Roy didn’t answer right away. His gaze rested on the covered watercolor. Finally, “No, I don’t agree with them. My father didn’t take his own life.”

“I see. Why do you think that?”

His dark eyes gazed at something intangible. “Because he was a megalomaniac, silver. Obsessed with his own power. What he could do. How he could spit in the face of the laws, of other people’s rights. In his mind, he was a god, and gods don’t kill themselves, even to screw their children over.”

I touched his cheek. “Why don’t your brothers see that?”

“Because they don’t know what I know. Haven’t seen what I’ve seen.”

“But you told them all about your repressed memories.”

“I did. But they didn’t live it. I did. And I have a glimpse inside my father that they don’t. Even Riley, as much as she went through at his hands. She never saw what I saw. What he was truly capable of. How many women were hunted, tortured, and then died for my father’s little game? For his amusement?”

I nodded, suppressing the nausea. My stomach knotted. I wanted desperately to leave this horrible place. Didn’t want to think about what Derek Wolfe’s victims had suffered. I had to, but not now.

Besides, Roy had said it all.

“I’m going to be okay now,” he said. “I know it.”

“You will be. I’ll see to it.” I braced myself and removed the cloth from my watercolor. “Please don’t hate it.

He gazed upon my work, and a smile edged onto his lips. “You made me whole, silver. You made me whole.”

I stood beside him and regarded my own work, tried to see it through his eyes.

“I love it,” he said. “You gave my face a serene look. Somehow you show me relaxed in a way I’ve never been. You made me whole in this painting. And in every other way. Come here.”

I turned into his arms and met his lips in a soft kiss.

“I love you, Charlie,” he said.

“I love you too, Roy. So much.” I snuggled against his hard shoulder. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Epilogue

Riley

The beauty of being my father’s daughter was that he’d taught me from a young age to be a proficient liar. I could convince anyone of anything. All I had to do was smile, flutter my eyes a little, and wiggle my ass when I walked away.

Worked great on the runway.

All eyes on me.

Except when I wanted to disappear.

My father had taught me that, as well.

Not only could I make the marks on my skin—courtesy of the bastard—disappear, I could disappear wholly.

Usually at his behest. This last time?

All me.

He was gone. Burning in the flames of hell, I hoped.