He leaned forward and roared, “Who did it to you, Sylvie?”

“Richard Scott did it to me!”

He stared at me a beat, two, three then he turned and I watched in fascination as the muscles worked in his back while he threw a powerhouse punch to the wall, his fist going clean through the paneling, the drywall, everything.

He pulled it out and twisted back to me as I deep breathed.

“Do not make me waste my f**kin’ time diggin’ for it,” he growled.

“It’s mine, not yours. You were gone. You left me to that.”

“I did f**kin’ not and you know it. How in the f**k did you go from me to Richard f**kin’ Scott? The only drug dealing pimp in the goddamned county.”

“You know.”

“I don’t f**kin’ know.”

“Maybe not then but you know now. I know you do. You looked into me.”

“Sylvie, I didn’t have time to dig that deep. I thought you hooked up with Dixon. I didn’t f**kin’ know about Scott so,” he leaned toward me again and thundered, “tell me!”

I shook my head. “Don’t bullshit me. You know. You know what I do for Knight and why. It’s about the girls.”

“Yeah, Sylvie, I know that because you’re you and watchin’ you for a month I know, as much as you shovel the bullshit, that hasn’t changed. You got a heart of gold. You always had a heart of gold. Somethin’ matters to you, you’ll do anything. Only difference now is, you do it with a gun clipped to your belt. Now, tell me how you got hooked up with f**kin’ Scott!” he shouted the last.

“Daddy owed him money, Creed,” I hissed. “That’s how.”

A muscle in his cheek jerked then he asked, “He pimp you?”

I shook my head. “He liked me all to himself.”

“How’d you get away?”

“I stuck him with a knife. His knife, incidentally. Luckily, they declared it self-defense because, before I did, he beat the f**king shit out of me. I survived, Creed. Richard didn’t.”

His chest heaved with his breathing. Mine did too. I felt it moving under my hand clutching the sheet to me.

“You’re talkin’, Sylvie, you ready to listen to me?” he asked tightly.

“No,” I answered firmly. “No. You wanna talk, you listen but I’m not gonna f**king listen, Creed. He sold me. Daddy sold me. You left me to that shit and I don’t give one f**k why you did it. You did it. I was a captive for six f**king years. I had a car. A home. But no freedom. He bought my clothes, made me wear them, I had no choice. He told me what I could eat. He f**ked me. He held me down. He tied me down. He took my ass. He slapped me while he pounded inside me, all of it dry because he did nothing for me and that… shit… stings. And he beat me. Repeatedly. To get away, I had to kill him before he killed me. I can still feel his blood warm on my hands. God, so much blood. I had no idea a body had that much blood. It was all over the bed. All over him. All over me. He owned me until I took his life to get mine back. That’s why no one else gets me. I killed a man to get me back and I’m keeping me.”

“It was Scott,” he whispered.

“Yeah, it was Scott,” I confirmed.

“No, Sylvie,” he shook his head then lifted his hand and pointed to the scar on his face before he scored his finger through his hair along the streak of white. “It was Scott’s men, not your father’s, who did this to me and drove me away from you. Your Dad just was in on it.”

Oh my f**king God.

What was he talking about?

“You’re ready,” he went on, “you’ll get the story. Warning, it lasted a f**kuva lot less time but it was no less ugly.”

After he delivered that, he turned on his bare foot and prowled out.

I sat in my bed and shivered.

That was, I sat in bed and shivered until I heard the front door slam.

Then me and my sheet went to the kitchen and we got the bourbon. Then me and my sheet went to the back room and we got my cigs.

Then me and my sheet went back to bed.

* * * * *

“Sylvie.”

“Fuggov,” I slurred.

“Sylvie, babe, look at me.”

“Fug… ov!” I shouted, lurching toward the voice then collapsing in bed.

“He do this to you?” I heard growled as I blinked.

“Who?”

“Creed.”

“Scott.”

“What?”

“Richard Scott didid to me. Daddeh didid to me. Creed jus’ lef’ me.”

“Fuck,” I heard whispered then I felt my hair pulled gently away from my face and lips at my ear. “I knew this would shred you.”

“Go ‘way, Knide,” I mumbled into my pillow.

Knight didn’t go away. “Five days, you’re shredded.”

“Ah’ll be okay,” I muttered. “Ah always am.”

“You haven’t been okay for sixteen years.”

Fuck, that was the truth.

“Ah havin been okay for forever.”

I blinked and my hazy vision vanished.

This was because I passed out.

* * * * *

I put the cigarette to my lips, took a deep drag and blew out the smoke, my eyes trained out the window of my back room to the dark night.

I knew someone was there well before I heard Anya call from the door to the kitchen, “Sylvie?”

“Here,” I muttered.

Quiet.

Then, softly, “Knight sent me to check on you. He gave me the key.”

“That’s cool.”

“You okay?”

No, I f**king was not.

“Yup.”

She walked through the dark and I watched her shadow move and fold into the other chair across from me.

“How’s Kat?” I asked about their daughter.

“She’s good. Knight’s folks are here from Hawaii. They’re babysitting so I could have a rare night at Slade.”

“Have fun?” I asked.

“Yeah. Good night. Great night, actually.”

“Good,” I muttered.

She was silent.

Then she asked, “You still drinking?”

“I think drunk off my f**king ass, passed out by noon, missing helping out Charlene for the first time since Dan the Douchebag took off on her and seriously hanging by three is enough. I’m laying off the sauce.”

At least for the night.

“Charlene got worried. Came over. You were passed out. She had to get back to work so it was her that called Knight,” Anya told me.