Dante slammed his front door shut and I jumped in surprise, my fragile nerves shot from the last hour. The police had finally allowed us to leave with the understanding that we would go down to the station and give a formal statement tomorrow.
"Were you a virgin when we had sex that first time?"
I spun around to face him. Blood was splattered across his shirt and still lingered around his nose. After everything we had been through, I was shocked he even cared. "Does it really matter?"
"Yes. No. I mean, it doesn't fucking matter if you were a virgin, it matters if you were honest with me."
"You were there, Dante. You saw that I was in pain. Do you think I faked that?"
He scrubbed a hand down his face. "No. I don't know. Why the fuck did Brent say that? What happened between you two?"
"I don't know."
"What the fuck does that mean, Erica? Either you slept with him or you didn't."
"You don't get it. I don't fucking know!" I shrieked.
His jaw dropped open as he wrestled with my harsh words. We stared at each other, chests heaving, the dim light from the entryway casting Dante's face in shadow. He spun around and walked away, which was probably good because I was two seconds from slapping the shit out of him.
"What happened, Erica?" Laced in the depths of his calm voice was something more unsettled, like he was on the precipice of losing it. I understood the feeling. I was still shaking from Brent's attack, adrenaline poisoning my veins.
I stumbled to the couch and sat down. There was no easy way to tell him. It was time to come clean. It felt like an anaconda was wrapped around my throat and tears stung my eyes.
"I don't know what Brent did to me. I mean, I know he drugged me, but beyond that I have no idea what happened the four or five hours I was out."
"Erica," Dante moaned. He marched towards me with a look of anguish that matched the way I used to feel. I'd had over a year to come to terms with what I was about to tell him, but I worried that he would never be able to look at me the same.
"I met Brent a few years ago when I started running in the same crowd. He was a photographer Hot Shot had hired to work on one of their campaigns." Dante sank down next to me with a weary sigh. "I was attracted to Brent, like so many other stupid girls. He was handsome and knew how to make you feel like the most attractive woman in the room. Which was pretty surprising, considering how many gorgeous women were around. When he offered to do a private shoot for me, I couldn't pass it up. Everything he touched turned to gold, and at the time, I had my sights set on something bigger than Hot Shot."
Dante rubbed his temples, his jaw set into a hard line. When I paused, he smiled at me and grabbed my hands giving them a squeeze. "Keep going."
"I went to his house that night. He gave me some ideas for my hair and makeup and looked through my outfits. When he offered me a drink, I didn't think anything of it. He said it would loosen me up. We'd been around each other for several years by this point, so I didn't think I had anything to worry about."
I looked over Dante's shoulder at the framed photo of the two us on top of the Space Needle, sitting on his mantle. We both looked happy, but the Seattle skyline was laced with dark clouds, perhaps an omen. I wouldn't be able to finish my story if I kept looking at that picture, so I stared at the fireplace instead.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I continued, "The shoot started. We chatted and laughed while Brent snapped away and then-poof! Nothing. I don't remember anything after that. The next thing I remember is waking up on his couch. Naked."
"I knew I should have killed that motherfucker," Dante said, exploding out of his seat. He paced in front of the coffee table, hands balled into fists and nostrils flared. "Why didn't you tell someone?"
"I did. I went to the CEO of Hot Shot and my agent. They didn't believe me. They told me that I drank too much and passed out."
"You've got to be kidding me."
I shook my head. In some ways, their betrayal had stung worse. When I went to them, I had assumed that they would protect me, but instead they had made me feel like a foolish girl.
"What about the police?"
"The next day Brent came to my apartment and threatened me."
Dante stopped pacing, eyes narrowed to slits, the vein in his forehead throbbing. "What happened?"
"He assaulted me," I said, staring down at my lap, until Dante's sharp inhalation drew my gaze. "Not sexually. He slapped me around, pushed me to the ground and choked me until I was scared enough to listen to what he had to say."
Dante bellowed and spun around, placing both hands on the mantle while he sucked in ragged breaths. I cringed when he flung his arm across the mantle, forcing the picture and a few other knick-knacks to the floor, the glass breaking in shards at his feet. I wanted to comfort him, but I was too sickened to move.
"What did he tell you?" Dante asked without turning around.
I rocked back and forth, shoving my shaking hands between my thighs to hold them still. "Brent told me that he had photographs that would destroy my reputation and career. That no matter what I thought had happened, the shots would tell a different story. I had been more than willing. And I believed him."
Dante's head dipped between his shoulders and he cursed quietly. Shame burned in my chest. He had every right to be disgusted with me. I had been a foolish girl. But worse, I was a coward.
"I know how bad it must sound."
Dante turned around. The tears I had managed to hold back for the last few hours trickled down my cheeks.
"Babe, don't cry," he said, lips trembling. He rushed to me, sinking to his knees and wedging himself between my legs. "This is not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."
I wanted to believe him, but I had held onto the guilt for so long that believing anything else was impossible. I had flirted with Brent. Encouraged him, even.
How could I not feel responsible?
After wrapping his arms around my waist, Dante laid his head on my lap. Tears dripped from my chin, but I couldn't stop crying. A solitary tear slipped from his own eye and ran down his cheek, trailing a path over his strong jawline.
"I should have been there for you."
"That's ridiculous. You and I weren't even friends then."
"My biggest regret."
"Stop. You're here now."
He sat up and cupped my face. "I am. And I'm never letting you go."
We stared into each other's eyes, every second relieving the doubts I'd had about how he would respond. I wanted to tell him that I loved him. That I always had. But now was not the time. I didn't want the first time to be associated with the horrors of my past.
"Do you have any idea what he wants?" Dante asked.
"I took something from him. A thumb drive."
Dante sat back on his haunches swatting away his unruly tears. "What's on it?"
"I don't know. But it must be pretty bad because he ransacked my apartment in New York and hurt Jake."
"He hurt Jake?"
"Yeah. When we were in Maui, Jake got jumped coming out of a club. And then a few weeks later, my apartment got broken into. I mailed the thumb drive to Damian's place and followed two days later."
A knowing look spread across Dante's face. "Is that what you were looking for on Christmas Eve?" I nodded. "And you haven't looked to see what's on it?"
"I don't know which is worse, that I have no idea what happened to me, or that I have been so scared to find out, I've refused to look."
"Give me the thumb drive, Erica."
"No," I said with a shake of my head.
"We have to see what's on there."
"No way. I'm not letting you see what's on that thumb drive. You'll never want to come near me again."
"Erica, nothing could change the way I feel about you."
"You don't know that."
"Then let's go to the police," Dante pleaded.
"No. I have no idea what's on it and I can't risk him hurting Lila or Jake again. What if he doesn't appear in the photos? What if they can't charge him with anything?"
Dante seemed to consider this for half a second.
"If that were true then he wouldn't have hurt Jake, or come here to get it. He's desperate. And desperate men do desperate things."
"So, what do you propose we do?"
"Do you trust me?"
"Of course."
"Grab the thumb drive. There's only one person I know who can handle this."