37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

RICHARD

We’re curled up on Izel’s couch, and though it’s far from comfortable, the warmth between us makes it impossible to move. She’s tracing invisible patterns on my abs. Every few minutes, she glances up, and her eyes sparkle with mischief as she shares another piece of her childhood.

“...and this one time, Mom and I tried to make a cake. We had, like, none of the right stuff, but she was fucking determined,” Izel chuckles.

I grin, propping myself up on one elbow to get a better look at her. “Let me guess, it was a disaster?”

“Complete disaster,” she confirms with a nod. “It tasted like shit, literally. But we laughed so hard, I thought we’d never stop.”

Her laughter fades into a soft sigh, and she shifts closer, her hand sliding a little lower, dangerously close to stirring me back to life.

“You know, it wasn’t all bad. Not when she was there.”

“Sounds like she made it a home, best she could.”

“Yeah, she did,” Izel agrees, her fingers pausing on my skin. She looks up at me. “We didn’t have much space in that basement, but Mom and I—we made it a fucking castle. We even had this ridiculous throne made out of old books.”

I burst into laughter, “A book throne? Damn, that’s some royal shit right there.”

“Totally royal,” she agrees, flashing a grin that lights up the dim room. “Queen Izel of the Underground, ruler of Spiders and Dust Bunnies.”

My hand slides down her back, settling with a light squeeze on her ass. “Sounds sexy. Did Queen Izel have a king?”

“Nah, just a court jester,” she quips, nudging me with her elbow. “You might be qualified for the job, though. You’ve got the whole making me laugh till my stomach hurts thing down.”

“Only if my queen promises to keep her royal tits under my personal guard,” I tease back, my fingers playfully pinching her side.

She swats at my hand, feigning offense. “Careful, my lord, or I’ll have you beheaded—or worse, banished from the bedroom.”

“Fuck, not the bedroom.” I pretend to shudder. “Anything but that. I’d be lost without access to my queen’s... royal chambers.”

She laughs, her laughter echoing in the room like music to my ears. God, I love that sound. It makes me want to say something equally trivial again just to hear her laugh once more.

“Yeah, so the basement wasn’t exactly the palace of Versailles, but Mom and I, we made it ours. We also had this game where we’d pretend we were in different parts of the world each week,” she chuckles. “We made up stories about the places we’d go, things we’d see.”

“Sounds like she was a hell of a woman, your mom,” I remark, genuinely impressed by the strength and creativity it must have taken to make a life out of such limited circumstances.

“She was... she was everything,” she replies softly. “Taught me all about the world from a stack of old books and her imagination.”

“Tell me more about this place you and your mom made your own. What was it like?”

“Oh, well, every night, we’d have dinner under the stars. We had this old, beat-up table in the basement, and it was our little slice of the world. We’d set it up with candles and pretend we were dining in some far-off place.”

“Under the stars?” I repeat, envisioning it in my mind. A basement doesn’t exactly scream starlit dinners.

She nods, and there’s a distant look in her eyes as she continues. “Victor had these rare moments of... I don’t know, kindness, I guess. One day, he brought us these glow-in-the-dark stars. He even helped stick them on the ceiling. So, every night, we’d switch off the lights, and the stars would come out.”

“That’s...” I start, not sure how to respond, but I’m glad Izel beats me to it.

“It was one of the few things that kept us sane back then,” she admits.

“And now?” I ask, unable to stop myself. “Do you ever think back to those nights? The stars?”

“I try not to. It’s hard to reconcile those memories with everything else. But sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see them. And it reminds me that no matter how dark things got, there was always a little light.”

I feel my muscles tense under her fingertips as she continues. Tomorrow, I’ll have to look at the place that caged her, the real-life dungeon version of her ‘world’.

“What was it like when you got out?”

She doesn’t answer right away, just traces patterns on my chest with her fingertips. I can feel her hesitate, like she’s sifting through memories she’d rather forget.

“It was... overwhelming,” she finally says. “You’d think getting out of there would be the end of the nightmare, but in some ways, it was just the beginning of another one.”

I feel my heart tighten in my chest. “What do you mean?”

“Imagine spending seventeen years in a place where the only light you see is artificial, where the air is always stale, and the only sounds are your own footsteps and the occasional voice telling you what to do. Then suddenly, you’re thrust into a world that’s too bright, too loud, too everything.”

I try to picture it, but it’s impossible to fully grasp. “It must have been terrifying.”

“Terrifying doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she says with a bitter laugh. “The first time I stepped outside, I couldn’t even look up at the sky without feeling like it was going to swallow me whole. The sun was too bright, the noise of the city was deafening... it was like sensory overload. And then there were the people.”

She pauses, and I can see the pain in her eyes. I tighten my arms around her, grounding her in the present. “What about the people?”

“They stared at me like I was some kind of freak,” she says. “I guess I looked like one too. I mean, seventeen years without sunlight or proper nutrition, I was practically a ghost. I didn’t know how to interact with anyone. I didn’t even know how to be human again.”

The way she describes it, I can hardly breathe. The thought of her stepping out into a world that must have felt like a completely different planet—it makes my chest ache with a pain that’s hard to explain. But she’s not done. I can feel it in the way she stiffens against me, like she’s bracing herself for what comes next.

“And above all that,” she continues, “Victor wanted me to take over Isla’s life. He wanted me to become her. She was everything I wasn’t—perfect, polished, the kind of woman who could move through society without raising an eyebrow. I was the shadow, and he needed me to step into her light. So, when he felt like people were starting to get suspicious, he made up a story that Isla was going to London for her studies. That gave him two years to train me—to make me her.”

“He taught me how to live around people, how to act like I belonged. But it wasn’t just lessons. It came with punishments. If I slipped up, if I showed even a hint of rebellion... Charles was in charge of making sure I learned my lesson.”

The name “Charles” sounds familiar. I’ve heard it before.

“Charles,” I repeat. “Charles from the Janson’s Antiques?”

“Yeah. He was Victor’s right-hand man. He handled the ‘discipline,’ as they called it. One time, I pushed back too hard, and he... he sold me off to some stranger. It was meant to break me, to remind me that I was nothing more than property.”

I’ve never wished death on anyone before, but right now? I’m so fucking glad Charles is dead. The world’s a better place without him. “He’s gone,” I say, more to myself than to her. “That bastard’s gone.”

She doesn’t react, just keeps tracing patterns on my chest, like she’s distracting herself from the horror she’s reliving. I can’t stand it. My hand instinctively goes to her scar, the one I know she’s never fully explained. The one that’s haunted me since the day I first saw it.

“How did this really happen?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.

She stills again. For a moment, I think she won’t answer, but then she takes a deep breath. “My mom did this to me,” she whispers. “To keep me from procreating. Apparently, that was Victor's agenda. He wanted to get me pregnant and have this nonsensical family beneath another family. Like some sick pyramid scheme of human lives.”

I feel a surge of rage so intense it almost blinds me. The thought of Victor doing this to her, of forcing her into some sick, demented plan—it makes my blood boil. I want to kill him. Right now. Rip his fucking throat out with my bare hands. No, that’s too quick. I want to make him suffer, to feel every ounce of pain and fear he’s inflicted on her. My fists clench, and I have to remind myself to breathe, to stay calm for her sake. But fuck, it’s hard. Every instinct in me is screaming to hunt that motherfucker down and end him.

As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Izel props herself up on an elbow, peering down at me with those intense eyes of hers. It’s like she’s trying to read my mind.

“What are you going to do to him?”

I want to tell her all the things I want to do to him, all the ways I imagine making him suffer. I want to describe the pain I’d inflict, the slow, torturous methods I’d use to make him pay for every moment of agony he’s caused her. But I can’t. Instead, I force myself to focus on what needs to be done. What I actually can do.

“I’m not going to disclose his identity as Ghostface Striker,” I reply. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Why not?”

I take a deep breath. “It would put you in danger. You gave the FBI a bogus description, hid his identity. Concealing information or providing false information to law enforcement can carry serious penalties. You could be facing charges of perjury, obstruction of justice, or aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

Her face pales at the thought, and I hate having to lay it out like this. “But I’ll do everything I can to protect you,” I add quickly, hoping to offer some reassurance. “I won’t let them railroad you, Izel. I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you safe.”

She sighs, her eyes darting to mine before flicking away again. “I know you will,” she finally says.

The room falls silent for a moment, both of us lying there, breathing in sync. I feel her hesitate, like she’s holding something back. And then she finally speaks again.

“Are we not going to talk about the fact that I killed Isla?”

I feel my chest tighten at her words, but I don’t react. I knew this was coming. I wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer against me, my thumb brushing her arm. She’s waiting for my response, but I don’t want to push her too hard.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say after a beat. “Victor made you do it. You were just a kid, Izel. You didn’t stand a chance.”

She shifts, pulling away just enough to look me in the eye. “You don’t even know what happened, Richard. You weren’t there.”

“I don’t need to know.” I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. “If you want to talk about it, get it off your chest, I’m here. I’ll listen to every detail if that’s what you need. But I want you to be fucking ready for that. And just so you know, nothing you say is going to change how I feel about you. I meant every word I said back at the motel.”

She nods, understanding dawning in her eyes. “So, what’s going to happen to him?”

“He’ll be tried for your and Ava’s abduction, and Isla’s murder.”

“In Hollowbrook?”

“That’s right,” I confirm. “And he’ll likely be looking at a lifetime behind bars.”

“Because there’s no death sentence in Hollowbrook,” she finishes.

I pause, a trace of curiosity crossing my mind at her knowledge of the legal system. But I push it aside when she asks, “Does it fuck with you? Knowing all the shit you know, seeing the things you do?”

I chuckle, a low, throaty sound that feels almost sad. “Babe, if I didn’t have a bit of a loose screw myself, I wouldn’t be very good at my job.”

“Fair enough,” she concedes, laying her head back down on my chest. My fingers resume their dance along her spine. “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t get all hero on me and try to ‘save’ me. I’ve had enough of being seen as a victim.”

My grip tightens, protective, possessive. “Fuck, Izel, no one—least of all me—thinks you’re just a victim. You’re the strongest person I know. Hell, you’ve got more balls than most of the guys I work with.”

Her laughter feels just as forced. “Balls, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

I grin, shifting to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. “Big, brass ones.”

“Oh, please,” she says, rolling her eyes, “I chickened out the minute I saw a knife in your hand.”

Izel’s words are casual, almost dismissive, but they make my insides twist. My grip on her tightens instinctively, as if holding her closer will somehow make up for the way I lost it that night. “I should apologize for that,” I murmur, feeling the weight of my own actions like a boulder on my chest.

She shakes her head, brushing it off like it’s nothing, but I can’t let it go. “Richard, you don’t need to. I forgave you before you even had the chance to ask for forgiveness. You were angry, and you had every right to be.”

Her words don’t make me feel any better. If anything, they make the guilt even worse. I don’t want to be the guy who makes her feel like she deserves punishment, like she’s somehow less because of what she’s been through.

“Why didn’t you defend yourself? You could’ve said something, anything, and I would’ve listened. I would’ve—”

She cuts me off with a quiet sigh, her eyes softening as if she’s explaining something simple to a child. “You came in there with your mind made up. Nothing I would’ve said could’ve changed that. You had every reason to believe what you did, and I wasn’t about to argue with you. You needed to feel what you were feeling, and I needed to let you.”

“But I was wrong,” I insist. “I shouldn’t have let my anger cloud my judgment. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I didn’t deserve it?” She almost laughs, but it’s bitter, full of self-loathing. “I’m not some innocent victim in all this. I’ve done things, said things, that made you doubt me. I let you believe the worst because, deep down, I—”

The way she talks about herself, like she’s somehow responsible for my fucked-up assumptions, makes me feel like the worst kind of bastard. I reach out, my fingers brushing her cheek, trying to convey what I can’t seem to put into words. “You didn’t deserve that. No matter what you think, no matter what happened, you didn’t deserve me coming at you like that.”

She leans into my touch, her eyes closing for a moment as if she’s taking comfort in it. “I knew you were hurting, and I thought maybe if you got it out, if you saw me as the enemy for a little while, it would help. Maybe it’d make things easier.”

“But it didn’t,” I argue. “It only made things worse. I pushed you away when I should’ve been holding you close.”

Her hand reaches up to cover mine, holding it against her cheek. “We all make mistakes. It’s not about what you did; it’s about what you do now. We’ve both been through hell, and we’re still standing. That’s what matters.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you again,” I confess, the fear of it eating me alive. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you because I was too blind, too stupid to see the truth.”

“You won’t lose me,” she reassures me, but in the profiling side of my brain it lacks conviction.

I pull her close, holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world because, to me, she is. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” I whisper into her hair, “but I’m damn sure not letting you go.”

Just as the moment settles, my phone starts buzzing insistently on the coffee table. I try to ignore it, but Izel nudges me, her gaze urging me to pick it up.

“Let it ring,” I say, surprising myself.

“You should probably answer that. It might be important.”

“Baby, I’ve got some time before I have to dive back into work. It can wait.”

“You never know, it could be urgent. Just check, okay?”

Reluctantly, I reach for the phone, swiping to answer as I meet her gaze. “Yeah?”

“Rick, when are you coming down at the bureau? Wilson’s been asking for you. We’ve got Victor’s case to close, and it’s not looking good.”

I curse under my breath. “Shit. I just survived a brush with death, Luna. Cut me some slack.”

“I get it, but Wilson’s breathing down our necks. We need you here.”

I glance at Izel, who’s watching me. “Alright, I’ll be there,” I tell Luna, hanging up the call with a sigh.

“Work?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” I confirm, running a hand through my hair. “Seems like it never ends.”

I’ve never hated my job, but right now, I’d hand over my badge to Wilson just to keep myself wrapped around her. The thought of leaving her, even for a few hours, feels like a knife to the jugular.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, getting up and scooping her into my arms. “I’m not ready to let go of you yet.”

She yelps in surprise, laughing. “Richard, put me down!”

I slap her ass, feeling the satisfying sting against my palm. “Nope. You’re mine, and I’m taking you to bed.”

Her eyes darken with desire, but she still protests weakly. “Come on. You have to go.”

“I’ll go when I’m damn well ready,” I growl, carrying her to the bedroom. Her body is so perfect against mine and I can’t get enough of her.

I lay her on the bed, taking a moment to admire the way she looks. “Stay here,” I command, leaning down to kiss her deeply. “I’ll be quick.”

“You better be,” she teases, pulling me back for another kiss. “Or I might just start without you.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I growl, smirking against her lips. “I want to watch you come undone.”

I finally pull away, getting dressed as quickly as possible. Every second away from her feels like torture. Work is waiting, but for now, I’ll savor the memory of her warmth against my skin, the taste of her lips on mine, and the promise of her waiting for me when I return.

I find Wilson huddled over the case files of the Ghostface Striker. The guy might be tough, but he’s good at his job. I acknowledge my team lingering around my office with a nod, and they quickly disperse, leaving me alone with Wilson.

“Morning, Reynolds,” Wilson greets without looking up.

“Morning.”

I head toward my desk, trying to get a read on his mood, but it is not as easy. I haven’t even taken a seat when Wilson’s speaks.

“Can I ask why a Sheriff from Hollowbrook called me this morning to deport Victor Montclair?” He finally looks up. “Apparently, you detained him for questioning, and from what I gather, you were supposed to be working on the Striker case.”

“Yeah, about that. I spotted Victor Montclair’s car on my way. The situation looked fishy—he had someone wrapped up in a blanket in the backseat. I couldn’t just let that slide.”

Wilson’s brow furrows. “So, you made me call in a bomb squad, got me to notify the CMO about a possible threat, and had your team convinced that Izel was the Ghostface Striker… only for her to have an airtight alibi for every single incident? You messed up, Reynolds. And now, instead of focusing on the Striker, I’m dealing with the circus.”

I see Wilson’s irritation boiling over, and I can’t blame him. He’d personally questioned Izel after Colton fed him all those details linking her as the Ghostface Striker. Everyone in the room excluding me was bracing for the big break, until Izel calmly laid out her alibis, each one rock-solid. Without the crucial piece of evidence Victor supposedly has, Wilson had no choice but to buy her story. It stunned the team into silence, except for Luna and me. We weren’t surprised because we know the truth.

“Yeah, about that…” I start, trying to find the right words to diffuse the situation. “It was a mistake, okay? I’ll own up to it. I thought we had something, but it turns out Izel was clean. My team jumped the gun on this one.”

“What’s the update on the Ghostface Striker?”

“We’ve got a few leads, but nothing concrete. He can’t stay hidden forever.”

Wilson narrows his eyes at me. I can tell he’s trying to figure out if I’m hiding something. Which, of course, I am. The Striker case is closed, but I can’t let Wilson in on that just yet.

“You sound confident. Any new insights you want to share?”

I shrug, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Just a gut feeling. We’ve been closing in, and he’s bound to slip up sooner or later.”

Wilson was a profiler before he moved up the ranks, and I can see him assessing me. I’ve always thought I was better, but is that just arrogance? Can he see through my bullshit?

“We can’t afford any mistakes,” Wilson says for the hundredth time. “And next time be sure before embarrassing me.”

“Of course,” I assure him.

Wilson studies me for a moment longer before nodding. “Good. I need your head in the game. No distractions.”

“Understood.”

He hands me a file, and I glance down at the photos and reports. Each victim’s face stares back at me, a reminder of why I’m here.

Wilson gets up from his chair, straightening his jacket. “It’s settled then. Close Victor’s case and get back on the Striker.”

I nod. As he heads for the door, he pauses and looks back at me. “And Richard, always remember—a man can’t be in love and be a profiler.”

I meet his eyes, seeing a flicker of something—perhaps regret or wisdom born from experience. His use of my first name catches me off guard. He never addresses me like that. It makes his next words sink even deeper.

“Love clouds judgment. When you’re a profiler, you need to be objective. Emotions make you vulnerable, and vulnerability can get you killed or worse—make you lose the case.”

I swallow hard, his advice ringing painfully true. “I get it. I’ll be careful.”

Wilson nods, his expression softening just a fraction. “You’re a good profiler, Reynolds. Don’t let anything compromise that.”

I walk into the interrogation room, Noah is already there, setting up the recording equipment. Victor sits at the table, handcuffed, looking far too relaxed for a man in his position. There’s a smugness in his eyes which wouldn’t be there for far too long.

“Victor Montclair,” I greet him.

My sentence dissolves when the door opens and Deputy Graham from Hollowbrook strolls in. His presence is an irritation I don’t need right now. Graham’s got that same fucking look on his face that Victor does.

“Agent, Mr. Montclair isn’t going to say anything. This case officially belongs to Hollowbrook jurisdiction,” Graham says, crossing his arms and stepping between me and Victor like he’s got some sort of authority here.

“The fuck did you just say?” I take a step closer, feeling Noah shift beside me, ready to back me up.

“This case belongs to Hollowbrook PD. You don’t have the authority to interrogate him without our say-so.”

I feel the anger flare up, hot and fast. I don’t have time for this local bullshit. I step forward, close enough that Graham can feel the heat radiating off me. I stare him down, and he must see something in my eyes because he shifts on his feet, just a little, but enough to give away his nerves.

Then, he does something really fucking stupid. His hand moves to his side, and before I realize what’s happening, he pulls out his gun, holding it low but still in clear sight.

“Get out of my way, Deputy. This is a federal investigation, and I don’t give a shit about your little town politics. I will speak to whoever the fuck I want to.”

Graham’s confidence wavers but he doesn’t pull the gun down. “I’m just saying—”

That’s it. I’ve had enough of this asshole. I grab his wrist and twist it hard. He tries to resist, but he’s no match for me. The gun clatters to the floor. I apply more pressure, feeling the bones in his wrist strain against the force.

“You’re just saying shit,” I cut him off. “Here’s how this is going to go, Graham. You’re going to step the fuck back, or I’m going to bury you so deep in red tape you’ll forget what daylight looks like. I’ve got the full weight of the FBI behind me, and trust me, I’ve got more than a few favors to call in if I need to.”

The deputy’s face tightens, but he’s not stupid. He knows when he’s outmatched. “You can’t just—”

“I can and I will,” I cut him off again. With a final, sharp twist, I release his wrist, sending him stumbling back. He clutches his mangled hand, biting back another scream. “Now, you can either step the fuck aside and let us do our job, or you can get your lawyer on speed dial. Your call.”

Graham hesitates, and for a second, I think he’s going to keep pushing. But then he steps back, muttering something under his breath. Good fucking choice.

“Get out,” I snap fully expecting him to turn tail and leave. But the stubborn bastard just stands there, nursing his broken wrist like he’s got something to prove.

I shoot a look at Noah, jerking my head toward Graham. “Noah, escort this asshole out before I kick his sorry ass out myself.”

Noah doesn’t need to be told twice. He gets up, grabs Graham by the arm, and hauls him toward the door. Graham tries to resist, but with one good arm, he’s no match for Noah. “Come on, Deputy. Let’s get you out of here before Agent Reynolds does something you’ll really regret.”

Once Graham’s out of the room, I finally turn my attention back to Victor.

“Now,” I say, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him, “where were we?”

Victor’s grin widens. “Where do you want me to start, Agent? You want to hear about the girls from Hollowbrook, or should I skip ahead to Virginia? There were fifty-four in total. All of them little bitches who thought they were better than men.” He leans back, completely at ease, like he’s recounting a fucking vacation instead of a murder spree.

“You know what the best part is?” Victor continues. “Hollowbrook PD knew. They knew and did nothing. Turned a blind eye because they didn’t want to deal with me. And now here you are, big shot FBI, and you can’t do a damn thing either. You can’t out me as the Striker, the Slasher, the Boston Killer, or whatever other name you’ve got for me. Because if you do, your little girlfriend Izel? She’s dead. You know it, and I know it. So, what are you gonna do, Agent? Arrest me on some bullshit kidnapping charge? Hand me over to HPD so I can walk out in no time? Because that’s all you’ve got, and we both know it.”

I want to fucking strangle him right then and there. Every fiber of my being is screaming to wipe that smug look off his face, to make him pay for every life he’s taken, for every girl he’s tortured and killed. But he’s right. He’s got me by the balls, and he knows it.

If I try to take him down for the murders, if I even breathe a word about him being the killer, it’ll put Izel in danger. And I can’t— won’t —let that happen. So, I’m stuck. Stuck with the knowledge that this motherfucker is going to walk.

Just then, the door opens and Noah steps in. I have to tamp down the urge to keep going at Victor. I quickly shift gears, trying to cool the rage that’s boiling inside me. Noah doesn’t need to know the full extent of this shitshow.

“Hey,” Noah says, nodding at me before settling into the chair beside me.

Victor’s eyes flick to Noah, and that condescending smirk never leaves his face. “Ah, the sidekick,” he sneers. “What’s the matter, Agent? Can’t handle this on your own? Had to call in backup?”

I don’t answer. I know exactly what he’s trying to do—get under my skin, push me to the edge until I snap and do something reckless, something that’ll land me under suspension. Worst-case scenario? I’ll be pulled from the case altogether, and then I won’t have enough intel to protect Izel. He’s baiting me, and if I lose control, he wins.

“We’re here to take your statement,” I say, placing the recorder on the table.

Victor leans back in his chair, looking almost bored. “Of course, where do you want me to start?”

“Let’s talk about Ava. Why did you imprison her?”

“Ava was a brat. She needed discipline. If I hadn’t kept her locked up, she would have turned into a whore for anyone who showed her attention.”

“You kept her locked up for years,” I say. “How could you justify that?”

“It was for her own good. Someone had to teach her what happens to women who don’t know their place.” He pauses, reaching for the water on the table. “Women like her… they need a firm hand. A lesson in respect.”

The way he speaks, with such pride and conviction, makes my blood boil. “And what about Izel?”

“Izel… she was always defiant, even as a kid. Always had that fire in her eyes, that stubborn streak. She thought she could outsmart me, thought she was better than me.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I had to break her spirit.”

My knuckles tighten against the table, but I keep my expression neutral, even as every word he says twists the rage inside me.

“It started when she turned eight. That’s when I knew she had to be put in her place. So I touched her.” He pauses, his lips curling into a slow, twisted smile. “I forced her to touch me too, made sure she knew exactly who was in control. Every tear that rolled down her face, every time she begged for it to stop, it was just proof of how much she needed me. She didn’t understand yet, but I was saving her.”

Victor’s voice drops lower, almost like he’s reliving it. “I used to lock her in a little cage, no bigger than a dog kennel. Left her there for days sometimes. No food, barely any water. And when she screamed for help? I’d beat her. Hard. Until she learned to keep her mouth shut. Until she complied . It was the only way to make her understand her place. She had to know that without me, she was nothing. Hell, she'd be dead without my discipline.”

I can’t hold back anymore. My hand slams against the table. Victor jumps slightly but quickly regains his composure.

“You think that justifies what you did?” Noah probes.

“It made her strong. You’ll see. She’s not as innocent as she looks. She’s got darkness in her. I put it there.”

Every word he says makes me want to reach across the table and rip his throat out. I was trained to be civil with criminals, but right now, I can’t remember why. Civility feels like a distant, absurd concept.

I might do just that. So, I stand up abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. “We’re done here,” I growl.

As I storm out of the interrogation room, Noah falls into step beside me. “That guy is something else,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” I reply tersely. “Has Luna briefed Ava?”

Noah nods. “Yeah, she’s ready for you.”

I take a deep breath, heading towards the next interrogation room. Ava is waiting inside. As I walk in, she looks up, her eyes wide with worry. “How’s Izel?” she asks immediately.

“She’s fine,” I assure her, trying to sound as calm and confident as possible. “She’s safe now. Let’s focus on getting your statement.”

She nods, taking a deep breath. “Alright. Where do you want me to start?”

“From the beginning,” I say, settling into the chair across from her. “Tell me everything.”

Ava looks down at her hands, taking a moment to collect herself before she begins. “It started when my father asked me to help him with something in the basement. I didn’t think much of it at the time. He’d always been... persuasive. Coaxing me into doing things.”

“Persuasive how?” I ask, leaning forward.

“He had a way with words,” she says softly. “He made it sound like it was important, like he needed me. But once I was in the basement, everything changed. He locked me in. The basement was soundproof. I screamed, I tried to escape, but nothing worked.”

Ava continues, describing the horrors she endured. Victor spread rumors about her being pregnant with Will’s child to cover up that he hid his own daughter inside of the basement. The weight of everything she’s saying is becoming too much, but I have to sit here and listen to every word. I owe her that much.

She talks about giving birth to the twins. How Victor only let her keep Izel, and that gave her a purpose to live. Tears stream down her face, and it’s not unnatural for a victim to cry, but it clenches my heart a bit more each time.

When she gets to Isla’s death, she confesses that Victor killed her. I glance at Noah, and he nods. I’m thanking Luna internally for briefing Ava well. No one except me and Luna knows the full truth about Victor, and I want to keep it that way. Though my team trusts me, I can’t ask for their trust when I’m betraying the entire law enforcement system for the girl I love.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I say, forcing the words out. “But you’re safe now. We’re going to make sure he pays for everything he’s done.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. “When can I see my daughter?”

“Soon,” I say, though my words lack promise. Izel hasn’t said it out loud, but I sensed she was avoiding her mother. I’m not sure if it’s because she drugged her or because she blames her, but I’m soon going to find out. We have a lot of time, and I want to make the most of it.

Noah takes a deep breath and steps forward. “Miss Montclair, I’m going to start the process of placing you in witness protection. It’s the safest option right now, given the circumstances. Victor has connections, and until we have him in prison, I can't guarantee your safety outside of the program.”

I watch as Ava's eyes flash with uncertainty. She knows the gravity of her decision, but there’s a hesitance in her that I recognize. Before she can respond, I cut in.

“That won’t be necessary,” I say firmly, shifting my attention to Noah. “You’re not going into witness protection unless that’s what you want. This is your life, your choice. Tell me, Miss Montclair—where would you like to go?”

Ava looks at me, surprised, and then her eyes soften. “I’d like to go home,” she whispers.

Noah shakes his head immediately. “That’s not an option, Rick. We have a protocol—”

“Fuck the protocol,” I snap. “We’re not going to cage her in again after everything she’s been through. If she wants to go home, she goes home. Our job is to protect her, not to make her a prisoner in some safe house she doesn’t want to be in.”

Noah opens his mouth to argue, but I’ve already made up my mind. I sidestep him and stride towards the exit.

I head toward my desk to complete the paperwork, handing over the case to the officers in Hollowbrook along with the confession tapes and other evidence. Once again, my eyes fall on the Striker case file left on my table earlier. I know I’m not delivering justice to Victor’s victims and their families. But if I disclose him as the Ghostface Striker, I’ll be putting Izel in danger.

The only way I can save her is by killing everyone who owns a badge. And though I wouldn’t mind going that far, her name will always be associated with the dirt Victor left behind.

I’ve always been on the right side of justice, but with Izel, the wrong side feels right. I’m ready to disappoint the entire world if it means she’s tucked away safe with me. I’ll ensure Victor has no means of getting out.

I won’t let him hurt another girl, even if I have to kill him.