No Way Back (Mia's Way, #1) (10 page)

“Dom, grab us some water.” The way he says it makes me think I won’t be leaving soon.

Dom leaves. The whole feel of the room changes. I’m not safe anymore. My hands shake worse. I stretch across the table to grab the damn form and sign it. The DA plants his hand on it.

“Look, I’ll sign it. I really want to go home now,” I say, anxiously.

“We’ll get to that,” he says. “First, I want to show you something that’s probably going to earn me a lawsuit once you tell your lawyer.”

I sigh. I’m not to the point yet where I want Chris anywhere near me, but I’m getting there fast.

“Meet Jessica, Brittney, and Lana.” As he speaks each name, he sets a new picture in front of me.

I stare at them then shove myself away from the table and stand, turning away. The pictures look like those of me in the hospital: young women beaten and bleeding.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“There are more.” He’s calm. “Kendra, LeAnn, Ella.”

I don’t dare look. I’m feeling nauseous again.

“They all have something in common with you.”

My breathing is coming faster. I lean against the wall.

“When you were taken to the hospital, the officers took pictures and samples of your blood and the semen of your assailants,” the DA continues. “This is called a rape kit. The samples from the rape kit they did on you match those of these six women.”

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“That means the two men who hurt you, hurt these women, too.”

Dom returns. He hands me a bottle of water and sets one down in front of the DA. I watch as he sits in the corner again.

“Does that mean anything to you?” the DA asks.

“No,” I reply. “I didn’t hurt them.”

“I moved the pictures. Sit down.”

I risk a peek at the table. It’s clear. I hesitate then sit, my whole body shaking. The statement is still sitting on his folder.

“There is a difference between them and you,” the DA continues. “You are the only one who can remember your attackers. You are the only one who fought your attackers. We pulled the DNA from your fingernails, so we know you weren’t unconscious when they hurt you. None of these girls can remember anything about the nights they were raped.”

“They’re lucky,” I say. “I wish I could say the same.” My thoughts go to one of the things Madison tried to tell Robert that night, that I’d never remember what they did to me.

“I repeat,” the DA says more slowly. “You’re the only one of seven victims over the past few weeks who can remember. All of you had the same two attackers.”

“So, what?”

“You’re the only one who can identify who did this.”

My breath catches, and suddenly I understand.

“We pulled the pictures from your phone from that night. You took a picture before you were hurt. It’s time-stamped that night, around midnight.”

“You said … you just want me to sign that,” I say, pointing. “Give it to me, and I will.”

“If you sign it and you’re keeping information, you can be charged with perjury. Did Chris explain that to you?”

I shake my head.

“It means, if you know who hurt you and you lie on this form, you can go to jail.”

“I’m so sick of being the one who gets punished. I’m the one who was attacked,” I almost shout at him.

“Excuse me.” The DA looks down at his cell phone then stands. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Dom.”

The two exchange a look. The DA leaves, and Dom takes his seat as the door closes.

“Hey,” Dom says in the husky voice that calms my frazzled nerves.

“Hey.”

His dark eyes drop to the statement, and I feel like my heart is breaking. My protector, the man my grandfather sent to watch over me, is about to betray me like everyone else in my life does.

“Not you, too, Dom,” I whisper, saddened.

“You can stop them, Mia,” he replies. “The same guys who hurt you hurt all these girls. They’ll do it again.”

“I can’t do anything, Dom.”

“You gave me a name.”

“I can’t remember.” I can’t look at him, either.

“What about the picture on your phone?”

“What about it?” I return and stand. I pace, panicking again. “I want to go home, Dom!”

“Look me straight in the eye, and tell me you can’t remember.”

“Just … just let me sign it.”

Dom stands and moves to my side of the table, the statement in his hands. He sits on the corner of the table, his gaze at my level.

“Okay. Sign it.” His voice is soft, his gaze direct. He holds out a pen.

I take it. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I found you. I heard you crying, walked into the garden and saw you there …” he drifts off.

I look away, trying to imagine my safe closet like Dr. Thompkins told me to. I feel like I’m about to have a meltdown. Some part of me wants to do what he says. Some part of me feels like I owe him.

But I can’t. I can’t betray my own family.

“I promised myself I’d do whatever it took to get whoever hurt you. Then I found out you weren’t the first they hurt. I had the name you gave us, the picture,” he says. His voice holds as much conviction as Daddy does during one of his speeches. “One signature, and this all goes away forever. They close your case. They don’t get the bad guys.”

I stay out of court, and Daddy wins his reelection. I look at the paper and try to convince myself it’s what I want to do.

“You’re the only one who can help all these girls get some justice,” Dom adds. “You’re the only one who fought back, Mia. Don’t stop now.”

I meet his gaze again. Once again, someone believes me to be stronger than I am. I wonder what’ll happen when they all learn the truth.

“I can’t,” I whisper. “You don’t understand.”

“Then sign.” His voice hardens.

I lose him if I do. He doesn’t say it, but I hear it. He found me, saved me from the garden where my life went to shit. He stayed with me in the hospital, called Ari when Shea wouldn’t. If I asked, I think he’d sit outside my room every night to make sure
they
don’t come back. He’s the kind of person I’ve never had in my life.

The look on his face says this is about more than a stupid form. He’s disappointed in me. I shouldn’t care what he thinks of me. I only care what Ari thinks of me. I know what Daddy and his team think of me. I can’t help thinking none of them would’ve done what the stranger before me did.

After all I’ve lost the past couple of weeks, I’m not ready to lose Dom, too. The sight of my guardian angel is all that stands between me and full out hysteria right now. I’m trapped: I can’t choose the man who saved my life and betray my family; and I can’t convince myself to obey the father who doesn’t love me, when I know it’s wrong to lie about this.

“No,” I say.

Dom lowers the paper.

“Call my lawyer, or take me home,” I whisper.

He looks at me for a long minute then sets the papers down.

He takes me home. I sit in the passenger seat of the police car. I don’t speak to him, and he doesn’t try to speak to me. I need my closet. I’m ready to scream.

The drive home doesn’t take long at this time of evening. We arrive, and Dom waits for the supporters to clear a path and the gate to open, ignoring the flashbulbs of the paparazzi. No doubt, this will end up on some tabloid with a sensational headline about me being brought home in cuffs.

I don’t care. I’ve tried hard to bury what happened, and the nightmare is on the edge of my mind again.

Dom stops the car in front of the house. I look at him finally, hurting as much from his betrayal as anything else.

“Dom, was that what this was all about?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

“So the ID-thing was an excuse?”

“Yeah.” He looks over at me. “I’m sorry we upset you.”

“I understand … I think,” I reply. “You’re just doing your job.” I ignore the voice in my mind that tells me he’s like Daddy, Chris, Shea … everyone for putting his job ahead of me.

“It’s okay if you hate me.” He gives me a small smile. “But yeah, I am just doing my job. I’m doing what I think is right and what I’d want someone to do if one of you girls was my sister.”

“I can’t hate you,” I reply, touched by his honest words. I can’t help thinking his sisters are so damn lucky. “You’re the only one who cares about what’s right.”

His smile fades at my words. I’m not sure why. I open the door and start to get out of the car.

“Here,” he says, holding out two business cards. “My sister works at a women’s center. If you need someone to talk to or run out of those trust funds, she can help.”

I take the cards.

“And if you decide to sign your statement or remember something you want to add, the other card is mine.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Dom, I’m sorry I …”

“You don’t have to explain. No one should go through what you went through.”

“If I hadn’t gone that night, if I hadn’t worn that dress or drank or trusted him…” My throat gets too tight to speak, and I take a deep breath. “They’re right. It’s my fault. I did this. I can’t make it leave my head, and I can’t tell you what you want me to. But I’m truly only sorry for one thing, and that’s if
you
hate
me
.”

“Sounds like you should’ve signed your statement. Why didn’t you?” His voice is casual but his motivation still clear. I’m nothing more than a job to him, too.

“Thanks for the ride.” I get out and close the door then hurry inside.

I run to my room, lock the door and go to my closet. I have about a million texts from Ari and I read through them quickly. The trauma of my afternoon is soon replaced by surprise at what she tells me.

I call her. It goes straight to voicemail.

“Seriously, Ari? You send me a text saying one of your brothers is in rehab and now you don’t answer your phone? You are so lame. I had a shitty day. Call me back,” I order her. I grew up with her brothers; they taught us how to play basketball and soccer. With a father like theirs, I have no idea how one of them is in trouble.

My phone vibrates as soon as I hang up and I check it fast, expecting to see a text from Ari. Instead, there’s a text from Chris.

Come downstairs, please.

I swear Chris has turned into a second father the past few weeks. I have two dads, and both of them suck. I take a few deep breaths as Dr. Thompkins taught me then force myself from the closet. My hands are still shaking. I look at the business cards in my hand then tuck them away.

I go down to the study, heart pounding. I wonder if the DA called Chris and told him I hadn’t signed the statement. I don’t know what I’ll do if he tries to make me.

“What?” I ask, stepping into the study.

“I wanted to make sure you were treated well.” Chris tosses his pen on the portfolio in front of him.

“Yeah, fine.”

“You cooperated? I won’t get a phone call later?”

“I told them everything I know about the fake IDs,” I reply.

“Good. Have a seat. We need to talk about your community service,” he says.

“Can we talk later? I’m stressing about leaving the house.”

“Dr. Thompkins says we need to encourage you to leave the closet. Ten minutes, then you can go back.”

Pissed, I throw myself into the chair across from him.

“The judge is agreeing to let Dr. Thompkins do your alcohol abuse counseling,” he starts. “Which leaves the community service. One hundred hours doesn’t sound like much, but it’ll take you awhile. You may have to do it even when you’re back in school for a few hours here and there. Understood?”

“Whatever.”

“With your … newfound status, anywhere you go, you’re going to have press. We’re arranging to have a bodyguard hired.”

“Won’t that bring
more
attention to me?” I ask with a sigh.

“There’s no avoiding it now,” Chris says. “In the spirit of reelection year, we’re going to put you in a spot that benefits your father. Your father has a few issues where he’s losing ground. Do you want to choose or shall I?”

“Like I have a choice!” I put a hand on the table then drop my forehead against it.

“You do. His support is softest among women’s rights groups and –”

“Humane societies?” I ask innocently.

“- lower-income voters.”

“Those are my choices? Can I work in a salsa club?”

“Women’s center or soup kitchen. You pick.”

I’m struck by his words. I tug free the cards in my pocket without lifting my head from the table.

 “St. Mary’s Women’s Center,” I say, reading the card. I raise my head and pass him the card.

“St. Mary’s,” he repeats. He picks up the card. “Not exactly in line with the family’s Baptist roots.”

“You asked me where I wanted to go. That’s where.”

Chris flicks the card, and I’m surprised to see he’s actually considering it. I wonder again how my uncle gives a damn about me when Daddy doesn’t.

“Anything else about today? Any strange questions? Inappropriate comments?” he asks.

I hesitate then lie. “No.”

“I’m a lawyer. You can’t lie to me. I know the signs,” he says, looking at me.

“I forgot to sign my statement the other day,” I say slowly. “They asked me to sign it.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

Chris studies me. “Why not?”

“Maybe because I don’t understand why I’m doing community service when the people who hurt me are out there clubbing and partying! I can’t sleep at night, Chris! I can’t even spend more than an hour outside the closet without feeling like I’m gonna have a meltdown.” My voice is hysterical by the time I’m done.

He gazes at me for a long moment. He’s troubled. I’ve never seen that look on his face before. “I’ll make the arrangements with St. Mary’s,” he says. “And recommend to your father we add another day with Dr. Thompkins.”

“God, I hate you, Chris.” I say and stand. “I have you and Daddy, and I still don’t have a real father!” I spin and head towards the door.

“Mia,” Chris’s voice is raised for the first time since I’ve known him.

Surprised, I face him. He doesn’t look flustered, but I hear it in his voice.

“You and I are both doing the best we can with the cards we’ve been dealt,” he tells me. “We can’t change our circumstances, but we can deal with them better.”