Losing Lola (Mercy's Angels Book 5)

by Kirsty Dallas

  “I feel like we’ve had this dance already, Mouse,” Drew murmured as Larz pulled me away from the store, dropping my hand as he too held a gun out in front of him.

  “I’m tired of this dance,” I whispered.

  “Me too, Mouse. I think it’s time we got proactive and changed the damn music.”

  ***

  “How the fuck do they keep finding her?” Drew growled.

  The fury mixed with potent determination reminded me of our brief time together in Thailand. That almost seemed like a lifetime ago now.

  Annie sat by my side, her fingers linked with mine as she watched the showdown going on before us. Dillon sat behind his desk, and Sam was sitting next to him, an android tablet balanced on one knee as he stared off into the distance thinking about god knows what. The man was a certifiable IT genius; his mind worked in ways I couldn’t comprehend. Braiden leaned against the door frame, looking calm as always. Only Larz and Drew looked frazzled, though Larz was hiding his worry and frustration better than Drew.

  “We don’t know,” Dillon calmly answered.

  “Did they hack into the system again?” Drew demanded, his fury now directed at Sam who simply snorted.

  “Of course not.”

  “They know she’s back in Claymont. It's not like we’ve got Lola living in a prison. She's been allowed to come and go. They obviously had someone here watching her,” Braiden explained.

  My skin itched, a feeling of filth over being watched without me knowing coated me like an invisible layer of grime.

  “We need to attack. This waiting around for someone to take her out is bullshit. We know who’s behind this. Let's finish it,” Drew snarled.

  “Taking out a public figure isn’t going to be easy, and we don’t want that kind of heat to come back on Montgomery’s.”

  “You’re worried about your fucking business? This is a human life we’re talking about here. This is Lola’s fucking life!”

  “Drew,” I pleaded. It wasn’t Dillon’s fault what was happening to me, and I hated seeing his rage directed at someone who was just trying to help.

  “Maybe we can move her again,” Sam suggested.

  “And then what? Just keep moving her each time she’s found? That’s no kind of life to live,” Braiden answered.

  “She needs to file a report,” Dillon said with a sigh. “If we get this out in the open, make it official, it will make it harder for Ben to take her out. It will be too suspicious if something were to happen to Lola while he was up on charges of aggravated sexual assault.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling Dillon’s statement hit me like a physical punch. He had a valid point and the thought of making my assault official, of talking about the specifics of that night, terrified me. But as David had said, I was battling my fears one by one. Perhaps it was time to tackle this fear.

  “What do I need to do to press charges? It’s been over a year.”

  The room went quiet, and Annie’s grip on my hand tightened.

  “We’ve got documented evidence, as do the police. Pictures, the sexual assault kit, your testimony, that’s all we need. I can have Sergeant Maitland take a statement this afternoon and a warrant will be issued for Ben’s arrest.”

  “But he’ll get out on bail,” I pointed out, feeling sick to my stomach thinking about what I was considering and the repercussions.

  “More than likely, but he’ll still have to face the charges.”

  “Which comes down to my word against his,” I said, feeling defeated. No one was going to believe a runaway foster kid over a man running for senator.

  “There are others.” Sam’s words were a sharp knife to my heart.

  “Dammit, Sam,” Dillon growled. “Have a little tact.”

  “She should know. It will strengthen her case,” Sam said defensively.

  “She should know,” Drew agreed in a determined voice.

  My gaze crossed to his and the strength and power in just those eyes gave me what I needed.

  “What others?”

  Sam took a deep breath and leaned forward, pushing his glasses up his nose. “There are four other women that I’ve been able to locate who pressed charges against Ben Crane for sexual assault. None of those charges ever saw the light of day, though. One of the women died in a fire.” Sam gave me a knowing nod. My adopted parents had died in a fire. Coincidence? From Sam’s look, I thought not. “The other two gained significant wealth upon dropping their charges.” I shook my head with frustration. “And then there was Rachel, Rachel Dorson, nineteen-years-old, blonde hair, blue eyes, cheerleader . . .” Sam tapped away on his tablet, then turned it so I could see the screen.

  A small breath of air left my lips; her features were so eerily similar to mine and I found myself unable to look away. She was fine-boned, her tiny nose lifted upwards slightly on the tip, and her lips were not too thick but not too thin. A few freckles dotted her nose and under her eyes. Her skin was pale like mine, but where my hair was a darker strawberry blonde, Rachel’s was a sun-kissed yellow blonde.

  “This was Ben’s last victim. She's so traumatized by the event that she too refuses to press charges. Again, there was no evidence left at the scene, but,” Sam pinned me with a sharp stare, “a man matching Ben Crane’s description was spotted at the apartment complex where the assault took place. There was no reason for him to be there, but the lack of evidence, and the girl’s silence, makes it hard for the police to point the finger at Ben. He has powerful connections; the police need an air-tight case.”

  “But there is no evidence from my assault,” I whispered.

  “No, but your attacks were very similar, right down to the scars on your chest. Ben Crane is the only person linking you both. Rachel was one of Ben’s foster sisters before the Cranes adopted him.”

  And in that moment, my world was once again ripped apart. He’d hurt other women, and he’d carved one up just like he had me.

  CHAPTER 21

  DREW

  Lola was pale, too pale. Her skin was flawless porcelain at the best of times, but now it was almost translucent. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears, turmoil and heartache swirling in their amber depths as she sat on the lounge chair before a black screened TV. I’d offered to turn it on, but a subtle shake of her head told me she wanted to sit in silence. Upon hearing the news that Ben had assaulted other women, in particular one of his foster sisters, Lola withdrew inside of herself immediately, and now it almost seemed as if she were trapped in dark memories. Hopelessness wasn’t something I’d felt often during my life, but right now, I felt useless as I paced the apartment, the walls surrounding me felt tight and constricting. I needed to get outside. The urge to hunt Ben Crane down and deliver the blood and pain he deserved was so fierce, the only thing keeping me here was knowing Lola needed me right now.

  My gaze crossed the room and landed on her for what seemed like the hundredth time, and she still hadn’t moved. She was so close, yet seemed so far away. Those fears she had spent the last two months trying to defeat one by one seemed to have seized her, she was a hostage to the past once more.

  Tearing my gaze away from such despair, I glanced down the hall in the direction of her room, an idea taking root in my mind. I had no idea if it was the right thing to do, but the need to do something was strong, and it was the only thing I could think of.

  I grabbed that damn bucket of fears, which was in actual fact a small ice bucket, filled with innocuous pieces of paper from her bedside table, carried it back into the living area, and knelt down before her. Finally, her sad eyes left the television screen and settled on me. The futility and distress I saw within them made me clench the bucket so hard I thought I might break it. Nudging the container forward, I watched her eyes drop to take it in.

  “Take one,” I encouraged.

  Her lost gaze found me once more, and she hesitated.

  “I don’t think now is the right—”

  “There has never been a more right time than
now. He took so much from you, and you were finally taking your life back. Don’t let him win now.”

  I pushed the bucket until it was sitting in her lap. With a great deal of reluctance, she reached her delicate fingers inside and pulled out a piece of paper. She didn’t bother to look at it; she simply handed it to me. I took the bucket and placed it to one side, then carefully opened the scrunched-up piece of paper.

  Scars

  I didn’t think it would be possible, but Lola paled even further. I felt like a complete dick. This was Lola’s path to healing, and I had never been a part of this particular exercise. Perhaps I was asking too much from her, pushing too hard. Maybe this was something I should let her do alone.

  Before I had a chance to open my mouth and apologize, Lola’s nimble fingers went to the buttons on her top. The words I was about to speak became stuck on my tongue as she slipped the fabric from each button. Beneath the top, she wore a tank top; layers were like a protective barrier for her. She stopped about halfway and gently pulled aside the collar of her shirt. Her creamy pale skin was exposed, and my insensitive cock began to throb with interest . . . right up until I caught the harsh pink lines carved into her skin. At first it looked a lot like a jagged array of mindless slashes, but my brain was quick to put the sickening harm together to form the word ‘mine’.

  “I’m his,” Lola breathed, a tear spilling over her lashes. “He carved it into me so I’d never forget. I don’t remember when he did this. I don’t remember how many times he hit me. I don’t remember him inside me.”

  More tears spilled down her cheeks, and my own eyes fought a battle against tears which hadn’t been released since I was a child. This man had hurt her in so many ways, but this mark, this branding; it was a barbaric reminder of her ordeal that she would carry forever. It sickened me and enflamed the anger that was burning through my veins.

  “He cut me up, and all I have are vague memories that I’m not even sure are real or not. He was in me, and I don’t remember. I don’t remember if I fought,” she said on a broken sob. “All I’ve got is the proof in these scars that he violated me and broke me.”

  Unable to sit back and watch her fall apart, I took her into my arms and turned until I was sitting on the couch with Lola in my lap, her head buried against the crook of my neck as she cried, agonizing sounds torn from somewhere deep inside her. It was almost as if the very fabric of her being was being ripped apart. And as I held her, my hands shaking with unrepressed fury, my own soul was breaking right along with her.

  “I don’t remember,” she sobbed, “and I don’t want to remember because I don’t think I could survive those memories.” She cried for a long time, until her heart wrenching sobs softened, and broken sniffles interrupted the silence. “Every day I look at these scars and I remember that he raped me, and I fight those memories. I’m so tired of fighting,” she whispered.

  “No,” I said through a throat tight with emotion. “Don't ever say that.” I put a little space between us until I could look her right in the eye. “Your life is worth fighting for, Mouse.”

  She just stared at me, her eyes and nose red, her face flushed with emotion.

  “I’m just tired, and this is such a lonely battle.”

  “You are not alone. You have friends here, Lola.” I paused so she knew what I was about to say next was weighted with meaning. “You have me.”

  Her head tilted to one side with curiosity. “How could you want me when I’m so damaged, when he marked me the way he did?”

  “I want you,” I growled, my hand raising to the back of her neck and holding her steady. “I. Want. You. Scars and all. You aren’t his. That word does not make you his. What he did to you does not make you his. You are not a possession to be taken, and these scars,” I took a deep breath as my eyes lowered to the scars on her chest. “They are the battle wounds of a warrior who went to hell and kicked its ass. They are proof of how strong you are, and a reminder that you are alive!” My gaze rose back to find her glassy eyes on me. “And if you’re too tired to fight, I’ll fucking fight for you, but promise me you won’t give up. Don’t let him win.” Another tear trickled down her cheek, and I wiped it away with my thumb, using more gentleness than I truly felt I could provide in this moment. Lola’s pain made me want to set the world on fire, her scars made me want to draw blood, and her tears made me want to kill someone. That someone had a name and he was living on borrowed time: Ben Crane. Even if I had to leave Montgomery Security and do it alone, I was going to kill Ben. Death would be a kindness I would eventually deliver, but not until I filled his world with so much pain that his soul begged for release.

  A small hand on my cheek brought my thoughts back to the present. “Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.”

  My brow furrowed in confusion.

  “It’s a quote David told me. It's by Albert Einstein. I like it.”

  “Me too,” I whispered gruffly.

  “I want to get it tattooed, here.” She pointed to her chest.

  I could only nod. Seeing her turn her scars into something beautiful was the perfect solution.

  “Ella told me Jaxon has a large tattoo on his back, some of it covers a particularly nasty scar.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I mumbled, wishing I had been the one to think of it. “You could even get some roses or something.”

  “Dandelions,” Lola breathed, her gaze settling over my shoulder and once again far away. “They represent overcoming hardship . . . I think I’d like dandelions.”

  Her brown eyes settled back on mine and silence enveloped us. When her soft hand left my cheek, I felt a whisper of touch as her finger traced my bottom lip.

  “Will you kiss me?” she asked, her voice so soft I barely heard her.

  As her cheeks deepened in color, I realized how much bravery it took her to ask me for such a thing, but I couldn’t do anything to hurt Lola. She must have noticed the hesitation in my eyes, because she placed a hand over my beating heart and took a deep breath.

  “You told me not to let him win. I want to feel normal again. I want to hold hands and hug and . . .” her blush deepened, “. . . other stuff.”

  I couldn’t stop my lips from curling into a small smile.

  “Other stuff?”

  Lola rolled her eyes and slapped her hand hard against my chest.

  “Don’t be a shmuck,” she whispered.

  The light-heartedness in her words made the last agonizing half hour of emotional turmoil worth it. Under the pain and sadness was a woman who wanted to laugh and joke, and more importantly, she wanted to feel like a desired and appreciated woman.

  “Okay, but you are in control here. You start this, and you finish it when you’re ready.”

  Those beautiful brown eyes dropped to my lips, and I almost groaned aloud, moving her ever so slightly off my cock so she wouldn’t feel my hard-on. For a moment, I thought she might change her mind; the indecision in her eyes and posture was pretty damn clear. The moment she made up her mind, though, was like a whip cracking, so fast, and as her lips pressed to mine, I snapped into an almost painful rigidness. Her lips were tentative and soft as she held herself perfectly still, and then ever so slowly she began to move. Her kiss was restrained innocence as I carefully moved against her, keeping my tongue out of the action as we just sipped at each other, testing the waters. Pulling away, she sat back a little and looked me in the eye.

  “That was my first kiss,” she quietly confessed. “Well, I had a boyfriend in high school who kissed me once, but it was a quick peck on the lips. I’ve been too busy running from Ben to date, so, yeah, I’ve never really kissed anyone.”

  Although Ben had taken her virginity, she was still innocent in so many ways.

  “I wish you had told me. I would have tried to make the moment more special or something.”

  Lola shook her head. “It was perfect. I don’t need special. I know fairy tales aren’t real, and I’m not some kind of princess. I j
ust want real.”

  CHAPTER 22

  LOLA

  Oh god, I felt my cheeks heat. I was rambling, and my cheeks were probably glowing as bright as the lights in Vegas, and the more I thought about my embarrassment, the more I felt myself blush.

  “Duly noted,” Drew said with a smile. “Real is good. You won’t get anything but real with me, Mouse.”

  With that, Drew tentatively leaned forward, and I leaned in, meeting him halfway. This kiss started out slow, like our first. It was nice, safe . . . boring. When Drew licked my bottom lip, I opened my mouth in shock, and when his tongue gently invaded my mouth, I stilled. Drew’s tongue disappeared, and he became tense. I knew he was worried he’d crossed a line, and to soothe that worry, I simply reached my hands around his neck, pulled him closer, and kissed him harder. It only took a moment for him to respond; he kissed me deeper, harder, and more passionately. This kiss was a little clumsy, our teeth knocking once or twice, but it sent a thrill through by body nonetheless. Drew’s hands never strayed, remaining locked on my waist, and when I backed away needing air, he allowed it.

  “Was that real enough?” Drew asked, his forehead leaning against mine.

  “That was something,” I murmured.

  Drew pulled away and frowned. “Good something or bad something?”

  “Good something,” I said with a smile.

  “For a moment I thought we might have to try again.”

  “You won’t hear any objections from me, practice makes perfect.”

  When my eyes dropped to Drew’s lips again, he smiled.

  “How about I take a quick shower then order some take-out? I’m calling movie night.”

  Movie nights were tricky, so many movies had content that triggered anything from a minor to major panic attack; however, Drew was very careful about selecting movies that would be trigger-free. I trusted him to keep me safe in all ways, even when it came to television. Personally though, I would be more than happy to sit here and keep kissing Drew. Moving to better position myself, I felt the firm, unfamiliar hardness at Drew’s groin, and I froze. It was instinctual, because I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, but I couldn’t help the visceral fear that flooded my veins. A big, gentle hand on my cheek brought my startled gaze to Drew’s concerned eyes.