The Last Shadow (Shadows and Strings #3)

Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Damien

Frankie wants answers and my plan was to wait a few more weeks, but now my plans have to change.

I can adapt as necessary. I’ve been doing it for years.

I step outside, the crisp mountain air invigorating me. The sun barely peeks over the treetops, and I take off at a jog, enjoying the rhythm of my feet against the earth and the quiet solitude of the mountains.

I need to tell her about my time at Hope House. It wasn’t just difficult; it was hell. A place meant for healing turned into a nightmare where Olivia and I met our demons. That’s why I lost control. Olivia paid the price for choices of evil men, and I can’t ever let that go.

I pause to catch my breath and drop into a set of squats, feeling the burn in my legs. With each squat, I try to push away the memories, but they remind me of that night when we were just children.

After finishing my squats, I stretch my legs, bending to touch my toes and then reaching for the sky. It helps clear my mind, if only for a moment.

I know it’s time to let Frankie in on my past. She’s my wife now and technically, they can’t make her testify against me if she doesn’t want to. But I think she deserves to know the truth about who I am and what I’ve done.

I never planned on falling in love. And now I must use that love to protect myself.

And Frankie.

I run back up the mountain toward the cabin. Today. I’m going to tell her today.

I push through the door, greeted by the aroma of fresh coffee. I head straight to the kitchen, pouring myself a cup and letting the warmth seep into my bones.

I find Frankie at the table, her laptop open and papers scattered around her. She looks focused. I admire her dedication. I take a seat across from her, setting the coffee down between us. “Hello, beautiful,” I say, breaking the silence.

She glances up, a smile breaking through her seriousness. “Hello, handsome. How was your jog?”

“Invigorating,” I reply, taking a sip of my coffee. “But I need to talk to you.”

Her expression shifts. “About what?”

I take a deep breath and let it out. “About my time at Hope House.”

Francesca’s eyes go wide as she closes her laptop. “Okay, Damien. I’m listening.”

“Hope House was a hell I didn’t know could exist in this world,” I start, feeling the weight of her gaze. I know I’ve got her undivided attention. “We had no relatives willing to take us in, so there we were, stuck. Olivia was barely old enough to look after us, and let’s be honest, she was more of a spoiled brat than a caretaker, so it was inevitable. At first, it wasn’t too awful—just grimy, chaotic, and filled with kids simmering in their own anger and abandonment. But then, something changed, and it all went to hell.”

She nods. “I suspect a new contractor took over.”

“Exactly, but I didn’t learn that until years later.” I shake my head, recalling the change. “It was like everything changed overnight. The food turned to slop. The sheets weren’t washed regularly, and the staff doubled up on occupancy. But the real horror? The type of kids who started showing up.”

Frankie leans in with her chin resting in her hand, eyes locked on mine. “No.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, hating that I have to relive this, but it’s part of the plan. I feel my throat tighten as I continue. “About a year—maybe fifteen months after the changes, things got dark. Fast.” I close my eyes, the memories flooding back. “Being quiet and smart made me a target for bullying, especially since I was smaller than most kids my age. But honestly? It didn’t faze me.” I let out a laugh that’s more snort than anything else. “It forced me to learn how to fight.”

“Damien,” she whispers, tilting her head. “Those little shits.”

“Right?” I grin, but it fades quickly as I push on with the story. “They were little shits, sure, but they were also vicious and jealous.”

“And no one helped you?”

I shake my head. “Olivia tried. She had her own problems with the girls and the boys.”

“She was beautiful,” Frankie says. “Then and now.”

Her admission surprises me. I thought for sure she wouldn’t mention my sister. “She was, and she is. But that often worked against her. The girls stole her things and gave her shit, but she held her own. Usually better. But the boys?” I shake my head, and I feel a lump in my throat.

Frankie senses the shift in the atmosphere and gets up to refill my coffee.

“The boys wanted her. They wanted to possess her, to own her. Who am I kidding? They wanted to fuck her. So, they did.” I close my eyes, and the faces of her attackers flash through my mind. “One day, after I was out with Zeke selling photos to tourists, I heard Olivia shout for someone to stop. I took off running because this wasn’t her usual angry shout. She was terrified.” Chills spread over my skin as I think of that day. “When I made it upstairs, she wasn’t in her room. She was in the room shared with three boys—Tristan Dupont, Gavin Kowalski, and Ryder Beaumont. But there were a few others in there too. Some held her down while she kicked and screamed, and the others ripped her clothes off.”

“Damien, no!” Her hands fly to her mouth, eyes wide as they fill with tears.

I nod, my own eyes stinging. “I tried to get to her, to get them off her, but I was too small, and they held me back. They made me watch as they stole the life from her. They took turns with her, Frankie. They covered her face with a pillow, shoved her face into the ground until she couldn’t breathe, until they broke her nose. I was powerless back then, and she never spoke another word after that day. Until recently.”

She’s watching me closely, absorbing my words and my pain. Her face shows a mixture of horror and understanding. “I’m so fucking sorry, Damien.”

In that moment, I know that whatever I am capable of feeling for someone else, I feel it for Francesca. “Damien?”

“I need you to understand why I had to do it, Frankie. I never felt so powerless, so useless in my life. The shit I witnessed them do to her? My own damn sister? It took years before I stopped dreaming about that night.”

She reaches out to me, her hand hovering just above mine. “Damien, I don’t even know what to say.” I can see it all over her face, the conflict, her morals wrestling with what she feels for me. Exactly what I’m counting on.

“It’s a lot, I know,” I say, taking her hand. She doesn’t pull away, and that’s how I know I’ve got her where I need her.

She nods slowly. “It’s just…a lot. Almost too much to believe.” Her voice shakes, her breaths coming quicker. “I mean…how are you handling this?” She shakes her head. “These are serious accusations.”

“Yeah, they are,” I say, keeping my expression steady. “I was there. I lived it. You want to know me? Well, this is me. This is part of who I am.”

“Why didn’t you call the cops?”

I laugh, but it’s a bitter sound. “Call the cops? They basically lived at Hope House. They saw everything—fights, sexual assaults, theft—it was all documented. And they never did a damn thing about it. Not once. I get it now, but back then, I learned quickly: you can’t trust the police. Ever.”

“Jay?”

I nod. “Him, and others too. But yeah, Jay was there a lot, and he did nothing. I knew if there was any justice, it’d have to come from me. I had to make them pay for what they did—for what they took.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, like she’s still piecing it all together. “But why did you torture them? Disembowel the bodies? You’re not crazy. Are you?”

I let out a snort. Crazy? No. Psycho? Maybe. “It wasn’t just about killing them, Francesca. They took something from me. From Olivia. I had to take something back, make them feel what they put her through. They tortured her. Stole her virginity. Left her to die. I thought I’d lost her for good that day, and I vowed to never be weak again.”

I keep my gaze locked on hers, hoping she’ll see the man behind the monster.

After a long pause, she finally speaks. “I’ve been hunting the killer responsible for those deaths.”

“I know,” I reply, feeling the weight of her anger.

She leans forward, her voice sharp. “You were right under my nose.”

“Kitten, it’s not what you think. I did what I had to do.”

“You lied to me.”

I nod. “I did. And I’m telling you now because I don’t want to hide it from you anymore. But I had to get justice for Olivia.”

Her eyes narrow. “You think taking their lives is justice?”

“Revenge,” I say.

She stares at me with a blank expression. A poker face if you will. “Wow. You’re a serial killer, Damien.” Her words are barely a whisper, but they hit harder than any slap. “And I’m married to you.”

Francesca looks down, tracing her fingers along the grain of the table like she’s trying to gather her thoughts. I want to reach for her, explain, take her hand, but I don’t move.

“You know,” she says, finally breaking the silence, “I thought I knew the man I married. I thought he wouldn’t have lied to me. He wouldn’t have…” She trails off, taking a shaky breath, and something inside me feels like I’m dying.

“You say you don’t want to hide from me anymore, Damien, but now I’m the one who has to figure out what to do with this. With us.”