He would kill anything that hurt his Katie. Anything. But he could not kill her.
So how the fuck did he deal with a woman intent on doing herself harm? Hell. The extent of the harm she had done herself was incredible. It nauseated him to picture her sitting on her bed, or a toilet seat somewhere with a little mirror, her pale legs stretched wide and a razor blade clutched between her slim fingers. Why the fuck had she done it? It must have been agonizing to feel the blade tearing through such tender skin. He should know, he’d been stabbed enough times in his youth before he became top of the food chain.
Her poor, tiny clitoris. Why had she gone there? Wasn’t it enough that she’d scarred up her thighs so bad she could never wear a bathing suit in public again? Did she also want to damage the nerves in her sweet little cunt as well? He wanted to storm down to the lower deck, into the master stateroom and demand answers, but he knew he could not be gentle enough.
He was a thug. The son of a dead cartel legend turned gangbanger turned professional enforcer and right hand to the city’s highest standing mafia kingpin. He had no experience in this psychological bullshit. Too fucking bad Katie hadn’t taken any of those classes in university. He could use one now to deal with her shit.
Shoving tattooed fingers through his short hair, he paced the deck in frustration. Besides her family, she only socialized with one person that he knew of. And there was no way his boss, Soloman Hart, was going to allow Roman anywhere near his woman to get the answers he needed. Despite their odd friendship, Soloman would tear his heart out if Roman so much as caused Riley to frown in concern over her little friend. If Katie’s best friend was off limits, then who the fuck did he talk to?
Then the image of a small, dusky skinned woman flashed through his mind. Allison Le Croix, wife to one of the biggest players up on Canada’s West Coast. Jay and Soloman were business partners and wary friends. After Riley’s drug-fuelled ordeal, locked up in the trunk of her kidnapper’s car, Soloman had sent Roman up to Vancouver to engage Allison’s counselling services. Jay had, of course, disapproved, disliking the thought of his wife crossing the border into another man’s territory. Her tender heart and soft eyes had won his approval. She’d been escorted stateside by her husband, a dozen of his men and her grouchy, over-protective stepfather.
But she had fixed the haunted look in Riley’s eyes. With each of the half dozen visits that she made, Allison managed to get Riley to talk about, not only her horrific experience, but growing up in the home of an autistic mother. Though she was specialized in addictions counselling, Allison Le Croix’s gentle presence had a way of drawing people into talking.
Maybe she should’ve been a cop, Roman thought sardonically.
Roman pulled out his phone and connected it to satellite. Checking the time, he decided to call her office at the shelter where she worked on the off chance she’d have a few minutes. She answered on the first ring.
“Roman Valdez here,” he grunted.
After a moment of surprise when she realized who was calling her, she answered back, concern lacing her soft tones, “Roman! Hi, how are you doing? Is everything okay with Riley?”
“She’s fine. Not calling about her.”
She didn’t say anything right away while her sharp brain processed what little he was telling her. Roman wasn’t exactly a man of many words. He didn't share. He especially didn’t like the idea of sharing Katie. It made him want to kill. But he understood that he was out of his element with whatever was happening in her beautiful head. He needed help and this woman could give it to him.
“What can I do for you, Roman?” Allison asked quietly. He could hear a chair creak and then a door close. She probably closed the door to her office, giving their conversation more privacy. He knew from his brief meeting with her at the shelter that, unless she was with a client, she preferred to have her door open so the shelter residents felt free to wander in whenever they wanted. He wondered how Jay Le Croix handled the constant stream of junkies spending time with his wife. Even with several guards, Roman would still hate the thought of having his woman exposed to such an unpredictable environment.
Roman closed his eyes, his big body stiff where he sat on the deck bench, his shoulders hunched over his knees. He forced himself to speak, though it was like dragging nails from his throat. “My friend hurt herself,” he grunted.
“Does she need a hospital?” Allison asked immediately, her voice alert to a possible emergency situation.
“Nothing like that,” Roman said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. How the fuck did he make this woman understand what he needed from her without giving more than he wanted? He gritted his teeth and started speaking. “The wounds are old. On her thighs. She cut the shit out of herself with a razor blade. Judging from the scars, she’s done it different times over the years. Probably a lot. She even… she even cut her… fuck…”
He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell the counsellor that Katie had cut her pussy too. It was too private. He fisted his hand and pressed it into the side of his head, wanting to beat the image of her pain out of his head. He dropped his face into his open hand and waited for her to speak, to tell him how to fix Katie.
Allison sighed. “Self-harm,” she said softly.
“Obviously she fucking hurt herself. I figured that much out. I need to know how to fix it,” he snarled into the phone.
“I mean,” she said patiently, as though she weren’t talking to an extremely dangerous man that could go off at any moment, “that the phenomenon you are describing is called self-harm. It’s a unique and heartbreaking disorder, Roman. I’m very sorry that your friend has gone through this.”
His chest ached, both in pain and in hope. He knew he was talking to the right person. Maybe she could do something, tell him how to fix Katerina so they could get on with their lives. He was desperate. He’d never imagined this. He thought he would get rid of Katie’s problem, bring her on the boat he got for her, a yacht he knew she would like and then they could finally be together. He wasn’t naive or stupid. He knew there would be issues. That she would probably fight him. But he’d been counting on their insane chemistry to help overcome her resistance. He hadn’t counted on her fucked up head being the problem to their happily ever after.
“I specialize in drug addictions. Although I’ve worked with people in this area, I’m not an expert by any means. I’m not a psychologist, Roman, I don’t know if I’m the right person to advise you…” Allison was saying, her voice hesitant.
He could feel frustration welling up inside. He wanted to punch a wall and set about intimidating the small First Nations woman, but he knew better. First of all, he needed her help, and secondly, it wouldn’t be good for his health to bully a woman as connected as this one. He took a breath and reminded himself that he would do anything for Katie, including cultivating the same patience he had learned over his years of watching her and waiting for her to grow up.
“I trust you, Allison,” Roman said as calmly as he could. “You helped Riley. I know you can help my girl too. I just need to understand why she’d do this to herself.”
She didn’t say anything so he continued. “Known Katie since she was thirteen. It kills me that she’s been doing this to her own flesh and I never fucking knew, was never around to stop her. Please, Allison, help us.”
It must have been the plea that softened her. Roman didn’t ask for anything. He took what he wanted and if he couldn’t get it the first time, he killed whatever stood in his way and took it anyway.
“Alright,” she said softly. “I’ll tell you what I know.”
“Thank you,” he said gruffly.
He could hear her settle back in her chair as though getting comfortable. “I’ve worked with a few people that have had concurrent addictions and self-harm issues. The two do often go hand-in-hand. I’m not sure if your friend has any addictions, but it’s something to consider. The most common types of self-harm are cutting, burning and scratching and it often starts in the early teens. It can begin with something as awful as a rotten childhood or home, or perhaps a traumatic event. The common myth is that it’s a cry for help or an attention-grabbing stunt, but of course, that’s definitely not the case. Many youths that self-harm are desperate to hide their activities and will harm in places on their bodies where other people can’t see.”
Roman’s head spun with every word she spoke. He felt nauseous, like he was being punched in the stomach over and over. Words never had this effect on him because he didn’t care about people. Except for Katie, he stopped caring the day Dexter Pullman had died in his arms. Now, he was forced to feel the pain of words and sentences as the little counsellor forced him to see life through Katie’s reality.
“Some self-harmers need the release, while others do it as a way of feeling something other than numbness. Those are the ones that are often connected to a traumatic event or were harmed as children and have trouble accepting physical contact. They crave the adrenaline associated with the pain. Sometimes, as they grow into adulthood and mature, the physical self-harm can mature and morph into other forms of self-harm, such as placing themselves in extreme or dangerous situations, becoming addicted to psychoactive substances…”
“Accepting blackmail as a form of penance,” Roman growled, beginning to understand what was going through Katie’s mind as she forced herself to go back to her ex-husband’s apartment month after month.
“I suppose so, yes,” Allison said, slightly taken aback.
“What else?” Roman demanded.
Allison sighed softly. “People who self-harm are extremely vulnerable, Roman. They usually have very poor self-esteem. They don’t think they’re worthy of any kind of love or affection. They blame themselves for everything. You have to be careful with your friend. Treat her gently.”
Roman nearly snarled into the phone for her to mind her own damn business how he treated Katie, but he still needed her to answer one more question. “What do I do?”
Allison had clearly been preparing herself for that question, because she answered quickly. “She needs treatment, Roman. Self-harmers aren’t usually suicidal, but they can accidentally take things too far and hurt themselves lethally. Someone should assess her situation. Will you bring her to me so I can talk to her?”
“No,” he snarled. No fucking way was he letting Katie off the boat. She was incredibly talented at disappearing. He could track her, of course, but it would take time and, after Allison’s words, he wasn’t taking the risk that Katie might hurt herself while out of his sight.
She sighed, clearly expecting his answer. “The underlying issue that’s triggering her to self-harm needs to be identified. Then she needs to learn how to manage her triggers and find new ways to cope with the stresses. If she thinks she feels numb, then she needs to learn how to feel emotions in a healthier way. Then she’ll need to learn how to regulate her emotions and boost her self-image to a healthy level. Depending on her age, she may have already dealt with some of these issues. How much have the two of you talked about this, Roman? Once someone that self-harms reaches adulthood, they usually become pretty good at understanding their own condition.”
Roman grunted in response, absorbing her words. It was probably a good thing he’d read all of Katie’s textbooks and done so much reading on the internet while stalking her or he wouldn’t’ve understood half of what the woman was saying to him. He began to form a few ideas on how to handle Katie, lost in her own head. He was pretty certain Allison Le Croix would be horrified if she knew what he was thinking, but then, he wasn’t a typical guy and Katie wasn't a typical girl.
“I hope your friend will be okay, Roman,” Allison said, sincerity strong in her soft voice. This was why he called her even though he hated the idea of anyone getting in his business. He knew he could trust her. Knew she wouldn’t even mention the conversation to her mobbed up, over-protective husband.
“Thanks, Allison. I’ll call if she needs anything.”
“Please do that,” she replied sincerely. “And if you change your mind about bringing her to see me, I’ll make room in my schedule any time you want.”
He hung up.
Roman sat on the bench holding the phone between his legs, staring unseeingly. The sun blazed down on his bronze back, heating up the old, faded skull and crossbones tattoo emblazoned there. He knew what he had to do. It wasn't what he imagined was going to happen when he killed Katie’s husband and brought her on board the yacht, rescuing her from a year of slavery.
Allison’s words played in his head. He understood.
Katie needed pain, craved pain, to feel.
Roman could make her feel.
He would break her apart until she felt nothing but him. Then he would put her back together, binding her to him so tight she would never think of hurting herself again. He stood and crossed the deck toward the stairs. Starting now she would feel only the pain he chose to give her.