When she first saw him, she didn't recognize him. Granted, she had only seen a photo of him, but he looked nothing like the scrawny boy that had driven a pipe through her brother's head. Now he was a man. A tall man with broad shoulders. His jaw was sharp, but even though his features were masculine, there was something boyish about him. Probably the hair—black, messy, with a loose curl.

He didn't look surprised to see her. He knew she was coming—she had to request he add her to a list of his visitors. Having to ask him for permission to see him made her blood boil. It should have been her right, as the family of the victim, to see him whenever she wanted and to scream in his face for all that he'd done. But even though she'd made the request, it had been months since that happened. She wondered if, at some point, he assumed she had changed her mind.

Frankly, she was surprised he agreed to it in the first place.

She watched him, closely monitoring for any reaction. Even the most minuscule muscle twitch that would point to guilt, stress, fear. Anything. But he showed nothing.

He sat down and grabbed the phone that was mounted to the wall. She did the same, hoping he didn't see just how much her hand was trembling.

And there he was. Daniel Navarro. The one and only who took her brother away from her. Sitting face to face with her. 

There were so many things she wanted to scream. So many questions caught in her throat. But nothing came out of her mouth. She sat there frozen. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, teeth clenched, and not a word slipped through.

"Let me guess," he started, his voice annoyingly calm. "Considering the fact that I'm about to be released, you want to know if I’m reformed. If I really feel guilty."

It wasn’t the only thing she wanted to know, but it was a good start. Did he really see what he’d done? Not just to Bradley. But to her. To her family.

"Do you?" she asked, the tone of her voice cold.

"Yes."

She didn't believe him. If he felt so guilty, why was he devoid of emotions? Why was he so casual, calm? Why didn't he seem remorseful? He didn't cry for what he'd done; he didn't beg for forgiveness.

"Why?"

He thought for a moment, his brows knitted together. He opened his mouth but only spoke after a few seconds.

"It's not my place to deliver justice."

"What-"

Her eyes narrowed, and her fingers clutched the phone so hard her knuckles turned white.

"Are you saying my brother deserved it?" she hissed.

"He deserved something."

Her head jerked in disbelief, barely restraining the urge to throw the phone at the glass that separated the two of them and storm out.

"You're out of your mind," she said through her teeth. Her pulse quickened. She could feel it pounding in her skull. Fury was boiling her from the inside. Her cheeks burned and sweat began to coat her skin.

"Am I?" He leaned forward, his deep brown eyes staring directly into hers. "You really think you knew him?" he asked, and there was a crack in his calm demeanor. His eyes turned cold and there was something behind them. Anger? Pain?

"Yes! He was smart, educated, polite, kind, friendly!" She raised her voice. Of course, she knew her own damn brother. She grew up with him! He was always there for her. He was her big bro. Her protector.

Daniel leaned back in his chair, giving her a pity-filled look.

"How old were you?" he asked.

"When you murdered him?" she spat out. "Eleven."

"Yeah, that explains some things," he muttered to himself. Then let out a cynical snort. "You know, I'm glad you only saw the good in him. I'm glad he did nothing to you. But maybe that's just because you were a little too young for his taste."

She rose so abruptly, her chair screeched against the floor. The security guard glared at her, and other visitors snuck confused glances.

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" the guard asked, hand on his belt, taking a step forward to her, but she ignored him, only staring back into Daniel's disgusting eyes.

"Shut. Your. Mouth," she growled quietly.

Slowly, he shook his head no.

"Your brother may have been educated, but he was far from kind. My sister is dead because of him. So maybe that evens things out."

A frown showed on her face. She had no idea what he was talking about, and the slight raise of his brow showed he'd only learned that now.

"Huh, you don't know," he said, almost intrigued. "Your 'kind, friendly' brother is a fucking rapist. A serial one, too."

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up. He would never do something like that," she spat. Her voice was low but shaking.

"Oh, but he did. And not just to my sister." His eyes moved to the ceiling for a moment, and he took a contemplative breath. "You know, I've gotten a few letters. All from women he'd hurt, thanking me for finally delivering justice. Their words, not mine, by the way." His eyes shifted back to her. "Apparently, he's been getting away with it for a while. But considering your rich daddy, it's not surprising, is it?"

"You're lying." Her breath caught and she swallowed thickly. "Just trying to justify it to yourself."

She searched his face for any hint of deceit.

He had to be lying. He had to be. She knew her brother. Bradley was a gentleman. He had never treated any women with anything but respect. He opened doors for them, he pulled out their chairs. He always carried heavy stuff for them. Not once had she heard him speak ill of anybody. Their parents raised him right. He was like a prince.

Daniel let out an amused snort.

"And why would I?" he asked. "I'm not up for parole, I'm getting out because I served my time. I have no reason to look for excuses or to lie about it." He paused for a moment, just watching her, before he spoke again. "I have those letters to prove it. Hey, you're welcome to read them, if you want," he added.

He repositioned himself in his chair, facing her directly and nearing his face to the glass. He stared right into her eyes.

"Face it, Lara. Your brother wasn't who you thought he was."

He put the phone away onto its hanger and stood up. Before he left, he glanced back at her one more time.