Behind the Secrets (Behind the Lives #4) (2 page)

Beth nodded resolutely. “I’ll make sure
he takes the stand as well as helps you with all your questions.”

“Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me, I should
be thanking you. Also, my family should be helping, not causing you trouble, especially
since you’re on our side.”

“I appreciate you saying that, because
with the way your mother’s acting, she’s making us feel like the villains.”

“As I said, my mother’s overprotective
of my brother. In her books, anyone that makes him cry caused the problem. My
other brother and I can attest to Corey always gettin’ his way cos of it. I
just won’t allow my mother to do it to you, too.”

The inspector smiled. “I appreciate it.”
He pushed out of his seat.

Beth rose to her feet, shaking his
extended hand. He let go and indicated to the door. She exited the room,
stopping in shock at the sight of Saul. He was walking towards her, wearing a
white button-down shirt and black pants. He stopped in mid-stride, also
appearing shocked. He was a tall thirty-something Samoan man, with wide
shoulders and muscular arms, his tattoos noticeable through his shirt sleeves.
He also had a shaved head, reminding her of The Rock. Though, he didn’t have
the actor’s friendly demeanour. Instead, Saul’s attractive features were
menacing, the wicked curve of his lips and his intense eyes amping up Beth’s
fear.

“Saul,” the inspector said, oblivious to
Beth’s reaction, “what are you doing here? You’re not due back for another
couple of days.”

“I wanted to get a head start on some
paperwork,” Saul replied, his voice as deep as Barry White’s. His eyes moved to
Beth, worry colouring his dark irises.

Beth dropped her gaze, unable to look at
the man. He was a mixture of raw sex appeal and a terrifying monster, one who
riddled her sleep with nightmares.

“Well, since you’re here,” the inspector
said, “did you want to ask Miss Connor any questions in regards to the Torres
case?”

“No!” Beth said, snapping her head up.

The inspector jolted, appearing surprised
by her sudden outburst.

She held up a hand. “I’m sorry, it’s
just my stomach is hurting. I should go.” She rushed past Saul, unable to avoid
contact, her arm brushing against his. She shot through the doorway, needing to
get as far away from him as possible.

Her phone went off as she exited the
police station. “Yes,” she barked into it, rattled by Saul.

“Beth?”

“Yes,” she repeated, wondering why her
boyfriend’s flatmate was calling her. Jade had never called her before,
especially since he didn’t like her. He was jealous of her relationship with her
boyfriend, something he could never have since Dante was straight.

“Good,” Jade said. “I wasn’t sure if
this was your number.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“The psyche unit contacted me about
Dante. Apparently, the psychiatrist thinks he might be well enough to come home.
She wants to do one more assessment, and if it goes well, she’ll allow him to leave
this afternoon.”

Beth stopped by her car, instantly
perking up. “That’s great news. What time will it be?”

“At two. Unfortunately, I’ll be
collecting my friend from the airport at that time. I tried to get hold of
Dante’s older brother but couldn’t, so I’m left with you as the only possible
person to pick him up. I’ve passed on your number to the reception so they can
call you if there are any problems. I hope that’s all right; I just didn’t know
who else to call.”

“No, that’s great. Thank you for calling
me instead of Kara.”

“There’s no way I would
ever
consider
asking that horrid woman to help Dante. At least you’re civilised.”

Beth smiled. Even though Jade didn’t
like her, he hated Kara a hundred times more, Dante’s ex a nuisance.

Jade continued, “After you collect Dante,
bring him straight home. And thank you, Beth, I appreciate this.”

“Don’t thank me, I should be the one
helping Dante, after all, I am his partner.”

“You’re no—“ Jade cut himself off. “Yes,
you should help.” He hung up.

Beth pushed her phone back into her
pocket, knowing Jade had almost said she wasn’t Dante’s partner. But she was,
because she was pregnant with Dante’s child, which meant his ex-girlfriend couldn’t
get her claws into him again, especially since Dante had always said he wouldn’t
leave the mother of his child.

Beth climbed into her car, happy she would
be seeing Dante soon. He’d been in the psyche unit for just over two weeks
after having a bipolar episode. And if he was better, then they could finally
be together like they were meant to be – as a family. Beth touched her stomach,
wanting the father of her child more than anything in the world.

2

Dante

Dante
had been through hell. At the age of thirteen, he’d seen his brother get raped
and his mother murdered, while over the following ten years he’d been used and
abused by various people, including the ones he loved. Yet it was that one
simple line that had broken him:

‘You’re gonna be a daddy.’

Beth had said those words a couple of
weeks ago, not long after he’d made love to his ex. He rested his head in his
hands, still unable to cope with her words or the happiness she’d exuded while
saying them. He’d been prepared to tell her that he’d chosen to be with Kara, and
would’ve done it if she hadn’t said those words, but now...

Everything was so fucked up and he had
no idea how to fix it—let alone fix himself.

“Why did you hurt yourself, Dante?” the
psychiatrist asked.

Dante glanced up at the woman, who
looked freakishly like his late mother. She had long black hair, olive skin,
and a toned physique; even her hazel eyes had a similar tone. It was like his
mother was asking the question, prodding him to confess everything he’d hidden
from her.

“Dante,” the psychiatrist said, “are you
going to answer me?”

His friend had brought him to her after he’d
reacted badly to Beth’s baby news. He didn’t remember much about that day. The
psychiatrist told him he’d had a psychotic blackout, something he’d experienced
twice before. The first time had been after his childhood sweetheart had broken
up with him. She’d been the first girl he’d fallen in love with at the not so
sweet age of thirteen. The second time was after another break up. He’d trashed
his room both times and had to be forcibly restrained. Though, this time he
didn’t trash his room—he’d taken a knife to himself.

The psychiatrist leaned back in her
chair, the beige leather making a squeaking sound. “If you’re not going to
answer me, you can return to your room,” she said, giving him that tight-lipped
grimace he’d come to expect from her, “because I won’t sign you out if I think
you’re going to harm yourself again.”

Dante returned the grimace, ashamed over
what he’d done. “I told you, I don’t remember cutting myself.”

“Or maybe you’re choosing not to
remember.”

His grimace morphed into a glare,
angered she wouldn’t take his word for it. “I. Don’t. Remember. It,” he ground
out. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, I’m
just trying to determine whether it was a true blackout or if you’re
suppressing memories, something I have a feeling you do a lot. And the issue
over you cutting yourself—”

“I still can’t believe I did that.”

“Mr. Park and Miss Connor both saw you
do it, and you have the bandages on your legs to prove it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t do it, I just can’t
believe I’d do sumpthin’ like that.”

“So, you are honestly telling me you
remember nothing? Not even picking up the knife?”

“Yes, and it makes no sense why I would
do it. I hate knives.”

“Why’s that?”

He looked down at his shirt and started
picking at a loose thread, not wanting to answer her. He often pushed things to
the back of his mind, burying them deep so he couldn’t remember them. It was
the only way he could cope. Yet all the bitch psychiatrist wanted to do was to
dig it all up again, making him relive the horror show called his life. What
was so fucking wrong with trying to forget about it all? It allowed him to
function without having more of those bloody breakdowns.

The psychiatrist leaned forward in her
chair, the squeaking sound making him raise his gaze. Again, his mind went to
his mother and the way she used to question him. He had withheld things from
her too. Though, he knew the psychiatrist wasn’t going to stop until she’d
picked apart his brain, dissecting all of his secrets.

“I’m here to help you, Dante,” she said,
“to listen to your troubles, and to sort through the ones you need to deal with,
so you can cope better.”

He remained silent, trying not to snap
at her, because if he lost his temper or said the wrong thing, she would make
him stay longer, and he
needed
to get out of this loony bin. He hated
being contained. He’d been thrown into jail more times than he could count. He’d
also been put into youth residences when he was younger, which were basically
jails for kids. The first time was when he was thirteen. He’d escaped it and
had lived off the streets for a few weeks before the cops caught him. But at
least it had been better than living at home, because—

“You’re wasting my time again, Dante,”
the psychiatrist said, cutting off his line of thought.

He refrained from telling the
upper-class bitch to go fuck herself. He hated talking about his life, let
alone to someone who had no idea what it was like to walk in his shoes.

“
Dante
, answer me.”

He dug a toe into the plush blue carpet,
again willing himself not to lose his shit. “A knife killed my mother,
that’s
why I hate them,” which she would have known. It was in his file, so she didn’t
need to make him say it out loud.
Bitch!

The psychiatrist nodded as though he’d
gotten her stupid question right. “It wasn’t the knife; it was the wielder who
killed your mother.”

“She’s still dead cos of me.”

“No, it was your stepfather who—”

“—took the knife offa me after I
attacked him; so end of conversation.”

“It’s still not your fault. You were
thirteen at the time—a child.”

“I wuzn’t a child at thirteen; I lost my
childhood when Chaz walked through my front door.”

“Yes,
he
took it, like
he
took your mother’s life. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I still feel responsible.”

“I understand that, but regardless, it
wasn’t your fault. Your stepfather is responsible for what happened—”

“This is ancient history; it’s got
nuthin’ to do with my blackout.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I agree, we
should get back to why you blacked out. What do you think might have made you
try to harm yourself?”

“I’ve already answered this in the other
sessions,” he snapped, losing his patience. “Why do I hafta keep repeating
myself?”

“Because it gets you to open up more.
So, why did you harm yourself?”

“As I said yesterday and the fuckin’ day
before, and the fuckin’ day before that, Beth told me she wuz pregnant with my
baby.”

“And...”

“She did it right after I slept with my
ex. I wuz gonna tell Beth I’d chosen to be with Kara then she came out with
that fuckin’ gem.” He thudded his boot against the floor, using anger to hide
his shame. He knew he was a weak bastard when it came to women, his dick his
lord and master, but this time he’d fucked up beyond what he could dig himself out
of.

“Continue,” she said.

He breathed out. “I know that I shouldn’t
have fucked Kara, but when she’s in front of me, I find it hard to resist her.
Yeah, it’s a shit excuse, but I want her so fuckin’ bad my balls hurt.”

“Language, Dante.”

He grimaced. “I speak how I fuckin’ well
please, so stop gettin’ on my case.”

She sighed. “Okay, let’s get back to
Kara. It sounds like it’s purely a sexual thing you have with her.”

“It’s not only sexual. I love her.”

“Then if you want her more than Beth, you
should be with her.”

“You didn’t lemme finish. When I’m with
one of them I want that person completely, but when I’m with the other I want
them just as bad. Though, the fucked up thing is, I’m never fully happy with
either of them.”

“Why’s that?”

“They always want things from me that
I’m not willin’ to give ’em, or can’t give ’em, and when they don’t get it they
become fuckin’ bitches—”

“Again, please watch your language.”

He continued, not giving a shit, “And
what’s even more fucked up is I let ’em get away with it.”

She breathed out, looking frustrated. “Why’s
that?”

“I don’t know, cos half the time I wanna
walk away. Nah, I do know: it’s my dick’s fault.”

The psychiatrist pressed her lips
together, looking like she was stifling a smirk.

“It’s not funny! I’m bein’ serious.”

She smiled. “It’s the way you said it,
and you shouldn’t blame your ... penis. You do have a mind of your own.”

“One that’s controlled by my cock. I did
tell ya I’m a sex addict.”

“True. So, is that the only reason you
stay with them?”

“What do ya mean?”

“For sex.”

“No. I like bein’ with them, but at the
same time don’t. I don’t know whether that makes sense.”

“It does. You want an emotional connection,
but have trouble forming one due to your heightened sexual urges, which in your
case, developed from being sexually abused as a child.”

He pulled a face, thinking the woman had
lost the plot. “What the fuck are ya on about? I wuzn’t sexually abused back
then.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday.”

“Bullshit, I never told you that.”

“It was during your hypnotherapy
season.”

“I still don’t believe you.”

“It’s on tape, and I think you block out
some of the horrible things people do to you. You say something happens, then
recant it the next day. I’m not saying you’re lying, it’s something else. It’s
what’s called a coping mechanism. It allows you to deal with life. Unfortunately,
it’s only a temporary measure, because eventually everything will become too
much, resulting in a breakdown—like what happened the other week.”

“That only happened cos Beth told me she
wuz pregnant, not your bullshit theories. Plus, I’ve had so much crap done to
me that it’s better to have a blackout every few years than cope with
remembering everything day in and day out. I just wanna forget, and it doesn’t
fuckin’ help with you dredging it up.”

“But in forgetting, you continue to
allow people to hurt you, and I also think you seek out those people. You’re so
used to certain behaviours that when you look for a partner you look for abusive
characteristics.”

“That’s a load of crock.”

“Really? Because you said you get a
thrill out of Kara being rough, but afterwards you feel like you’ve done
something wrong. I think you seek her out because you want her to hurt you like
you were hurt in your youth, while with Beth, you allow her to beat you through
her words.”

“Bull-motherfuckin’-shit.”

“Dante! You need to control your
language. I’m here to help you, not to be bombarded by your foul mouth.”

“It’s cos you’re pissing me off, and
half the time it comes outta my mouth before I realise I’ve even said it.”

“Then try to control yourself, but back
to what I was saying. Tell me if there has been anyone you’ve been with that
hasn’t done you wrong, and I’m referring to partners and girlfriends.”

“Lavinia didn’t do me wrong.”

“You said she broke your heart, not to
mention you had sexual relations with her.”

“That last part wuz a good thing.”

“No it isn’t, Dante. You were underage.
She wuz sixteen and you were thirteen. What she did was a crime.”

“I wuz the one who talked her into it.”

“That doesn’t make what she did any less
wrong. It’s statutory rape.”

“She wuz fifteen when we started, so she
wuz underage too.”

The psychiatrist shook her head. “You’re
doing it again, making excuses for the people who have wronged you. And what
about that teacher? Another person who could’ve gone to jail.”

“I came onto her.”

“Dante, she was an adult.”

He shrugged.

“Shrugging doesn’t help, and I think
possibly you let women abuse you to make you feel more masculine.”

“Are you high? How the hell would that
make me feel more masculine? And
I
hit on Lavinia and that teacher.
There wuz
no
abuse involved, only fuckin’ great sex.” He thrust his
crotch out. “Unless you count my cock battering their pussies as abuse.”

“Dante!”

“Don’t get mad at me. I’m just stating
how it wuz, while you’re tryna twist every sexual experience I’ve had into
abuse.
That’s
wrong.”

The psychiatrist exhaled loudly. “Regardless,
those two still committed statutory rape.”

“We either stop this line of conversation
right now or I’m walking out of here.”

“You can’t leave.”

“Then
you’re
abusing me.”

She made a derisive sound. “I am doing
no such thing.”

“Yes, you are. You don’t have a fuckin’
right to keep me here. I wanna leave, so bloody let me.”