Into The Darkness: A Hot Australian Bad Boy Romance by S. L. Finlay

Author:S. L. Finlay [Finlay, S. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-11-28T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

When I got home, all I wanted to do was read that folder, but I couldn’t manage to sit still. I was wondering around the house, flipping through the folder while standing up, while pacing, while sitting in different locations. I was sitting at my dinner table, then pacing back and forth before something shocking meant I needed to sit down in my lounge room on one of my arm chairs.

It didn’t take me long to read everything then to put things together. He was a small-time criminal when he was younger, and as he’d grown into a man his crimes had grown in severity along with him. Most of them were property crimes but there were a few cases of assault. They were bar fights with other men, mostly. There was one case of him and some other guys roughing someone up over drugs.

I almost couldn’t believe this was Jack. But then at the same time, I could believe it of him. I had been so blind-sighted by him I was shocked at myself.

But then, I wasn’t.

Mostly, I was just confused. I was left with my mouth agape thinking that this was all a bit surreal. I had dealt with women like me when I was on the force, women who didn’t know what their husbands or boyfriends really did for money, women who were in deep denial.

Plenty of those women were the victims of domestic violence, too, and were still in deep denial about the type of man they were involved with. I knew there was complex psychology there. I knew women stayed in the wrong relationships with the wrong men for all sorts of reasons, only, I never thought I would be one of those women. Especially when I spent so much of my time in the past helping those women.

How could I, a cop, not see the signs that he was no good? How could I not see anything was wrong?

But then, I had seen something, hadn’t I? When he turned up on his bike and I freaked out, there had been something there, something that wasn’t just PTSD. Or was there?

Then when I found my front door lock broken, I was sure that it was him. I didn’t even really make excuses for him – actually, I did, didn’t I, for a while.

No. I knew he was bad, but I was in denial. I needed someone outside the situation to give me some perspective here.

I was drowning. There was no sight of land, only there was something here in these pages I held. They were real, they grounded me. They stopped me from slipping down into the denial that could be so comfortable. The denial I didn’t want. I didn’t want to be one of those women.

Because the pages were physically there, in my hands, it was harder for me to find a way to write them off. It was harder for me to make excuses for them or to ignore them. I couldn’t excuse him for that he did to other people.

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