He tried calling back. Again. Again.
Nothing.
Then he looked at me.
His voice forced calm, but I could hear the tension underneath. “Danica… where did you send her?”
I frowned. “What?”
“If you’re pissed, you tell me,” he said, his tone tightening. “I’ll handle it. You don’t need to get your hands dirty. Why the hell would you do something like this yourself?”
“I’ll say it again,” I said quietly, putting my fork down. “It wasn’t me.”
The next second, his hand clamped around my wrist.
Tight.
“Shannon’s not stable,” he snapped, his voice sharp now. “She can’t handle this kind of shit!”
My heart stuttered.
“Danica,” he continued, frustration breaking through, “can you just stop for a second? You lost a hand, yeah, I know, but she’s been through a lot too. Stop pushing her and just let her go, alright?”
I froze.
My eyes slowly burned. She’s been through a lot?
I almost laughed.
She attacked me with an axe. And someone protected her so she didn’t even spend a day in prison.
She married the man she wanted. She lived comfortably, hidden away, loved for four years.
And now… she was free.
So tell me…
Who was the victim?
And who had been fighting alone this whole time?