Chapter 27

Brooklyn, October, 1903

Kate stared silently at the dark, polished wooden door before her, finally raising her hand to hesitantly rap her knuckles on the smooth surface.

The last place she had planned on limping to at midnight was the Williamsburg apartment where John regularly enjoyed Julia's many womanly charms. But after she had busted through his office window, running like a mad woman until she had collapsed sobbing in an alley near the bridge, several undeniable truths had washed over her.

The most sobering of which was that she had nowhere safe to turn.

No one that she was willing to endanger by requesting aid.

No one that would help her even if she did ask.

In fact, the only person who might still give a damn about her in some way was also trapped within John's steely grip.

But after several minutes of working to temper her uncontrollable wails—noting the large gashes on her shoulder and thigh that had started to bleed through her ripped clothes—she knew she had to at least find somewhere to address her injuries and change.

So, betting that John's wrath had been sated for a few hours, Kate had trekked to Julia's door—unsure of what she could offer but left with no better ideas.

Kate jolted back to attention when the door slowly opened, a pair of fierce blue eyes and a worried face greeting her from within.

But Julia's tone was icy as she hissed, "Goddammit, Katherine. What did I tell you? What was the one thing I told you?"

And before Kate could even think to respond, she felt Julia's hand clamp harshly onto her arm and yank her inside.

Kate watched in silence while Julia locked and bolted the entrance before turning to face her. The older girl was in her dressing gown, her pretty hair braided tightly over her shoulder as she quickly appraised Kate's appearance. But Julia's brusque manner was not limited to her greeting as she pinched at Kate's ripped shirt exasperatedly, her light brows furrowing at the blood stains on her shoulder.

Finally, the older girl sighed, shaking her head as she began walking past the kitchen, muttering, "Come into the back. I have some old clothes you can change into."

Kate nodded before following close behind. She tried to grapple with Julia's ambivalence, knowing it had been weeks since she had seen her friend. But her body still felt numb and her mind raced, completely overwhelmed from the horrible events of the last two hours.

Until Julia's statements from the doorway suddenly sank in.

"What did you mean by 'the one thing you told me'?" Kate murmured, eyes carefully watching Julia's form as she dug out her old trunk and retrieved several articles of clean clothing.

"Take those off," Julia commanded, motioning to Kate's tattered clothes while managing to completely evade the posed question. "There's no time to clean you up, but it looks as though the bleeding's stopped, so these will at least be unripped and unstained."

Kate blew out a shaky breath and began to disrobe, wincing as she peeled off her filthy clothes and dropped them in a pile on the floor. She was without her bloomers, and her body instinctively buckled as she remembered why.

The sudden, disorienting amount of shame and disgust washing through her nearly brought her to her knees. There had been too much pain—too many parts of herself exposed and vulnerable in that room for John to latch onto. From her palpable fear and desperation to the way her body lay trapped beneath his, she had no choice but to be in tune and aware of every small detail, acutely feeling the punishing grip he had on her hips—hearing the sick things he whispered in her ear.

The forceful way he had ripped out a piece of her soul.

She shuddered, her stomach clenching so violently she felt bile fill her throat.

But she quickly swallowed it down. Because what good would it do now? The only thing to do was focus on each small step that would get her as far away from John Cooke's sphere of control as possible.

Julia either chose to ignore Kate's blanched face and shaking body or simply was too tired and distracted to notice, because she neutrally handed Kate a new pair of undergarments along with a corset, shirt, and skirt.

And once she had aided the younger girl in dressing, she took a step back staring hard into Kate's eyes.

Kate, however, preempted Julia's next thoughts as she again posed, "You opened the door and immediately scolded me—you didn't even look shocked to see me, or all the blood on my clothes. It was as if you knew I'd be coming here tonight. Like you were prepared to see me in this state."

Julia's gaze didn't waver when she said, "It doesn't take a genius to know what John would do when he found out about the strike, Katherine. I can't believe you'd do something so blatant. So incredibly dangerous. It's like you wanted to get caught."

Kate scoffed, furious at Julia's judgment. Hurt by her belittlement.

But with a swift shake of her head, Julia waved off Kate's displeasure, continuing, "So, yes, I expected you'd be roughed up a bit. And where the hell else could you have gone? Who else would take you in looking like death at this time of night?"

Kate's stomach clenched at the harshness in her friend's voice—a lack of care and compassion that had never been there before. She shook her head, feeling angry tears form in her eyes.

"So, you knew he'd lock me in his office and….and…rape me? You sat here with that knowledge, not even considering that you should fucking warn me ahead of time?"

Kate's lips trembled, as she shook her head in fury and disbelief. "You know better than anyone how sadistic and—and sick he is! There's no telling what else he had planned if I hadn't broken through the window and run." She paused, her expression hardening, even as tears fell on her cheeks. "But now I'm seeing that you probably could have given me a pretty detailed summary."

Blood seemed to drain from Julia's face, her eyes widening in honest confusion. "Wait, what? What do you mean? He—he raped you? How could that be?"

"Do I need to draw a fucking diagram for you, Julia?" Kate hissed.

But upon noting Julia's continued disbelief, Kate's gaze dropped to the floor, several more tears falling from her swollen eyelids, her arms crossing protectively over her chest.

Her voice was barely a whisper as she mumbled, "He put his hands on me—ripped my clothes…he pushed me down…"

The words seemed to dry up in her mouth, Kate's head suddenly swimming with the nauseating sound of John's voice. It took everything in her to fight against the spiraling terror and despondency that had been threatening to overwhelm her for hours. But upon gathering herself together enough to open her eyes and face more questions, Kate noted Julia's hardly moved expression in response.

In fact, she looked exceedingly confused, her eyes squinting in disbelief.

"He couldn't have," she said, looking Kate over again. "That was—that was the one thing—that's completely—it goes against what he swore—the agreement—"

"Agreement?" Kate interrupted, feeling a cold numbness slowly seep throughout her body. "What the hell do you mean agreement?"

The dark-haired girl stared on in silence for several tense moments, watching Julia's eyes slowly morph from confusion to fear—and then finally remorse.

The blonde girl held up a pacifying hand, taking in a shaky breath before stuttering, "Katherine—just—I need you to listen to me. Okay? This is a much more complicated situation than you understand. You don't have all the facts."

Kate's face only became more rigid at her friend's desperate tone, completely unaffected by her plea.

"Well, clearly there was an exchange on the table. So, how did it work? You led him to my parents—told him he could pay off their debts to get ownership of me?" She clenched her hands into fists by her side, continuing through gritted teeth, "You must have told him how easy it was—that they would fucking sign me over to him like a goddamn property deed!"

Kate's voice was all fury, her body shaking as she continued, "So he gets to own me now—to destroy my life. In exchange for what?"

Her green eyes desperately looked to her friend's form, searching Julia's face for understanding.

For any sign that this was some absurd mistake. That the only family she had—the person closest to her in the world—hadn't stabbed her viciously in the back.

But Julia's lips quivered as she feverishly shook her head in disagreement. "Katherine, that's—that's not—I was trying to keep you safe. There were no good options. I didn't know that he would do those things. I tried to—"

"In exchange for what, Julia?" Kate felt her own hot tears spilling indiscriminately onto her cheeks.

"Katherine, I need you to—"

"I swear to fucking God, if you say 'trust you', I'm going to start breaking things!" Kate nearly shrieked, her eyes blurring as she struggled to catch her breath.

She felt as if a hole had just torn within her ribcage. That some horribly empty vacuum was growing chaotically within—seizing all the air in blood inside her body. But all she could do was clutch at her chest, stars filling her vision as she gasped against the building sobs.

"Katherine, please, breathe, it'll be—"

"Don't touch me!"

Julia immediately pulled back, eyes wide in horror and pain as Kate gasped, "You—it was you! You did this to me. You—you betrayed me—lied to me—"

"Katherine, please," Julia tearfully interrupted, her voice echoing with regret. "Please know that I would never purposefully hurt you, never—"

"No! Shut up! Shut up!" Kate hoarsely yelled. "No more! You—you stay the fuck away from me! I don't ever want to see you again!"

Kate heard Julia attempt another statement, but she only shook her head, manically racing to the door to unbolt and unlock it before yanking it open.

And without a second look back, she rushed out of the apartment, down the stairs and out into the empty night feeling more alone than she ever had.

All the while John's words from hours earlier echoing within her head.

"She sold you to me, Katherine. She sold you to save her own skin."

Brooklyn, February, 1904

Kate sat up suddenly, gasping for air.

A sheen of sweat covered her body as she looked around her, feeling out of place and disoriented.

The room she was in held no immediate familiarity. She sat atop a cot on the floor, a fire burning lowly on one side and a curtainless window looking out into the dark sky across from her.

But a clinking sound coming from behind caught her attention. She whipped her head around to stare into the candle-lit kitchen space, sighing gratefully when she recognized Spot's shadowy form pouring himself a drink.

And then, slowly, the memories from the last twelve hours came back to her.

They were in the apartment Spot grew up in. She was there to help him tidy the space after years of disuse. But from his earlier halting explanation, it sounded as if her purpose was likely far more nuanced. That he needed some type of added support through the weighty process.

But so far, all she had managed to do was sweep up the living room area, pulling an old mattress from one of the bedrooms so they could sleep in warmth. She had even surprisingly found unused sheets in a dust-covered trunk within what must have been the main bedroom at one point.

Spot had said nothing more that evening about his family. Not one detail regarding what had transpired between them all or what became of them after. And she knew better than to push for those details.

Especially after the violence he had barely been able to contain the last time she asked.

The idea that Spot Conlon had a troubled past was certainly no surprise to her. His brooding nature and harsh refusal to speak on his early years undeniably pointed to that simple conclusion. The thing Kate wasn't so sure of, however, was the true breadth of his trauma.

How deep and dark the pits within him delved.

And it was in that unknown space that Kate hesitated to share her own consuming anguish.

If she could just be sure of his true tolerance level—his actual ability to accept her at her very worst. To be able to persevere within her most abysmal pit.

There needed to be no doubt in her mind that her darkness could be handled. Not just for her sake, but also for his survivability. Because if unleashing her own demons could in any way maim this man she cared so deeply for, she would never forgive herself.

But if he could withstand the worst she had to give, then maybe—maybe—she could allow herself to bask in the love and peace that all but radiated within his arms.

Perhaps she could be convinced that not all hope was lost after all.

Kate snapped back to awareness as she heard Spot sniffing, his shoes pacing on the worn wood. And then another clink of glass against glass.

His second helping of whiskey in less than ten minutes.

She stood gingerly, being careful of any remaining glass on the floor as she made her way to join him.

His back was turned to her when she approached, his elbows leaning against the counter with his head in his hands and a half-finished glass of whiskey to his far side.

"I need to ask you a question, Kate."

She raised her eyebrows, surprised that he had noticed her presence.

"Okay," she said after several moments, somewhat nervous of what he might pose, but willing to give him an answer if she was able.

He slowly straightened, running his hand through his hair before turning to face her. She immediately noted the startling blue of his eyes—how bloodshot they were and how weary he looked.

Her heart squeezed in her chest, and she found herself struggling between her need to touch him—to comfort him in some way, and her fear of what hell would open within her if she dared.

Spot sniffed again, rubbing roughly at his face before hoarsely asking, "Why did you tell me you loved me all those months ago?"

Kate squinted at him for several beats, taken aback by his question. The memory was one she avoided if she could help it—aggressively compacting the hurt and embarrassment into the tiniest corner of her brain.

"I don't know...why the hell do I say half the things I say?" she muttered more to herself than him.

But after noting the pang of hurt reflecting within his gaze, she finally shook her head and decided to at least attempt an explanation of her muddled thoughts on the matter.

"I guess because….I figured out that I didn't have a word for how I was feeling every time I was with you—every time you were on my mind."

Her words were quiet, her eyes flashing quickly into his steady stare before pointing toward the wall behind him.

And then as more memories of their time together flitted through her mind, her thoughts became clearer, the following sentiments falling from her lips with much greater ease.

"It was more than being happy, or thinking you were attractive. When we were apart, I….I missed you. Every time I would read something interesting or see something around town that made me smile or laugh, you were the first person I wanted to tell. You listened to me—really listened and seemed to care about what I had to say. I never felt the need to change myself around you—temper my real feelings on things. Being near you—sleeping next to you and holding your hand just felt…..right. Safe. Even when I wanted to punch you in the face, I still felt like kissing you too."

She shrugged offering him a hesitant smile. "I guess I just assumed that's what love felt like. But, really, what do I know?"

His face was unreadable as he seemed to be processing what she said. But he sighed, his jaw tensing somewhat when he posed, "Will those things be enough, though?"

Kate narrowed her gaze, unsure of his meaning. "Enough?"

He nodded, his eyes slowly moving to meet her questioning stare. "What happens when you figure out that I don't always have an answer or a plan up my sleeve? When you see that I'm not as strong and steady as people say—that I'm not able to be all the things you think I could be?"

"I don't know," Kate conceded somewhat uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest as she considered his further queries. "Honestly…it'll probably make me feel less….lost. Less alone."

Spot's eyebrows raised, watching her carefully when she added, "Knowing that you struggle too, it's kind of comforting in a way. But more importantly, that you'd actually trust me with that side of yourself—that I would be one of the people privy to it is…." Kate's voice faded momentarily as she thought through her next words. "Well, it's one of the bravest, most intimate ways to tell someone how much they mean to you."

Spot was silent for quite some time, a plethora of emotions reflecting throughout his stare that made Kate feel the need to further explain herself—to voice the one fear that wouldn't quiet no matter how hard she fought against it.

"And maybe, once you saw me that way, my place in your life could be for something other than easing all the misplaced guilt you have. Maybe we could genuinely be on equal footing and make an actual attempt at something real together."

Strangely, it was confusion that Kate saw slowly reflecting within Spot's gaze before he warily asked, "Wait, you think I'm keepin' you around—spendin' time with you, and sayin' 'I love you' because I feel guilty?"

Kate felt her stomach clench in anxiety, her eyes darting to the floor as she mumbled, "I think you probably blame yourself for the day I was taken in Manhattan."

"I do," he confirmed solemnly. "I was the one that upset you and drove you over there. But it has nothin' to do with me lovin you, Kate. I need you to understand that those are two separate conversations."

Kate sighed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. She wanted to argue with him—tell him how easy it was to confuse worry for affection. To use love as a cure for guilt.

But he remained staunchly set on what he had said. His eyes were clear and purposeful for the first time since their conversation had started. So, uncertain of what else to do besides ensuring he understood the likely mix-up, she offered up information that she hadn't fully processed herself from the day she had been kidnapped.

"What if I told you that there's absolutely no way me being taken in Manhattan could have been your fault?" Kate blurted out somewhat haphazardly.

His eyes widened in shock as he cautiously posed, "What are you talking about?"

Kate took a deep breath in and exhaled, feeling somewhat shaky at the thought of sharing the truth she had just hinted at. But finally, she shook her head and admitted, "John was able to find me because my mother sent word that I was at their apartment. She—she told him to come get me."

Spot's face looked both outraged and further bewildered as she went on to shakily explain, "I—I went to my papa early that morning before the sun rose. I was desperate and terrified and—and I told him John was trying to kill me. That I needed help and I didn't know where else to go. He tried to calm me down. I—I was sobbing and just, I guess, hysterical. I kept begging him, and then mama for help."

Kate swallowed as the stark reality of that day painfully washed over her. "I didn't know they had been in contact with John the whole time. I thought—I thought they signed over my guardianship to him and….that was it. But he had been sending them updates."

Spot shook his head, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Are you sayin'—this man John—he was your guardian?"

Her lips quivered, her eyes avoidant as she nodded. "For a time, yes, among other things. But that's—it's not important for what I'm trying to say right now."

Spot's gaze softened as he searched her tear-filled one before Kate steadied herself and quickly added, "So, John had been in constant correspondence with my parents for months, saying all sorts of awful things about my behavior—claiming that my drug use had gotten out of control. That I was hooked on opium, and he was trying to help me, but I had—devolved. That I was a master of tricks and lies just to get my hands on the stuff. And it wasn't that far of a stretch because…well….because…"

"Because you'd struggled with it so many times before," Spot quietly finished for her, a pained expression flashing across his face when he noted her hesitant nod.

"So, when I showed up half out of my mind, they—they assumed I was there to rob them. Or to try to get out of whatever weaning regimen John had claimed I was on."

Kate put a hand to her head, overwhelmed and embarrassed by the story—her parent's disbelief as well as her shortsightedness.

The thought that she could have ever outrun John.

Tears spilled onto her face as she shook the horrible memories from her mind, finally lifting her gaze to Spot's sad stare. "There's so much more to the story. I just—I can't go into it. Not right now. It's—it's too much right now."

She took another deep breath to finish, "I just wanted to show you that it couldn't have been your fault. John would have never known I was in Manhattan, or anywhere near my parents' place until they told him I was."

A few more tears found their way onto Kate's cheeks as she stared at Spot's form in semi-panic. God, why had she just said all that? Why had she just admitted her foolishness—the amount of chaos that seemed to follow her no matter where she went? How would he ever be able to look at her the same—even with just that tiny piece of the puzzle? She was a fool. A damn—

But suddenly, she felt his arms circle securely around her, her face gently pressed against his warm chest. The panic within her began to slowly subside as she felt one hand softly running through her messy hair while the other traced up and down her back.

"Kate," he whispered into the top of her head. "This wasn't your fault. He pushed you into a corner with no way out. You needed help—you asked for help—but no one came. And I'm so fuckin' sorry. You deserved better—from all of us."

A shaky sob slipped out of her mouth, and he held her tighter in response, saying, "None of that changes the fact that I love you. Because this feeling that I have in my chest right now, it's not a feeling I have a name for. It ain't guilt, or sadness, or whatever the hell other emotions I can name. And it keeps getting' stronger with every bit of yourself you share, good or bad."

"Oh, Tom," she whispered tearfully. "It gets so much worse after that. So much worse."

"We'll get there," he replied emotionally. "But right now, hear me when I tell you this."

He pulled her back somewhat, meeting her gaze purposefully. "I want you. All of you. Everything you got."

And for once Kate began to feel a truth echoing in his words, so much so, that she found herself saying, "I want you too. I want you to stop holding me at arm's length. I want you to tell me everything. Every piece."

He nodded, pulling her back against him, murmuring, "I promise. No more gaps anymore, Kate. I wanna be yours."