13. What A Dick

Chapter 13

What A Dick

Hunter

T he next morning, I wake up to a full house. Lars is waiting for me in the kitchen as usual, watching the morning news, and Vaughn is still here, half asleep on the couch. I don’t know why the man just doesn’t sleep in my spare bedroom. It’s not until I walk by the bedroom on my way to my home office that I understand why. Christian is here, snoring under the blankets like a newborn baby.

“Why can’t they just get hotel rooms?” I mutter under my breath. I even tried changing the locks, and they still manage to find a way inside.

Homeless bastards.

Preparing a cup of coffee, I take a seat at my kitchen island and give Lars a look.

“Well?”

I feel like I’m juggling multiple volatile scenarios in my life, and I need clarity on how to handle them all. I’ve got Vaughn and Christian looking for any leads on my sister, keeping the peace with the local gangs, and keeping their ears close to the ground about this so-called Executioner, but there’s still another question I need answered. Who else (other than those spoiled college kids and maybe myself) do I need to protect Megan from so that I can finally get a good night’s sleep?

The only way to answer that is to find out everything I can about my new lady love, especially the things she’s reluctant to share.

Lars hands me a thin paper file because I prefer to do things old school and not leave a digital trail. “I looked into the half-sister like you requested.”

I open the folder and look down at the face of the girl I met a few weeks ago. Her full name is Rachel Taylor and while they look nothing alike, she is indeed Megan’s younger half-sister.

“Is she still around?”

“She is.”

“Megan hasn’t mentioned seeing her again.”

“I don’t think Megan has seen her. The girl is just lurking.” Lars accepts the cup of coffee I handed him. “And unless Megan told her where she lives, the sister has managed to track her down here. I saw her waiting outside across the street the other day, staring up at the top floor of the building as if she’s imagining what floor Megan lives on.”

“So she was just outside, staring at the building?”

“Yes.”

“But she never tried to come inside?”

“The front desk said they never saw anyone matching her description come in.”

“Where is a kid like that staying?”

“Local motel near the club.”

I skim through the rest of the flimsy file, which is just basic information I could have found with a basic Google search.

“The information in this file doesn’t tell me anything new, Lars,” I huff as I now use the folder as a coaster for my coffee mug.

“There are a few things that didn’t make the report.” Lars gives me an uncertain look.

“You’ve been holding back?” I meet his gaze. “Do tell.”

“I had to be certain before I shared this information,” he says, letting out a deep breath. “I think I am. The story is that Megan’s birth mother ran off and left her with her father when she was just a kid.”

“And is that not the case?”

“Not exactly; I actually think her mother lived about five miles from her the entire time.”

“That’s a shitty thing for her to do.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t run off and just leave her. No one from the old neighborhood seems to know the exact details anymore, but they say she was a beautiful woman who got mixed up with some bad people and fell victim to a local human trafficking ring.”

“A trafficking ring? Can we find her and pull her out?”

“No, boss, she died a few years later.”

I go still and look up at him. “Does Megan know?”

“I doubt she knows any of it.” Lars shakes his head.

“So the father had to raise her.”

“Yeah, and apparently hated every minute of it. He believed the mother stepped out on him, so he was angry and took out a lot of that shit on Megan. He raised her along with his girlfriend, Veronica, who was a registered nurse practitioner. She is who Rachel’s mother is. The two are still together.”

“Wait, the timeline doesn’t make sense. Megan and her sister are only five years apart. If her mother left when she was nine years old–”

“Yeah, the father had obviously been cheating on Megan’s mother with the nurse for years. So when her mother left, he just moved them both into his house.”

What a dick.

“Do you think he had something to do with what happened to Megan’s mother? Maybe he wanted her gone so he could move in his second family.”

“The father, Samuel, is definitely a douchebag, but I don’t think he’s capable of something like that. He’s too much of a chickenshit.”

A trafficking ring.

That’s ruthless.

While I may make my money dabbling in very gray areas of the law, I find sex trafficking vile and inhumane. It’s one area of the underworld I stay completely away from so I can sleep at night.

“Is there anything else?”

Lars finally takes a sip of his coffee. “I knew there was something about her that I could recognize in myself.”

“What else, Lars?”

“Child protective services were called several times by one of Megan’s teachers. I think it was her art teacher. They didn’t find enough evidence to prove abuse, but they were suspicious.”

“Of what exactly?” I study Lars.

Lars has a disturbed look on his face as he continues. “According to the caseworker’s files, there was a dog food bowl with Megan’s name on it and there was a chain attached to the kitchen table’s leg. The Taylors claimed that it was for their dog, who supposedly happened to be named Megan, but the neighbors I talked to said they never owned a dog.”

My blood is growing cold at this revelation, and I recall something I overheard Megan say once.

“My dad threw me into the street and made me beg on my knees. His wife liked making me eat scraps off the ground. Kinky bitch.”

At that point, while I had been curious about Megan, I wasn’t trying to get too involved, so I pocketed the statement in the back of my mind to address it another time. But it’s putting a lot of things into perspective for me right now.

“The dog bowl and chain were damning information. I can’t believe CPS didn’t act on those findings. What the hell else did they need as proof? Did they need to actually walk in and see her chained to the damn table? As if any abuser being investigated would ever be that stupid.”

“You know how the system is,” Lars says angrily. “I had one of our people locate the old caseworker and get the information out of her. She’s retired now, but she was forthcoming. She said she needed her job and followed things by the book back then. She said she knew there was something wrong in that house, and she tried to get Megan to confide in her, but Megan wouldn’t say anything.”

“She was probably scared to death. Was there anything else?”

“The caseworker admitted that another sign of something being off was that the girls’ bedroom didn’t seem like it was being shared by them. It felt like it was only for the younger child.”

“So why didn’t she do anything?!” I explode, wishing desperately I could do something to go back in time and protect little Megan.

“There were two beds in the room. One was an ornate sleigh bed with clean, girly bedding, and the other was a cot with a thin sheet and no pillow. Unfortunately, the condition of the bedroom only proved favoritism, not abuse.”

The picture forming in my head is sickening, and I’m beginning to realize why Megan is always so sure that I’ll throw her away.

After all, everybody else did.

“So, they tortured her?” I ask rhetorically, my hand slowly tightening around the mug. “What about the younger daughter?”

“She was a normal, happy kid. Raised like any other child except for the fact that her parents are psychopathic abusers, and she witnessed their abuse of Megan.”

I’ve known Lars a long time and I can tell that he’s furious, not that he’ll let it show in any obvious way.

“I see.”

The look on Megan’s face from the other day is still imprinted on my mind. She appeared both angry and terrified of her younger sister. Based on this new information Lars has given me, it’s quite likely that her sister also grew up playing a hand in the abuse.

“When did Megan leave that house?”

“Things are a little tricky here. From what I found out from their neighbors, Megan had a boyfriend who was murdered during a break-in at their house. After the police closed the case, she left. She’s never been back since.”

“Did the police find the killer?”

“They suspected a local gang in the area, but nothing was ever proven. One of their neighbors said that Megan left in the middle of the night with just a bag and no money. This neighbor had been living next to their house for years, and, according to her, she guessed that they were abusing her. When she saw Megan sneaking out, instead of informing her parents, she gave her some cash and bought her a bus ticket to LA.”

“Get me the name of that neighbor,” I murmur.

Some good deeds need to be repaid.

“Yep, I have it in my notes.”

“I’m not sure what the devil’s spawn is up to, but make sure Rachel doesn’t get anywhere near Megan again. Either give her a security team, or you watch after her. Parker can be my security detail. I don’t need both of you, and I don’t want Megan going anywhere alone. Also, get me the case file of that break-in at the house. Something seems off. If they hated her so much, why would they allow her to bring a boyfriend over?”

“I’ll arrange that,” comes a lazy voice from the couch as Vaughn stretches and then huddles deeper into his blanket. “Write down the details and leave them on the table.”

Well, at least he’s good for something, I muse.

When Lars leaves, Vaughn sits up, the blanket wrapped around him. “You’re really serious about Megan, aren’t you?”

“Mind your own business.”

“You are my business.” He drags the blanket on the floor as he comes to sit at the kitchen’s island counter. “I’ve just never seen you like this around any woman.”

I don’t respond and he continues talking. “Is this going to be a long-term thing?”

I shrug. “We’ll see.”

“You can be vague as much as you like, but you’re obsessed with this girl. You never go out of your way for anybody else like this. Not even us.”

“That’s a lie.”

“You think so?” Vaughn scoffs before pouring himself a cup of coffee and adding, “You are well on your way to falling in love with this girl if you aren’t already.”

My eyes narrow at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

I realize I’ve already professed my feelings for Megan in a moment of weakness or perhaps a moment of strength, but there’s no need for everyone to know my truth.

“Then what is it?” He pokes at me with his words, lifting his brows. “She’s just going to be a fuck buddy for a few months, and then you both find somebody else?”

“Stop talking, Vaughn, or I’ll rip your tongue out,” I warn him as he almost spits a mouth full of coffee out laughing at me.

“It’s too early in the morning for this sort of violence,” Christian comes sauntering out of the guest bedroom, his voice sleepy. “Can’t you both keep it down?”

“I told Hunter that he’s falling in love with Megan, and he threw a temper tantrum.”

Christian sits down next to him as I contemplate the mechanics of actually ripping out Vaughn’s tongue.

“He’s not wrong.” Christian grabs the jug of water on the counter. “You’re crazy about her.”

“Both of you, get out of my house,” I growl, taking my cup of coffee and retreating into my bedroom to change. “The Four Seasons has rooms available.”

As I close the door of my bedroom behind me, my eyes go to the framed sketch on the wall.

I’m falling in love with Megan.

Hell, who am I kidding?

I’m already there.

I don’t have to admit it to Vaughn or Christian because they can already see it. The fact that I want to kill every person who has ever hurt her tells them everything they need to know.

Finishing my coffee and feeling more reassured that I know more about Megan’s difficult past, I shower and change into a suit, then make my way downstairs.

“Are you ever going to tell me about the girl staying with Megan? What’s her story?” Christian asks.

For the first time in years, my hands feel clammy. I’ve been restless ever since I sent the new hire to stay with Megan. I wanted her close, though, because I just want to see her again with my own eyes and maybe check out that scar again. I want to hear her voice and look into her eyes. A part of me is wary, but I have to know.

This is why when I knock on the door a few floors below me and a short, stocky woman with long braids opens it, I blink.

“Is Megan here?”