Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“That depends,” he answers. “Tell me about Kylie and her friend Katie.”
I look away. But there is no hiding my reaction. Booker isn’t a businessman looking for a cheap thrill.
He’s got me cornered, and he knows it.
“I want to put him away for good,” he says. “But I need your help to do it.”
“Nuh-uh.” I shake my head. “No fucking way. Are you kidding me? You think prison is going to stop him? If he even makes it to prison. I know how these things work, okay. You’re asking me to get up on a stand and testify against him?”
“And Quinn, and Duke.”
“This is a goddamn joke,” I mutter. “Do you know what the likelihood of winning that case would be? There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell. There’s no evidence. It’s just my word against theirs.”
“There’s also a journal,” he tells me. “Trip wrote everything down. A confession.”
“That isn’t enough. People think I’m dead, and I’d like it to stay that way.”
“Well unfortunately,” Booker says. “The ones who matter all know you’re alive now. So you really will be dead soon, if you don’t do this, Tenly. Because I can’t protect you unless you agree to testify.”
“No,” I tell him again. “In fact, that’s a hell no.”
I walk towards the door, and his voice stops me.
“It isn’t just about you,” he says. “How many other women do you think he will kill before he gets to you?”
My hand shakes on the knob.
“You can’t put that on me.”
“He’s going to out you,” Booker says, and his voice is resigned now. “There are photos of you. Piles of evidence. The senator’s son, and plenty of others. He’s already been in contact with several news outlets.”
And he’s got me, because I know for fact these things are true.
I turn around and meet his gaze. I’ve never pleaded with anyone in my life, but I want to plead with him right now. To stop this. I want to believe he’s a good person.
Like Rory.
I can tell he respects women. He respects me. But there is no such thing as a good deed.
“What do you get out of all this?” I ask him. “What do you get for helping me out?”
He turns away, disgusted with himself, guilty… and I am right. I am always right.
“When it’s over,” he says. “I’ll need a favor of my own.”
“Sorry, Rumple. I don’t deal in those sorts of favors. You’ll need to tell me upfront, or no deal.”
His eyes flicker to the skyline, and absently, he rubs the scars on the back of his hand.
“Storm.”
Well, that is a surprise.
“What about her?”
“I need to know where I can find her.”
I don’t tell him that I don’t know, because right now, this is the only bargaining chip I have. And it’s always better to let people believe they are going to get what they want from you.
“You’d know better than anyone how to find her,” he adds.
“What do you want with her?”
He doesn’t answer. But there’s something in his eyes that tells me this is personal for him. He wants it badly.
Badly enough to blackmail me into doing the right thing. And I’m guessing he’s not a man who goes against his honor very often.
But it doesn’t matter.
On the streets, we have our own Omertà.
I wouldn’t give her up for any of his promises. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“Fine,” I say. “If I do this, you’ll get rid of all the evidence against me?”
He nods.
“My mother’s going to have a fucking coronary when she finds out.”
“Probably,” he agrees. “But she hasn’t been much of a mother to you, so I wouldn’t concern yourself with how she feels.”
“Don’t pretend to know me,” I warn him. “You don’t know me, no matter what you’ve dug up in my life. You know what’s on paper, and that’s all.”
He ignores my barb and gives me a nod.
“Let’s do this then. Let’s get it over with.”
“I’m going to give you the week to think about it,” he says.
“There’s nothing to think about,” I argue. “Do you want me to do this or not? There’s no point fucking around…”
“There’s something else you should know before you agree.”
Whatever it is, I’m not going to like it.
“This kind of trial, it’s going to be complex. Drawn out. Media everywhere. You’ll be watched closely by the bureau, by the opposing council, by reporters who are out for blood.”
“And your point?”
“Rory Brodrick,” he says quietly.
And suddenly, everything that was so clear has become very hazy.
Rory.
How could I not have factored him into this? I’ve been spending so much time with him, of course Booker would know about him too.
My mouth is dry when I ask my next question.
“What about him?”
“I don’t want to be presumptuous,” Booker says, “but I’d venture a guess in saying that you might care for him.”