Behind the Secrets (Behind the Lives #4) (31 page)

26

Dante

Dante was sitting in the hospital waiting
room, staring down at the floor. He was unable to process what had happened,
both fear and grief, with a touch of hope, raging through him. He closed his
eyes, the memory of Beth running onto the road replaying over and over again.
The car had been so far away when he’d crossed, but within seconds it was speeding
towards Beth. Then it had hit her ... throwing her backwards ... killing her.
Dante had to literally breathe life back into her, Beth’s heartbeat having
stopped.

He gripped onto his hair, his anguish
welling up, making him feel sick to his stomach. He wanted to yell and scream,
to destroy the reception, to vent his grief and rage, but all he could do was
to sit and wait, willing Beth to pull through.

Black shoes came into view, then a hand
touched his shoulder. “Dante, how’s Beth?”

He looked up, finding Beth’s mother staring
down at him. She looked so much like Beth it almost felt like Beth herself was
standing before him. She was dressed in blue jeans and a white blouse, clothes
that Beth would wear, but it wasn’t her, no matter how much he wished it was.

Beth’s mother pressed her lips together,
looking like she was forcing herself not to cry, her hazel eyes the same shade
as Beth’s, begging him for some good news. But he had nothing. Beth was still
in surgery. She had stopped breathing again in the ambulance, the medics also having
to resuscitate her. They kept telling him she was going to be all right, but he
knew they were just saying that to calm him down.

“Please tell me how she is, Dante,” Mrs.
Connor said, her eyes tearing up.

“They’re operating on her,” he croaked
out.

She sat down next to him, her hands
shaking. “What happened? How bad is she hurt?”

Dante dropped his head again.

“Dante! Tell me!”

He looked up, seeing desperation written
across her face, a plea for him to say Beth would pull through. But he couldn’t
... not yet ... not until the doctor walked through and said Beth would live—like
with Sledge, after his brother’s operation.

“Please tell me what happened,” Mrs.
Connor said.

“She wuz hit by a speeding car,”
because
she ran after me.
He left out the second part, unable to handle being the
one who’d caused her to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he’d stayed
with her, she wouldn’t have been hit. Or even better, if he hadn’t taken that
call from the doctor’s receptionist, none of this would’ve happened. Beth
would’ve been safe, and he wouldn’t have known the child wasn’t his.

If

That was all it was between Beth being
hurt and being safe.

He could’ve stayed with her, regardless
of his feelings for Kara. Maybe Beth could’ve made him happy. It still would’ve
hurt not seeing Kara, but he couldn’t have the both of them, no matter how much
he wanted to. Fuck! Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he be normal? If he was,
Beth wouldn’t be on the operating table, fighting for her life. He hated
himself for being responsible for putting her there—and he
was
responsible.

It was his fault—no one else’s
,
not even that driver.

Everything he did had consequences, and
it was usually others who suffered the outcomes. He did something, then they
got hurt. He hated himself for it. He should’ve been hit instead of Beth. He
should’ve been taken from this fucked up, mental, fucking, cunt of a world, one
where nothing but shit and heartache happened. He couldn’t cope with it
anymore, he
couldn’t
cope, HE COULDN’T FUCKING COPE!

“Dante! Stop it!”

Dante jerked back, not remembering
getting to his feet. He looked around the waiting room, seeing people scampering
away, a few cowering in a corner, fear in their eyes. His gaze lowered to the
floor, finding an overturned table, the magazines and everything that had been piled
on top now lying across the floor. A few chairs were also lying on their side,
one of their metal legs twisted at an angle, as though he’d struck it against
the floor continuously.

Shaking uncontrollably, he turned to
Beth’s mother, the lost moments scaring him.

She grabbed him, wrapping her arms around
him tightly. “Back off!” she yelled at the nurses, one of them a large man, who
was inching towards Dante.

“The police have been called,” the male
nurse said.

“They don’t need to be involved,” she
replied, not letting Dante go. “I’ll pay for the damage.”

“It’s too late.”

“No, it’s not! Show some compassion.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“No, he’s suffering.
I’m
suffering!
We need to know about my daughter. Her name’s Beth Connor. She was hit by a car
and is pregnant with his baby.”

“I’ll check for you,” a female nurse
said, scurrying off a second later.

“While I’ll wait until the police arrive,”
the male nurse added. “But if he looks like he’s going to lose it again, I
won’t hesitate in taking him down.”

“He won’t, I’ll watch him closely,”
Beth’s mother said firmly, “and is it possible for us to wait in a more private
room?”

“I’m afraid not,” the male nurse said,
righting the chairs. “Just keep him under control.”

“I will.”

Beth’s mother directed Dante to a seat,
sitting down next to him. She wrapped her arms around him again, talking to him
in a soothing tone. Dante hugged her back, needing the comfort, the woman reminding
him of his mother – before his stepfather had killed her. He’d been responsible
for her death too. He felt responsible for everything that went wrong around
him. Beth had been hurt because he’d broken up with her, his mother had been
stabbed because his stepfather had taken the knife off him, while Ash had been
raped because...

...because...

He searched through his mind as to why
he was responsible, but a block kept coming up, one so solid he couldn’t break through
... or didn’t want to, because he knew whatever lay behind that wall was bad,
something that could break him.

“Where is she?!” someone yelled.

Dante pulled away from Beth’s mum and
looked up at Mr. Connor. The man was short, with a potbelly and a hard face,
deep lines etched across his forehead. He was dressed in grease-stained pants,
obviously having come straight from his mechanic’s job. Corey was standing a
few paces behind him, looking so small and fragile, his sweet face nothing like
his father’s.

Beth’s mother pushed to her feet,
looking like she was going to answer her husband, but stopped, her eyes instantly
snapping to a doctor. The forty-something man, with a square jaw, emerged from
the far corridor with the female nurse who’d offered help.

Beth’s mother rushed past her husband, zeroing
in on the doctor. “Are you here about my daughter?” she asked, her voice filled
with desperation. “Her name’s Beth Connor. She was hit by a car.”

“Yes,” the doctor replied, looking sad. “She’s
alive...”

Beth’s mother cried out and launched
herself at the doctor, hugging him. The doctor looked over her shoulder, his
eyes still sad.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said.

Beth’s mum pulled back, letting him go.

He continued, “She’s alive, but only
because of a life support machine.”

“To help her until she gets stronger,”
Beth’s mother said. “Until she can breathe on her own?”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m afraid
she won’t recover. The brain damage is too extensive. She may look alive, but
essentially she’s dead, only the machine keeping her breathing. We haven’t
turned it off because she’s at a stage of pregnancy where we can keep her alive
long enough for her baby to be born.”

Beth’s mother’s hand shot to her mouth.
She stepped back, then collapsed, her legs going out from under her. Mr. Connor
ran for her, his sob so deep it set his wife off, her screams piercing the air.
Dante went for Corey as Beth’s brother stumbled, looking like he was going to
collapse too. He caught him, holding onto Corey tight, Beth’s brother the only
thing keeping him from breaking down too. Corey cried out, his sobs merging in
with his mother’s wails, Dante’s world falling apart along with the Connors’.

27

Saul

Saul was sitting in the police cell he’d
locked so many others in. He couldn’t believe he’d ended up here. He’d joined
the force full of youthful idealism, but as time passed, that idealism began to
dwindle until it was non-existent. Domestic violence, murder, having to tell
people their loved ones had died, then losing his own wife to the job ... it
had worn him down so much he’d almost quit the force. But instead he’d asked to
be put undercover, needing to throw himself into another world in an attempt to
escape his pain. And while undercover, his insides had been corroded even more,
the trip to South America that Craven had sent him on beating him down to the
point that he’d broken, the torture he’d received at the hands of his boss’s
enemy severe. They’d whipped him until he’d passed out, then had done other
things to him, making him believe he was going to die. But Craven had paid them
to let him go, giving them the drugs they had wanted. And what did Saul do in
return? He’d betrayed Craven. But he’d been undercover, the line between allies
and enemies blurred. Craven had been an evil bastard, his influence turning
Saul into a savage, making him do things he never would have done if he hadn’t
met the man.

He gripped onto the hard bench seat,
wishing he could turn back time. He would have gone out on that patrol instead
of his wife, taking the bullet for her, because he’d rather be dead than classified
as a criminal, disrespecting her life by becoming the very thing she’d fought
against.

Footsteps drew his attention to the door,
the lock opening sounding louder in the small space. A moment later, Joseph entered
the room along with Sarah. “You’re released, Saul,” he said.

Saul remained seated. “If you’re attempting
to sweep what I did under the carpet, think again, I won’t allow it.”

“You going to jail won’t have any effect
on Beth Connor now.”

Saul pushed up, Joseph’s words angering
him. “Just because you know me doesn’t give you a right to put down what she
feels. Not only that, it’s a slap in the face to all sexual abuse victims,” he
hit his chest, “and I can’t allow that.”

“You don’t understand,” Joseph said, his
expression turning sad. “Beth Connor was hit by a car. She’s too brain damaged
to recover from her injuries.”

Saul inhaled sharply, pained by what he
was hearing.

“So, you’re free to go.”

Saul shook his head.

“Saul. She’s basically dead. She can’t
bring charges against you now.”

“But I committed a crime!”

“I understand you’re upset—”

“You don’t understand anything!” Saul’s
face twisted, life both cruel and ironic. “I blew my cover for her so she
didn’t die in that Russian roulette game. If I hadn’t blown it, the next pull
of the trigger could’ve killed her. Yet she dies in a random accident? How can
God be so cruel?”

“Life’s like that, Saul, it throws you
curve balls you can’t always catch.”

“But Beth was only twenty-four.
Beautiful, young, and,” his face fell, “pregnant.”

Joseph grimaced. “I know. I feel sorry
for that poor family. They’ve been through far too much already. Anyway, as I
said, you’re free to go, though, don’t leave Auckland, because that
investigation into your uncover assignment will still be happening. As of now,
you’re suspended until further notice.” He turned and walked past Sarah,
leaving them alone together.

Sarah moved forward, looking like she
was going to hug Saul. He stepped back, not feeling worthy of female contact.
He was an abuser, who should be punished, but Joseph was right, Beth couldn’t
prosecute him now, no matter how much he needed her to.

“Saul?” Sarah said, looking hurt.

“Just leave me be,” he muttered,
sidestepping her. He headed for the door, his mind going to the Connors, to
Beth’s mother and brother, two people who didn’t deserve to suffer. He knew
what it was like to lose someone close, someone he loved more than life itself.
His mind went to Beth’s mother, her friendly smile. That sweet woman who looked
so much like Beth would have to bury her daughter, while Corey would lose his
older sister, the woman who’d tried to protect him from Ant, offering her body
in exchange for Corey’s safety. It hurt Saul to know he would be suffering,
along with the rest of the Connors ... and Dante, Beth’s partner and the father
of her child. His heart went out to Dante, knowing how painful it was to lose a
partner, let alone a child as well, such devastation hard to come back from.

Sarah followed him down the passage,
trying to get his attention. He ignored her, stopping in the foyer of the
central station, a man capturing his eye. Several feet away two policemen were
trying to restrain Ant’s goon, who was hollering at the top of his lungs.

“It wasn’t my fuckin’ fault!” Morris
yelled. “The stupid fuckin’ bitch deserved it.”

Saul went rigid, Morris having been
tailing Beth. But Sarah was supposed to be watching him... Saul turned to
Sarah, her face ashen, her eyes on Morris, the guilt in them making him realise
she hadn’t done her job, probably too busy with tracking him down.

Morris’s eyes moved to Saul. He
instantly stopped ranting, a cruel smile following. The officers pulled Morris
in Saul’s direction, probably intending on putting the man into one of the
cells.

As they passed Saul, he grabbed one of
the police officer’s arms. “What’s he in for?” he asked, praying it hadn’t
anything to do with Beth ... although his gut told him it was.

Morris answered instead: “I fucked up
that Connor slut; hit her fucking hard.” He spat at Saul’s feet. “And it felt
great to break your bitch up.”

Utter fury flashed through Saul, a pure
rage taking hold of him. In the blink of an eye, he launched himself at Morris,
knocking him out of the officers’ grip, sending him crashing to the floor. Morris
cried out as he landed on his back. Before he could make another sound, Saul’s
fists were barrelling into the man’s face. Sarah screamed behind him, while the
other cops grabbed at him, trying to pull Saul away from Morris. But they
didn’t match his size or the adrenalin and rage racing through his body. He
heard bone breaking, saw blood, Morris no longer smiling. Instead, he was desperately
trying to defend himself, but he was handcuffed and helpless against Saul, who
didn’t give a fuck, because he was going to kill the bastard—like Morris had
killed Beth.

Blood coated Saul’s fists, men struggled
against him, shouts and cries swirled around him, then he was yanked off an unmoving
Morris and flattened to the floor, face down. Four officers held him down,
struggling to keep him still, because all Saul wanted to do was to pummel
Morris until the bastard’s mother couldn’t recognise him.

“He’s dead,” Sarah sobbed.

Saul knew she wasn’t crying for Morris,
but Saul himself. He turned his head, seeing her blues eyes on him, her face
twisted in anguish.

“Why did you do that?!” she screamed at
him. “Why?!”

“He killed Beth!”

“No, he didn’t,” one of the other
officers said. “He’s in for assault and battery, not murder.”

Saul’s eyes snapped to the officer.
“What?”

“He broke into a woman’s home and beat
her up, would’ve done more if a neighbour hadn’t stopped him.”

“But he said he broke my woman, even
mentioned the name Connor.”

“Is your woman called Josie Connor?”

Saul’s face fell. “No. I thought he ran
over her cousin—Beth Connor.”

Sarah cried out, “That wasn’t Morris!
That was a boy who barely had his licence. The Claydon police caught him.”

Saul stared at her, his mind shocked.
“Is Josie all right?”

“How would I know?! I was too busy
chasing after you, worrying about you! And now you’ve killed Morris. You can’t
get out of this, Saul. You can’t!”

Saul’s eyes moved to Morris’s bloodied
form, knowing she was right. He wasn’t going down for sexual assault ... he was
going down for murder.