surgeons managed to stop the internal bleeding and patch up her insides as best they could. I had to wait another ninety minutes before I could see her. It felt like I hadn't taken a breath in those hours, and it was only when I walked into the sterile room, the beep of the machines barely heard in the background, and saw my battered and bandaged wife lying on the hospital bed, tubes and needles stuck all over her, that I filled my lungs.

Tears I hadn't shed since I was a child filled my eyes as I slowly approached her bed. The sheet was pulled up to just below her breasts. Her arms were mostly bare, except for the heavy bandages around both wrists and the IV line taped to the back of one hand. Purple and black bruises covered the skin around her neck, like someone had wrapped their hands around it and squeezed. To this day, she still has a faint mark on the side of her neck where she was bitten. Bandages and medical tape covered most of her face, but the exposed skin was discolored or marked with small cuts and scrapes.

Thankfully, there was a chair already sitting beside the bed, because my ass landed there a second later.

I gently took my wife's hand into mine and kissed the back of it. It wasn't until then that I felt the full force of grief over what had happened.

Our children were gone. And from the looks of Cat, they were taken in a way even the sickest of minds couldn't conjure. I didn't know the details of what had happened yet. I refused to speak to the police until I knew my wife's condition, so I had no idea what they went through was much worse than I imagined. I only knew they were gone, taken from us, their lives stolen.

Those were the worst hours of my life, and they'll remain the worst until the day my life ends.

However, as Cat stared at the pictures on the wall and her legs gave out from under her, tipping her forward, that moment was a close second.

Luckily, I was standing close by to catch her before she hit the ground.

"Cat." Her name grated through my sandpaper throat. My heart felt like it was in my fucking toes as I dropped to the floor with her in my arms. "Baby."

No movement. There wasn't even a flicker of her eyelids or a change in her breathing. But she was breathing, the little puffs of air leaving her lips came faster than normal.

I goddamn knew I shouldn't have let her see those pictures. It even turned my stomach when I saw what was done to them. Just like their lives were wiped out of existence, their faces were scratched out and marked over with red marker.

Another of Whisper's games.

Another tick on the number of hours he'll suffer once I find him.

How in the fuck does he keep getting past the alarm system? Before we left this afternoon for her appointment, I had the code for the system changed. Did he figure out the new code, or is he somehow bypassing it?

One thing's for damn sure, the alarm company better figure out what the hell is happening and fix it or heads will roll. Quite fucking literally.

While I sit beside the bed, holding Cat's hand, I don't wonder what she's thinking. I know she's there, her mind filled with memories of that night, unable to escape. Dr. Armani warned me it could happen at any moment, so I knew it was a possibility. Just as her headaches were increasing, her nightmares were becoming more frequent, and she was remembering more than she had since they began. Discovering the truth about her other personalities and the warning from Presley.

All of it led to this.

After she fell, I brought her upstairs to our bedroom and called Dr. Armani. He was knocking on the door fifteen minutes later. He didn't seem as concerned about her unconscious state as I was, telling me to let her rest, and she would wake up soon. He said her mind was trying to heal and it was up to her whether she allowed it.

For the first time since Cat began seeing the doctor five years ago, I wanted to slam my fist into his face and break the fragile bones.

I didn't want to wait for her to decide. I wanted him to wake her up. I needed to see her eyes to assure myself that she was okay, because until then, I couldn't fucking function properly.

That was three hours ago. Dr. Armani left after checking on Cat with instructions to call him when she awoke. My ass hasn't left this chair and won't until Cat gives me those beautiful blue eyes of hers.

I pull out my phone to call Silas to inform him we need to find Whisper before I tear the city apart. My phone drops to the floor when a soft whimper has me jerking my eyes to Cat. Her eyebrows are pinched and her face scrunches, as though in pain.

"Cat, baby." I gently call her name. I move to the side of the bed and grab her clammy hand in mine. "Can you hear me?"

Her eyelashes flutter, and for a moment, I think she's only reacting to something in her head, but when her eyelids slowly open, her gorgeous blue eyes focus on mine.

"Hunter?" she croaks, like she's been screaming for hours and her throat is too raw to speak. Her face crumples as tears fill her eyes. A loud wail erupts from her throat. "They're gone! Our babies are gone!"

I'm lying on the bed and have her pulled into my arms in the next second. Her sorrowful cries and deep sobs of pain break something inside me. She clings to me, her nails digging into my chest so hard they'll leave little crescent marks. While holding her tightly, her slender body shudders and her sobs fill our room.

I know how hard this fresh wave of hell is for her. I've had five years to deal with my own grief. It still hurts as much as the day it happened, but I've learned how to deal with it. Cat only had a few months before her mind put up a protective wall. She was never given the chance to heal.

We stay like this for a long time. My shirt is soaked with Cat's tears, and the only thing I can do is hold her as she wails out her grief. Being helpless isn't something I'm accustomed to feeling, but when it comes to knowing what to do to help my wife, it seems like it's all I feel. I can't take away this pain. I can't even fucking lessen it.

After what seems like hours, Cat lifts her head. Her face is red and splotchy and her eyes are puffy, her lashes soaked.

But it's my Cat looking back at me. Not a woman who looks like her, but goes by another name. For that, I breathe a sigh of relief.

"I couldn't save them," she says tearfully. "I tried, Hunter. I swear I tried so hard, but I wasn't strong enough."

I brush the wet hair off her cheeks. "I know you did, baby. Nothing could have saved them."

She shakes her head adamantly. "I should have been able to. It's my fault they're gone."

"No," I bark.

I quickly sit up in bed, plant her ass on my lap, and grab her cheeks in my hands. I force her head up so she sees how serious I am.

"I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, Caterina." I give her head a gentle shake. "There is nothing, absolutely fucking nothing, you could have done differently to save our children. Those bastards broke into our house knowing exactly what they had planned. What was done to them wasn't random or spur of the moment. They had every intention of," I grit my teeth and push the next words out between them, "brutally forcing their touch on them and taking them from us." I bring her face closer to mine. "And I fucking swear to you, I haven't forgotten my promise to make them all pay."

"I want to help."

Her words are spoken quietly, and for a moment, I'm speechless. Cat, my innocent, sweet, gentle wife, wants to get her hands dirty and bathe in the blood of those who wronged us.

She didn't say those exact words, but I see them in the harshness in her gaze, in the hatred she can't hide, the way her body suddenly tightens.

Even though I want to give her what she wants, I won't let my wife's hands get dirty.

"No, baby," I say. "This isn't for you. Let me take care of it."

Her nostrils flare as she presses her lips together. "I will always blame myself for not saving our children, Hunter, regardless of what you say. I was there. I watched as those men touched them in vile ways. Their screams of fear and pain still burn my ears. They begged me to save them, and I couldn't do a fucking thing." Tears glisten in her eyes, and a new wave falls down her cheeks when she squeezes them shut. Determination mixes with the wetness when she opens them again. "You won't take this from me," she says, her eyes sparking a lightning blue. "It is my right as their mother. A mother who failed them when they needed me the most. A mother who was forced to sit through the brutality of their deaths. A mother they looked at," a sob slides from between her lips, "as their throats were slit."

A fresh round of anger ignites, and I drop my hands from her cheeks to ball them into fists.

"Please, Hunter," Cat whispers.

I agree only because I know how important this is to her, and if it helps with her healing, then all the better. Aside from that, she's right. She does deserve to watch as the men responsible for tearing our world apart are put down.

"Okay."

Her tongue darts out, licking the tears from her lips. "Thank you."

We don't say anything else after that, despite the fact that there's a lot to be said. She may or may not remember the letter she received about Henry being released, but this needs to be addressed. Her life is in danger and she needs to be prepared as much as possible.

But as she falls against my chest, her face going to my throat, I hold the words back for the time being.

Right now, the only thing I need to do is hold my wife.

* * *

An hour later,I stroke Cat's back as she lays curled up to my side. Her head is on my chest and she hasn't moved or spoken for the last fifteen minutes, but I know she's still awake.

I dislike the quietness. It means she's thinking too much, and with everything that's happened over the last few hours, it's impossible to know where her mind is.

I'm shocked as shit that she's handling things as well as she is. I've lived in fear for nearly five years. Fear of what would happen should Cat remember the past. What it would do to her mentally. It just goes to show just how fucking strong she is.

Before I can utter a word to get her to open up to me, she moves from my chest. Sitting up, she draws her knees to her chest and wraps an arm around her legs as she stares at me. Her eyes, once they meet mine, aren't the same. Behind the bright blue color lies darkness and pain.

"I'm sorry," she says, filling the silence in the room.

Her finger covers my mouth as I try to reprimand her for once again apologizing for something that is not her fault.

"No. Let me speak."

Despite knowing I won't like what she says, I nod anyway. Her arm loops back around her legs and she rests her chin on her knees. She looks so young and innocent in the pose.

"I'm sorry that I hid them away," she continues, her voice low and filled with so much sadness that my chest physically hurts from it. "I'm so sorry, Hunter. I not only kept them in the dark from myself, I forced you to do the same. Our babies," a tear drips down her cheek, "deserve so much more than what I've given them for the last five years. They should have never been forgotten. They should be remembered and talked about and cherished every single day."

"Cat." The one word comes out hoarse, my chest tight. "Baby."

When I reach out for her, she tightens her arms around her legs and shakes her head. My hand falls to the bed, my jaw clenching.

"For so long, I was lost in my own grief, unable to cope with what had happened, afraid to even try. It was selfish and wrong of me to do that. You were hurting too, but instead of grieving with you, I blocked it out." She sweeps away the tears flowing down her cheeks. "Realizing that, I'm still unsure if I can handle it. Even right now, I feel grief seeping into my bones, weighing me down, trying to pull me back into oblivion. I don't want that, but I'm so scared I won't be able to fight it." Her lips pinch together and her eyes squeeze shut. "Please," she whispers brokenly, eviscerating my heart, "please don't let me go. Please don't let me do that to our children again. Don't let me forget them."

Whether she wants to be there or not, the choice is taken out of her hands when I grab the tops of her arms and haul her onto my lap. Her legs go around my waist, her arms around my shoulders, and she buries her face in my neck. I wrap myself around her just as tightly as she's wrapped around me. Still, it's not enough. If she crawled inside of me, she still wouldn't be close enough.

"I will never let you go, my sweet Cat," I say against her ear. "You want our children's memories to stay with you, I'll make sure they do. Every single day, we'll talk about them. The pictures will be replaced and rehung. I'll never let you forget them again."

Her sobs become heavier, her body wracked by tremors, and I hold her through them until she gradually calms.

She looks exhausted when she lifts her head. Today has been a hell of a day, but it could have turned out so much worse.

"Henry, one of the boys, was released from prison not long ago," I say, closely watching her face.

"I know. I remember getting and hiding the letter."

"He left town as soon as he was released. I have a couple guys looking for him." I pull her closer until her front is plastered to mine and only inches separate our faces. "You don't need to worry about him, but I still want you to be cautious."

She nods.

"There's something else," I say cautiously.

"Whisper." She says the name so low I barely hear it.

It's been years since the name was used in her presence. I purposely didn't say it around her because I wasn't sure how she would react. I'm mildly surprised she remembers it.

"He sent the box. The one with the clothes."

I nod, the muscle in my jaw twitching. "Yes. I've been on his trail. I'm so fucking close, baby."

She stares over my shoulder as her brows drop and a wrinkle forms between them. Something dark and painful fills them when they return to me.

"He was there that night."

I suspected as much, but I wasn't sure until she confirmed it. I would have known for sure if I had watched the thumb drive in its entirety.

"He's the one who," another pause, "killed them. I didn't remember until my memories came back tonight. I couldn't see his face because he was wearing a mask like the others, but his was different."

After the attack, Cat's memories were splotchy. The doctor claims she blocked out certain details of the incident because it was too traumatic, so she only remembered bits and pieces.

We always believed Terry was the one who killed my children. It's what he, Henry, and Howard told police and claimed in court. Why in the fuck would Terry admit that, knowing it would add more to his sentence? What was the purpose of keeping Whisper being there a secret? He was just as guilty as the others because he gave the order, but his actual presence and participation in the killing made him even more responsible.

The thumb drive.

He sent it, knowing I would watch it. But I didn't. Not all the way through. I stopped because I would have killed someone if I hadn't. Didn't matter who. I just needed to feel blood on my hands.

Having this confirmed changes nothing. Except for the amount of pain Whisper will feel.

As soon as I get a chance, I'll watch the thumb drive all the way through, even if it kills me. Maybe there will be a clue as to who the bastard is, and I can finish this once and for all.