Page 87 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
A birth certificate. Colin was twenty-eight, born in Chicago proper to Philip Murphy Sr. and Louisa James Murphy. More paperwork. Hmm, custody something or other. I’d known he had a rough childhood, mostly from his refusal to discuss it, but I hadn’t known he’d been in the system.
I had a file: Winters, Allison. And it was thick. I thumbed through the contents. The information about Andrew was in here, as well as the papers that Laramie had filed for custody.
I slowed when I found the pictures. They were of my apartment. My mind immediately ran to reasons why Philip would have these. Laramie may have wanted them to show where I was living as part of a custody assignment. No, that wasn’t right. I’d already lived with Colin by then. I glanced at them again. Both Shelly’s and my car were in some of the pictures, meaning we both still lived there, so this wasn’t some after-the-fact thing.
Actually, from that angle…it looked like they were taken from the street. The same place we’d seen the car sitting and watching. We’d assumed they had been watching Shelly. She was the one in the dangerous profession, but it looked like they’d been watching me. If Philip had these prints, then he must have been the one spying on me. Just because Colin liked me? But I knew. Philip didn’t act like an overprotective brother, more like a dog with a bone. He didn’t act like he loved Colin as much as owned him.
I flipped through them, even catching one of me loading Bailey into the car. Only after seeing these photos, how we’d looked through the eyes of an outsider, a man, did I realize just how vulnerable we’d been. Shelly and I had always known that, to some extent, and that our anonymity was our greatest protection. So long as we stayed under the radar, no one would want to hurt us. That was the goal, but it looked like someone had known after all.
Agitated, I moved Bailey back to the floor and opened the last drawer. Wozney, Wride, Wu. Yates, Tony. Those letters could have meant anything, but that was the only TY name here. I pulled out the file and opened it. A violent shiver racked my body. Someone stepping over my grave, Shelly would say. No, this was worse.
I sat down. Right there on the Persian rug next to the dark oak filing cabinets, I sat. Bailey crawled over, and I had enough presence of mind to lift the papers up out of her reach.
The arrest records of Tony Yates had two pictures on it, one facing the camera, one profile. I recognized that man. That was the man who’d fucked me, who’d hurt me, that night I’d gone to the club. The one Colin had stopped, the one Colin had known. The receipt dated before I’d even met the guy.
What did it mean? My m
ind couldn’t make sense of it, or maybe it just refused to, knowing it wouldn’t be good.
I slipped the contents of Tony Yates’ folder back into the cabinet and shut it. I tucked the other scrap of paper from my bra deep inside the diaper bag.
Time to go.
In the dining room the plates were being cleared.
“There you are,” Rose said warmly. “I was just going to get your cobbler.”
Jesus, the fucking cobbler. The fucking ridiculous cobbler with its fucking ridiculous hope of making a good impression.
“I’m sorry, I—” My breath stuttered.
Colin stood. “What’s wrong?”
I blinked rapidly. Don’t cry, you fucking idiot.
“Bailey wasn’t doing so well,” I heard Shelly say. “Allie mentioned they might have to leave early because of it.”
I couldn’t say a word. I needed to get out of this house, or I was liable to do something really ridiculous, like sob or scream or tell the fucking truth.
Colin was talking, then Rose. False words, all of them. Yes, of course we can go. Oh, I hope you feel better. Let’s pretend we care while we pay people to hurt you.
I was bundled into the car. Shelly tried whispering to me, asking me what had happened as I slipped her back the key, but I couldn’t tell her. I barely knew myself.
The drive home was quiet, thank God. I was the chatty one between us, and I was struck mute. Colin didn’t seem to know what to do with that. I couldn’t help him.
I tried to think rationally, as if I’d ever been any good at it. The guy had approached me, out of nowhere, but that wasn’t unusual for the club. I’d gone with him, hadn’t I? Or had he forced me? It had felt forced, but then at the time I’d wanted it that way. I’d said no, I knew that for sure. He hadn’t listened or cared, but that wasn’t all that strange at the club either. Wasn’t it supposed to be, though? Guys were supposed to stop when I said no. I didn’t know where I’d learned that from, but it seemed like it should be true. They should listen. But they didn’t, they didn’t. A sob escaped me.
“Tell me,” Colin said. “What’s wrong?”
I buried my face in my hands. I couldn’t talk, not without breaking apart. And this would be the kind of fracture that couldn’t be taped back together with a fake smile and a smart mouth.
No matter whether it had been rape or not, the guy had singled me out. He had hurt me. And before he’d done those things, he’d been paid by Philip.
Colin’s shock had been real, though. And he had beat the guy up afterward. Both the guy and Colin had confirmed that to me. It had scared me then, the violence, but it comforted me now. Surely Colin hadn’t been involved in hurting me.
Back in Colin’s house, I went on autopilot. A bath first. Then a snack, because Bailey hadn’t gotten enough to eat at dinner. Then bedtime stories. I couldn’t read the words, my eyes weren’t working properly, but I knew them by heart. A few songs and then sleep.
I wanted a shower, but Colin stopped me on the way into the restroom.
