The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,29

allow us a fresh start. A good rehab center. An apartment in a decent school district. Do the right thing, Gerald. I have people I know in California who could help me. Pay up and make this nightmare disappear.

With hate,

—Cat.

Gerald,

Fine. 150k it is.

When I pointed out 300k would mean I could take Sam with me, you laughed in my face and said the boy wasn’t your problem. It’s on you that I left my son behind, not me.

You have plans for him, don’t you? You said so yourself. Broken, impressionable men from the wrong side of the tracks make good soldiers. The rich thrive on the poor. Well, think again, because Troy Brennan took him under his wing, and if there is one person in Boston who is stronger than you, it’s Troy. I trust he would protect Sam from you, although I don’t entirely trust you not to get your claws on Sam anyway. Use him and drain him of anything good and worthy he possesses, like you did to me.

I don’t know how far 150k is going to get me, but I know it’s not going to be far enough away from you.

I will never forgive you.

For throwing me back into the arms of drugs.

For making me miscarry Jacob.

For making me leave Sam.

You are a monster, Gerald. And monsters are born to be slayed.

You tore my family apart, and one day, the same will be done to you.

Samuel has Troy now, and Troy is the one man you cannot push around.

For the last time,

—Cat.

I dropped the last of the letters on the floor, raking my fingers through my hair.

Apparently, Cat and Gerald had had an affair. Not only that, but that affair had resulted in a child. An unborn son named Jacob. Gerald objected to Jacob’s birth so badly that when he realized Cat was keeping him, he’d decided to beat him out of her.

He got her hooked back on drugs then paid her off to move away and leave me behind.

There were holes the size of the fucking White House in this story.

For one thing, the woman in the letters sounded nothing like Cat. Catalina was cynical, ill-tempered, and about as motherly as a studded dildo. Either she put on one hell of an Oscar-worthy act for Gerry Fitzpatrick or she really had been on the brink of changing. My bet was on the former.

I doubted he was the one who had told her to drug me. The timeline didn’t add up. There was no way they’d been lovers for that long.

Other than that, it seemed legit. The details lined up.

Cat did have a spell of sobriety a few months prior to skipping town, followed by a few, erratic weeks of binging on drugs and spiraling downhill.

I also had the misfortune of knowing Gerald personally, so I happened to be privy to the fact he was a notorious adulterer who’d yet to find one pussy he didn’t want to stick his cock in.

I didn’t know him to be violent, but I didn’t know him to be nonviolent either. The circumstantial evidence against him was substantial, and I didn’t put it past him to commit a crime of passion if he needed to save his own skin.

He and Jane Fitzpatrick were a match made in upper class hell. They both came from rich families, were of the same cultural background, and had a lot to gain by marrying one another. They also had another thing in common: they were both intolerable—to the point of not being able to stand each other.

Over the years, the old man had cheated on his wife more days than I could count. It wasn’t farfetched to believe that Cat, whose favorite flavor of dick was married, had managed to land herself a fat wallet for a lover in Gerald Fitzpatrick.

The letters were all addressed to Gerald’s then bachelor pad, another telltale sign that they were genuine. I knew all of the Fitzpatricks’ properties like the palm of my hand, and the address Catalina had sent the letters to before they bounced back was the same address Gerald had used to meet his mistresses, before gifting the property to Sailor and Hunter as a wedding gift.

There were also pictures attached to the letters.

Polaroids of Cat perched in Gerald’s lap, kissing his cheek. Pictures of them in exotic locations. On vacations. Birthdays. And a pregnancy test so old the two pink lines were faint and weak.

Not only did all the facts line up immaculately, but