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“Fine.” He glances at his watch. “Ty and Gage are less than five out. Hopefully, these motherfuckers will stop loading soon so we can get the hell in there.”
The lack of electricity won’t benefit us with the doors open and sunlight trickling in, so our whole plan is delayed until those doors shut, adding more agonizing time to the girls’ captivity. But I’m grateful for the extra peek inside.
Once I’m settled in a better position, I see a wall jutting out, indicating at least one interior room. I’d bet anything that’s where they’re being held. Looks like about fifty guys stand between us and them.
Four against fifty. No fucking problem.
CELESTE
“It’s so fucked up.” Beef Jerky cackles. “Leave it to Silas to get in on the most convoluted motherfucking shit out there, but this blows those crates out of the water.”
My brows pinch together as I try to fathom how this has anything to do with me. It doesn’t sound like they want me as leverage. It sounds like they think I personally have or know something. Ivy rests her head against the wall, eyes closed, no doubt listening intently as well, but she’s oddly the picture of peace.
“Get on with it, asshole,” one of the other degenerates snaps, sliding a crate or a chair across the floor with a grating squeak.
“It goes back, like, a decade or something. Some journalist—Archie Newton, son of that corrupt federal judge—”
“Judge Walter Newton,” another guy finishes. “That guy was a fucking legend, connected to everyone.”
“Exactly,” Beef Jerky says through what seems to be a puff on a cigarette, the faint scent of smoke wafting into the room to meld with the stench of death and sex seeping from the walls. “The old man was more than fucking connected. He owned half the goddamn country. And when he croaked, he left Archie a book with every indiscretion he had on a bunch of high-level assholes.”
“Holy shit,” someone hisses.
“No fuck,” Beef Jerky says with a hint of pride. “After a death threat, Archie showed up at a law firm, probably ready to piss his damn pants. And the book blew the lawyer’s fucking mind. Archie wanted to publish the secrets like some motherfucking tell-all conspiracy book. From what I hear, it would’ve sent the whole damn country into chaos. It wasn’t just secrets. He was hoarding classified government information, corruption, and keys to unsolved cases.”
No one is making a peep, other than a few spewed expletives from the guys. Least of all Ivy and me. This isn’t only riveting; it’s what Liam’s been asking me about. Based on the political nature, I’m wondering if it’s my grandfather’s career or my father’s that has me tied up in this. Both could have things to hide, I suppose.
“Anyway,” Beef Jerky continues while obviously blowing a plume of smoke, “Archie went to the law firm Baker, Sherman, and Ross for his meeting.”
Oh God.
The metal bars of this cell pulsate, my breath catches in my throat, and my sternum melts into my spine.
I know that law firm.
“Sherman told him if he published it, he was as good as dead. So, he convinced Archie to disappear until they could determine who knew it existed, and then they could release it under a pen name. Archie vanished without a trace, and Sherman kept the book. Two days later, Sherman was shot in cold blood at his home. The guys looking for it scoured the law firm and Sherman’s house for months. One of the partners was dying of some disease, so they ransacked his house but left him be. The other partner dismantled the practice and disappeared. Asshole is probably dead too.” He pauses for a second before delivering the outcome. “The fucking book was never found.”
“So, the chick has the book?” someone asks, patently irritated.
“Yeah,” another one snarls, “you cleared up fucking nothing.”
“I wasn’t done, you goddamn twats. There were two other people who knew about that book. Sherman’s associates. Also killed. Easton Lancaster and Benjamin Carver.”
Ivy’s hand squeezes mine, but neither of us moves or breathes or acknowledges one another.
“Turns out, Easton never fucking died,” Beef Jerky adds, siphoning every bit of air from my lungs. “The son of a bitch is tired of being on the run. Says he has a buyer for it and that girl in there can lead us to the book. If she does, he gets a hefty sum and the means to come out of hiding.”
“Who is she?”
“Celeste Carver, Benji’s little sister.”
My world flips and spins and twists inside out. Everything fuzzy becomes sharp while the fully shaped images of my life fade into blobs.
Easton is alive. How can that be? I watched him blow up.
And Ben? Ben was murdered because he knew about that book.
I might know something about it too.
