Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

" Y ou're really quiet," I comment.

She has been since we left Ms. Miller's house after exchanging information. Ms. Miller also gave us the name of someone she has been trying to track down, and with a few calls, I managed to find him. It's where we are now, outside of the restaurant he currently runs, waiting for him to appear since Ms. Miller thinks he knows something about the past.

"Fallon?" I reach over and take her hand, finding it cold. I blow on it, warming it as I crank the heat in my car. "Baby, you're scaring me. Talk to me."

"I knew her," she whispers, swinging her head to look at me, and I see tears swimming in her eyes. "I saw her daughter the night that happened. I saw her."

"Sweetheart," I murmur. There is so much agony in her voice, and when she shakes her head and looks away, my heart breaks for her. She's trying so hard not to break.

"Don't be nice to me right now or I'll cry. I don't think I'll stop, and I hate crying in front of people," she warns, her nails digging into her exposed thigh. Frowning, I carefully pull it free, kissing the mark, and instead, I press her nails into my arm .

"Cut me if you need to."

Her eyes meet mine once more, and she swallows. "I recognized her eyes. They haunt me. I should have seen it before, but there were so many, I tried to forget. I did. I forgot that night until now as much as I could, but now it's here." She slams her hand against her chest. "Needing to come out."

"Then let it out," I beg. "Don't suffer in silence. Talk or scream, but don't hurt yourself over it, baby. Let me help, even if it's just to listen, please." I wish I could do more. I wish I could reach inside her and rip those memories free so she could breathe without worrying about them. I would do anything to make this easier for her.

"What if I tell you and you hate me like I hate myself?" she whispers brokenly. The way she watches me wrecks my fragile heart.

"Fallon," I snap, and she looks at me again. "I could never hate you. You could tell me you murdered or stole and I wouldn't care. There is nothing that will stop me from feeling this way about you or being at your side, and one day, you will realize that, but for now, trust me. Please, trust me."

She searches my gaze, her lips wobbling. "I was there the night she was raped. I remember her dancing and having fun at the party, then I lost track of her and the other models they brought. It was an album release party, which always made the band happy, and they pushed drugs on me, but it was different that night. It wasn't just coke or the usual. It was . . . It was to make it easier for them. I was their princess, their favorite little girl, and they loved me so much, Kage. I can barely remember that night, but I remember being carried upstairs. One of the doors was open, and when we passed, she was there, lying on the bed with her head turned to the door, tears flowing down her cheeks. I think she was drugged too, and she couldn't move. There were men around her and one on top of her. Our eyes met for the briefest moment. Her brown eyes locked on mine. She knew what was going to happen to both of us and was unable to stop it. I always remembered that look—the hopelessness and understanding. We were two strangers tied together in hell. I hated myself that night for not helping her."

"Fallon, you were drugged." I force the words out, breathing past my fury and horror at what my girl went through. The way she casually spoke about being drugged and taken advantage of makes me think it happened a lot, but she doesn't need my anger right now. It does nothing. She needs me to listen and support her. This is her life, her past, and she has every right to be angry.

"Still, I blame myself," she admits.

"Do you blame her?" I ask, and when she shakes her head, I grip her chin, forcing her to look at me. "Then don't blame yourself. You were young; you were drugged and abused. You didn't need to be her savior, you just needed to survive, and you did. You survived, baby, and I'm so fucking proud of you for that."

"Did I? Because part of me is still back there. The worst thing is, part of me believes I deserve to suffer because without it, I would be happy. I would be free, and I don't deserve to be. How could I after everything?" she whispers. "Maybe I deserve to suffer. Maybe I deserve to be unhappy for the rest of my life, this darkness dogging my steps until it claims me."

"Never. It will never get you," I vow. "Not while I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. You need to stop blaming yourself, Fallon. You need to stop taking the responsibility of the world on your shoulders. You are a victim. You were a victim. Say it."

She hesitates. "I'm a victim."

"Again," I demand, "until you believe it."

"I'm a victim," she says softly. "I'm a victim," she says stronger. "I'm a victim, and I'm fucking angry!"

"That's my girl." I kiss her softly. "Be angry and hurt, but don't ever give up on me. Don't ever let them win. You didn't survive all that just to let them win now. If you have to, live out of spite until I can make you live out of love."

"Why are you so good to me?" she asks, leaning into my hand, her glossy eyes softening as she watches me. "Even now, even knowing everything, you want to be at my side."

"I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in this world, sweetheart. Perfect or messy, I want it all. I want every inch of you and always will. It isn't even just a want. It's a need. I can't breathe without you. I'm here, and I will always remain here," I promise, kissing her softly. "Can you breathe easier now?"

She nods, taking in slow breaths. "We have to get revenge for her."

"We will," I murmur as something catches my eye. It's a man heading to the restaurant. "That's him. Are you ready for this?"

"As I'll ever be." She pulls down the mirror, wiping under her eyes.

"You look perfect as ever, baby," I tell her as I get out and help her from the car. Hand in hand, we head to the restaurant. The closed sign is on the door, but it's unlocked, so we push inside. The man we followed turns, blinking before putting his bag down.

"We are closed," he tells us.

He's in his mid-forties, with a short gray-and-black beard and matching peppered hair, thick glasses, and a mole on his cheek just like the picture, but he used to have jet-black hair and gold grills when the parties were happening.

"Dion Smith? Or better known as DJ EasyS?"

He stumbles into a chair, staring at us in horror. He changed his life, just like Sarah, but we found him, and it's clear he knows.

I sip my coffee as Dion watches us, his hands playing with a napkin in one of the booths. Fallon sits next to me, watching him carefully. He can't even meet her eyes, no doubt realizing who she is.

"I guess I always knew this day was coming. It's like I've been looking over my shoulder the entire time," he admits, finally looking at Fallon. "I know who you are and why you are here."

"You remember me? You worked a lot of my father's parties. You even look the same," she says.

"I remember you. I remember everything, even if I wish I couldn't." He looks down at the table. "I was lost back then, Fallon. I thought reaching the top was the only important thing, and I didn't care how I did it. I wanted money and the lifestyle, and to achieve it, I looked the other way about a lot of things I shouldn't have. When I got clean and sober, I left and never looked back. I tried to live a better life, but I knew I couldn't atone for what I did. I want to now. I was hoping we would meet again one day and you would give me a chance to be a better man than I was when I was a kid, someone my kids won't look at in shame."

"I appreciate that. Not many would want to speak out on what happened back then. Most have tried to move on, to forget, and don't want to damage their lives. Others pretend not to know." She smiles as she reaches for his hand. "For what it's worth, I don't blame you. Yes, maybe you could have done something to help, but maybe that would have ended badly for you. We all know the violence they were capable of. What matters is that you do something now. You've seen the docuseries announcement?"

"I have." His lips form a scowl. "We all know they are doing it for money, since they could never do anything after your dad's death. They must be desperate."

"And desperation makes them weak." My girl smirks as she sits back. "I'm not that young girl anymore. I have more money and power than any of them, so it's time we showed everyone the truth. If they want fame and recognition, then I'll give it to them. I'll make it so they can't go anywhere without people pointing and knowing."

"Have you thought about what this means for you if this all comes out?" he points out, but I narrow my eyes in warning. He spares me a look, paling slightly. I don't interrupt, however, because my woman can handle her own business. I'm just here for support.

"I don't care." She shrugs. "I refuse to be ashamed of what I survived or embarrassed about people finding out. How can I when others are going through the same thing, still hiding it or living with it? Maybe if I speak out, they can start to heal too . . . and maybe I can as well."

He watches her sadly, but she smiles.

"And I want to make them pay. I want them to beg for me not to destroy them."

"Your father was a scary man, Fallon, but you? I'd fear you more. You're downright terrifying," he says, but he smiles as she leans back. " I'll help you in any way I can, but you'll need more than me. You'll need as many people as you can get so they can't argue or fight back."

"I know. I need more victims."

"You want more? Go to the top where it all started. Go to the man who facilitated it all and covered it up—the parties, the drugs, the girls . . . Go to their ex-manager."