Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,75

flicked the tear from her eyes, but her face showed no other signs of tears. “She was my best friend.”

I stood there, holding her, questions flooding my mind, but I didn’t want to push her beyond what she was comfortable sharing. “What else?” I whispered, dropping my chin to her shoulder and watching her lips move in the reflection.

Her eyes clenched shut, pain twisting in those beautiful features. I hated seeing her this way. Hated seeing her writhe with painful memories. “The scar—” she started, voice breaking. “I was at a party my freshman year of high school. And…and someone put something in my drink. I felt weird and so…disconnected. And I knew something was wrong. Really, really wrong. That’s kind of the thing with roofies—you can’t think rationally. All I knew was that I had to get away from the party and whoever drugged my drink. It was late. Like, really late. Probably four in the morning. And as I was walking, a police car pulled up. I don’t remember much. Just sensory things—sweat dripping onto the back of my neck as he—he pushed himself into my mouth.”

Anger like I had never known before sliced through my body, and my face heated with the admission. “He was a cop?” I didn’t mean to raise my voice, and Shelby flinched at the volume. Despite how I joked around that first night I met Shelby, I actually really respected cops. I knew a lot through my dad’s position and most were really great, trying to make the world a better place. But every now and then, abuse of power like this happened. And I had to bite down on my tongue to stop any further outbursts, so hard that the coppery tang of blood filled my mouth.

Shelby didn’t answer me. “He had me by the hair, and was so forceful that he ripped a fistful out.”

I pulled her tighter into my hold, rubbing my hands up and down her arms. She shivered despite the warm night and turned to face me. Only she didn’t look at me. Instead, she focused on the ground. “What else?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“I was fucked up, but still cognizant enough to know I didn’t want what was happening. I said no. I said it over and over again, and when he didn’t stop, I bit down on him.”

I clamped my eyes shut, not wanting to know more, but needing to.

Her voice forced my eyes back open, and in the moonlight, I caught my reflection in her irises’ amber depths. “He was livid—grabbed my hair, slammed me against the window. My face connected with some equipment he had there, slicing across my forehead.” She gulped as tears fell silently down her cheeks, staining her skin with slick streaks.

I nodded, cupping her jaw. “Please tell me that guy is rotting away in jail.”

“He died in the line of duty a couple months later. As I’d run from his car, he’d threatened me and my family if I ever said anything.

“I was so embarrassed, broken and mortified, I didn’t tell anyone until after he was gone, but by then”—her voice cracked as she pulled from my grasp—“there was no proof. No evidence by then. I didn’t even get stitches for my cut that night. I just went home, washed it, and cut my bangs to cover it. That’s why the scar is so bad. I told everyone that I slipped and hit my head.”

She was visibly trembling, and she hugged her arms across her torso. I so badly wanted to hold her and ease away any residual pain. But as I stepped forward, she leaned away from me. I knew I had to wait.

“My stepdad was more concerned about his job and appearances than about my well-being.” Her tone completely shifted from scared and traumatized to angry. She nearly spat the words. “He told my mom and I that ‘even if it was true’ there was no one left to prosecute.” Her eyes sparked like a flame ready to ignite an uncontrollable fire. “But my mom believed me. Without question. And so did the cop we reported it to after she separated from my stepdad. Most of the officers we dealt with after were really great. I just wish it had been one of them who’d found me walking that night.”

“Fuck,” I hissed, “I’m so sorry.” My chest was an empty pit, and each pounding of my heart echoed in my head like a fist beating a