Pieces of Me Read online

  And maybe, I thought, for me, too.

  Maybe.

  It was that thought that had guided me to this.

  Stefan smiled like a shark as he accepted the deal, smiled at me as I sat in front of him.

  And I stared at him, wished I could smile back at him. Wished I could find some way to act as though I wasn’t terrified. It was more than I could manage, but at least I held his eyes as he looked me over. His gaze lingered on my hair. My heart jumped into my throat and I had a flash of what had happened once when I’d styled it in a way he hated. He’d shoved my head into a tub of water, scrubbing the gel and hairspray out while I choked and almost drowned.

  Today my hair was colored through with streaks of gold and green and blue and red. All the colors of the rainbow. And it was the shortest I’d ever gone, even shorter than the choppy chin-length bob I’d had when I’d first met Jenks.

  Defiantly, I arched a brow and stared him down.

  A slow smile curled his lips.

  “You look lovely, Grace.”

  Slumping in the chair, I folded my arms over my chest, stared at the window. I wouldn’t answer to that name.

  “Aren’t you going to talk to me?”

  Shifting my gaze to him, I said, “That’s not my name.”

  “If you want me to sign that plea agreement, your name is whatever the fuck I choose it to be.”

  My belly went tight and queasy and the response trembled on my lips, even as I almost looked away, out of deference, just the way he’d always wanted.

  Instead, I shoved back, the legs of my chair scraping over the floor. “I’m done here.” I looked at Quincy, saw the way his mouth tightened. “If he wants a puppy to jump through hoops, you found the wrong woman.”

  I wasn’t even three feet away when he started to laugh.

  “Well, well, well. You went and grew claws. And there’s even the hint of a spine.”

  Stopping in my tracks, I looked back at him. “I had enough of a spine to leave you,” I said. My voice shook, but I managed to hold his gaze and glare at him.

  “And look how far you made it.” He tapped his nails on the table. “Do you dream of that little hole, my dear? Do you dream of the nights I came to you?”

  “Do you?”

  “Oh, yes.” He studied me, still smiling. Then he gestured for his lawyer. “I’m told you’ll come back to see me, if I go through with the agreement. I have conditions.”

  Why wasn’t I surprised?

  “One visit a month, for the length of my incarceration.” He gifted me with a smile. “I’ll take your word that you’ll hold your end of the bargain.”

  I curled my lip at him. “Not on your life.”

  “Then I won’t sign. I’ll get off and I’ll come after you.”

  “Good luck.”

  I made it to the door this time.

  “One year.”

  I paused. Looked up and saw Neely watching me. I could feel Quincy’s eyes on me as well.

  My heart slammed against my ribs and I closed my eyes, pressed my forehead to the door. “I have a condition of my own.”

  “Oh?”

  Slowly, I turned and faced him.

  “Do tell.” He looked like a giant cat, playing with its mouse.

  “You had a lover. Keilani. An artist.” I managed to actually smile this time, although it was tight and strained and I thought my face might crack. “She disappeared about the time you and I…had our falling out. I want to know more about her.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I know anything?”

  “Call it instinct.”

  “And what do you want to know?”

  “Everything.” My gut twisted into snarls.

  He rubbed his fingers together. “I’ll tell you. A little each visit.”

  “Done.” I walked forward and rested my hands on the table, staring him down. “But the day you stop talking, that’s the day I stop coming to see you. Are we in agreement?”

  “Of course.” His smile was slow. Reptilian.

  I turned and walked slowly out, the cops at my back.

  My knees were shaking. But I didn’t collapse until I was out of Stefan’s sight.

  Almost ten years ago on this day, I met the man who would become my husband, my tormenter, my rapist, my would-be killer.

  Now, I sat in the courtroom in Charleston, South Carolina and watched as the judge spoke to him.

  My hands were icy cold and my stomach was twisted into snarls.

  His parents weren’t there.

  They’d washed their hands of him once they’d learned he was signing a deal.

  It was one thing to rigorously defend your son.

  It was another thing to learn he’d signed a deal admitting guilt.

  They’d find a way to weather this travesty.

  They were the Stockmans. They always came out smelling like roses.

  Stefan was dressed in an elegant suit, Italian, I’d bet, and he looked cool and unperturbed, as though he wasn’t facing twenty years in jail.

  As the judge finished, he turned to look at me. Then he smiled and handed the woman at his left a letter, nodded in my direction.

  I didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to read it.

  I had a feeling I’d do it anyway, because my mind wouldn’t let me rest otherwise. That was the hold he still had on me.

  It was with little fanfare as he was led away.

  I left the courtroom and she found me, pushed the letter into my hands while hate shone from her eyes. One of the many he’d blinded.

  Part of me wanted to tell her that she should thank me. She had no idea the hell I’d saved her from.

  And it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t care, because she couldn’t see.

  Neely spoke to me. Barry spoke to me. So many people spoke to me and I couldn’t hear a word.

  Their voices were too loud and jarring and I wanted peace. Just plain and simple peace. A quiet beach.

  And—

  A hand touched my arm.

  Time fell away as I looked up, met Jenks’ eyes.

  Still clutching that letter, I sucked in a breath.

  And when he asked me if I wanted to grab some coffee, all I could do was nod dumbly.

  “I had to see.”

  I nodded. I understood.

  “It doesn’t feel real,” I said, my voice thick.

  The letter was a crumpled mess in my lap. I needed to read it but I had no interest in doing it yet.

  All I wanted to do was stare at Jenks.

  He looked tired.

  He looked beautiful.

  I wanted to crawl across the table, press myself against him and find that one, last missing piece of me. It was him. It had been him all this time, but I could live without that one piece and until he was ready to be whole as well, I wasn’t going to exist in limbo.

  He reached out, caught some of my hair, tugged. “This is different.”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged self-consciously. “He had a thing for my hair. Long, straight. If I was attending a business function, it should be worn in a French twist. If I was working out, a bun or a ponytail was acceptable. Any other time, I wore it straight. That was how it was. Now…it’s not.”

  Jenks watched me for a moment. “So if one of these days, you show up with your hair shaved off, will you feel better?”

  I laughed. “No. I won’t go that far. But this…” I toyed with one of the pink strands. “It fits. And I like it.”

  “So do I.” He watched me. “I miss you. It’s like I’m missing a piece of me.”

  Tears threatened. “I…yeah. I understand that.”

  He nodded, looked away. Then he slid out from behind the table, came around, pressed his lips to my cheek. “One of these days, I’ll get to where the answers aren’t as important,” he promised. The touch of his lips was a hot little thrill against my skin.

  He straightened up, watched me for a long moment. Then he put a card down on the table.

 
No, I thought, as he walked away. He wasn’t going to reach that point. But it didn’t matter.

  I had the means to get the answers for him.

  Or at least a start. He was a good cop, I’d bet. All I had to do was get him the right starting point and he could figure it out. I reached for the card, saw that it had his name, a phone number.

  Private investigator.

  He’d walked away from the badge.

  Maybe it was easier to chase those answers if he didn’t watch those lines so closely.

  I waited until that night to read the letter.

  I probably should have burned it.

  Grace,

  I imagine you think you’re safe now. Tucked up inside your safe little house, in your safe little bed, with the doors locked. I often smile as I think of how you pace the floors, checking each lock, once, twice, three times.

  Check them, dear one. Don’t think you can stop because I am locked up.

  It isn’t enough, you see.

  I wasn’t the only one who came into that basement.

  You think I was the only one who played with you? Toyed with you?

  I flung it down.

  The scream rose in my throat.

  Lies, I thought to myself. Desperate to believe just that. It was nothing but lies. And I had to believe it.

  Had to.

  Scrambling out of bed, I started for the door, ready to check the locks. I’d gotten better about it. I hadn’t done it in nearly a week, once I realized he wasn’t going to be out on the street. And even before that, I sometimes managed to check the locks only once.

  Sometimes.

  I stopped before I left my room.

  No.

  I wasn’t going to do this.

  He did it only because he’d lost the ability to control me after they slammed the door shut behind him.

  He couldn’t contact me in anyway, couldn’t attempt to have me watched or followed—not that I believed it would fully stop him.

  Stefan would be more careful, I had no doubt of that.

  But I was safe, inside my home.

  And when I walked into that jail next month, I was going to be able to look at him and tell him that he’d failed.

  Instead of checking the locks, I went to the shower.

  I scrubbed myself, using an entire bar of soap. I washed my hair, three times over.

  It was nearly two a.m. when I returned to bed. I didn’t even think about what I was doing when I reached for the phone.

  Yes, he still needed answers.

  But just then, I needed him.

  Everything else could wait.

  He rang the doorbell less than an hour later.

  I threw myself against him and clung to him, almost desperate.

  For a little while, I felt whole.

  It was enough.

  For now.

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  Look for Shiloh’s Latest…

  Ruined

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  About the Author

  Shiloh Walker has been writing since she was a kid. She fell in love with vampires with the book Bunnicula and has worked her way up to the more…ah…serious works of fiction. Once upon a time she worked as a nurse, but now she writes full time and lives with her family in the Midwest. She writes romantic suspense and contemporary romance, and urban fantasy under her penname, J.C. Daniels. You can find her at Twitter or Facebook. Read more about her work at her website. Sign up for her newsletter and have a chance to win a monthly giveaway.

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