“I need your help.” I place the file Lukas gave Zach on the study table.
“What is this?” His gaze moves between the file and me.
“It’s Rose’s case file from back then.” My body tenses at the thought of its contents.
“How did you get it?” Beast eyes me curiously, making no effort to pick it up from the desk.
“Lukas arranged it for me.” I swallow back the anxiety. I just hope he didn’t break any laws while doing so.
“You asked for Lukas’s help?” Beast’s eyebrows rise in surprise.
It’s no secret that I’m not a fan of Lukas Spencer, Zane’s friend. But these are desperate times. I’ll do everything in my power, no matter how hard that may be, to get my girl out of the fear that has paralyzed her for her entire life.
After staring at me for another moment, Beast grabs the file. He sifts through the first few pages until his eyes and hands halt on one page.
“What is it?” I circle his table and find him staring at a grainy picture from police records. It shows the wounds on Rose’s small back.
He runs his fingers over the picture, pausing in between as if he can feel them. “She has these?”
I hum around my pounding heart, my eyes fixed on the angry wounds. The current marks on my girl are just a whisper of these horrible, angry gashes and burns.
“Fuck!” Beast stands in a fury, forcing me to step back. All the papers fall down, littering the floor.
“You said she was found by someone. Where?” Beast suddenly grabs my shoulders. His grip is tight, filled with anxiety and eagerness, taking me by surprise. “Somewhere close?”
“No, not even close,” I rush to answer. I wasn’t expecting such an angry outburst from him. “She was found in another part of the country. She had never even stepped foot into this area before she took a job in Cherrywood.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. But why do you ask?” Watching his reaction, a flush of adrenaline tingles through my body.
“Because I’ve seen those exact same marks before.” His wide, horrified eyes elevate my pulse. I’ve never seen Beast like this. He almost looks scared.
His hands shake as he opens the top drawer of his desk, withdrawing an envelope.
How many times have I seen it in his hands?
On several occasions, I’ve walked in on him with this yellow envelope on his table or the old sepia pages that reside inside it, close to his face. He’d carefully fold the papers, place them into the envelope, and then lock it away before looking up at me.
But today, he empties all its contents in a rush, not caring what lands where. He fumbles through the mess of pages until his hands find whatever he’s looking for, and he plants a picture on the table.
It’s a similar grainy shot of someone’s back bearing the exact same wounds as Rose’s. The only difference in this picture is it’s the body of a woman, not a child.
“I don’t understand. Who is she?” I hold the photograph to take a closer look.
“My wife.” He slams his fists on the table.
His words take me by surprise, and the photo falls from my hand.
Beast lights a cigarette, walking back and forth anxiously. “Tell me everything you know.”
I rehash the events Rose told me this morning and wait for Beast to say something. Finally, he does. A lot.
“My wife and I met by chance in a café. She was there on some kind of blind date, and I was dared by my friends to kiss a stranger. She slapped me at our first meeting. She hated me so much.” His eyes are transfixed on the photograph as he takes back his seat.
“But I fell in love with her, there and then. I chased her, following her everywhere until she agreed to go on a date with me.” A pained smile emerges on his face. I try to imagine a younger version of Beast roaming around the streets following a woman.
“Long story short, we fell in love and got married. When she got pregnant, we decided to make St. Peppers our home. My darling Chloe was born, and I was living a dream. A beautiful dream.” He runs his hands over his face as if imagining those days. “But in all the happiness, I forgot that dreams break when the night is over, and so did mine.”