I exhale in relief, doubling the mocking grin on my uncle’s face.
He loves how quickly he can make me fold.
I hate it.
It’s another item on the long list of things I hate about myself lately.
My short haircut, my roller-coaster moods, and my ability to lie without blinking are the top three items on my I-loathe-Demi list.
I’ve barely stumbled into the alleyway that sides KC’s gym when a second, more confronting encounter steals the air from my lungs. “I had wondered where you were getting the money from.” When I twist to face Sloane, she shakes her head, sending spirals of curls into her face. “I told Saint there was no way you’d have the money to fund an Ivy League lawyer’s trip to the Bahamas. Lo and behold, I was right.”
“It isn’t what you think.”
Sloane is ridiculously smart, but you wouldn’t know it when she splays her hands across her cocked hip and says, “It isn’t?” When I sheepishly shake my head, she growls at me. “Out of all the people in the world, I would have never accused you of being daft. He…” she thrusts her hand in the direction my uncle’s Audi went, “… is a monster who will have no qualms throwing you in the deep end when the shit hits the fan, and believe me, it will hit the fan, and then you’ll join Maddox at Wallens Ridge on dual life sentences.”
Even against the caution of my stomach, I fight back. It’s a known Petretti trait when our backs are against the wall. “I’m recruiting fighters, not killing them.”
“It’s the same thing!” Sloane’s shouted words bellow down the almost empty alleyway. “Previously, you had an excuse… you were completely in the dark. You can’t say that this time around.”
She’s right. I hate that she is, but there’s no denying the truth. “I need the money.”
“If the leftoverdebt…” she air quotes her last word like she understands more about my family than she has let on, “… is anything close to the amount Saint and I have calculated.” She’s too gripped by annoyance to register my shock that she included Saint and herself in the one sentence. She usually refers to him as ‘he who shall not be mentioned.’ This is the first time she’s used his name in months. “You have to recruit another seven hundred fighters to break even.Seven. Hundred, Demi. That’s more than dual consecutive sentences. You may be the first woman in Florida to be executed.”
Her reply hits me for a six, but it won’t stop me from saying, “Not all of them will die. For all we know, none of them will. Dimitri put a stop to the death matches. This could be a standard circuit recruitment drive.”
“Could be?” Sloane rolls her eyes before stuffing her hands under her arms. “Could be isn’t a defense, Demi!”
When she spins on her heels, too angered to look at me, I take off after her. “Where are you going?”
Her brutal speed chops up her words. “To get my head examined because between you and your boyfriend’s brother, I’m certain more than one screw came loose.” When she suddenly stops walking, I crash into her back. “I understand what love makes you do. I get that it’s crazy and unhinged and probably something I willneverexperience, but being in love doesn’t give you the excuse to forget who you are. Maddox is serving a life sentence that is growing in length because he’d rather follow the commands of a Nazi than not hold you in his arms for a month.” Shock must cross my features as she’s quick to relieve it. “How do you think you’ve been getting those special one-on-one visits every month, Demi?” She continues talking, stealing my chance to answer. “Maximum security prisons don’t accommodate personal requests. Inmates are there to learn a lesson, not cozy up with their childhood crush. Maddox is getting those favors because he’s earning them…unlawfully. If you don’t believe me, ask him the next time you see him. I bet he doesn’t even attempt to deny it…ifhe knows what the truth is anymore.”
I shake my head. “Maddox isn’t like that. He wouldn’t—”
“Become a shell of himself for you?” Sloane strays her disappointed yet still hopeful some good is hidden inside me eyes down my body. “There is such a thing as loving someone too much. You and Maddox are living proof of that.”
Too disappointed to continue with our conversation, she steps onto the curb, then hails the next available cab. I let her leave, too shocked to move, let alone speak. I did wonder what had changed between my first private visit with Maddox compared to our last three. We went from a room built by massive panes of glass to an intimate space perfect for two, but since I got to touch him, smell him, and hug him, I stupidly told myself my uncle was being generous since he lowballed me three months ago.
Was it wrong of me to do? At the time, I didn’t think so. Now I feel like a fool—even more so when my stomp down the alleyway has me stumbling into a pothole I missed earlier. It painfully distorts my ankle and has me whimpering in pain.
“I’m fine. Please, just go,” I say to a dark-haired man when he bobs down to help me up.
If this is Karma biting my ass, I don’t want my punishment thrust onto another unsuspecting victim.
The stranger flashes me a flirty grin. “It’s okay, I’m a police officer.”
He shows me his badge like it will immediately disarm me.
It’s a pity for him I wasn’t born last week.
“I just need to walk it off…” My words shift to a pained groan when I attempt to place pressure on my ankle. It hurts—a lot!
“Lean on me. My car is right there. I’ll drop you off at the ER, then be on my way. You’ll never hear from me again.” Officer Daniel Packwood holds his hands out in front of himself to ensure he means no harm before he slides them to the holster on his hip. “I’ll even let you hold my gun during our ride, that way, if I become too endearing for you, you can tell me to back off with more than words.”
Normal, non-neurotic women would be charmed by his witty personality and good looks. All I see is a snake in the process of shedding its skin. His ring finger has a thick indent right where a wedding ring should be, yet there isn’t a ring to be seen, so I won’t mention the packed lunchbox on the dashboard of his car. Only two women go to such efforts—a man’s mother or his wife. Considering the fact his sandwich is cut in half instead of quarters, I’d say his lunch was lovingly packed by his wife.
Since my argument with Sloane is still at the forefront of my mind, I get snappy. “How does your wife find your witty intelligence?” I hit him with a stern, evil-pronged glance before finalizing my question. “Endearing or nauseating?”
When his lips tuck in the corner, announcing he’s aware he has been busted, I nudge my head to his left hand. “Not only do you have a ring indent, but the obvious lack of tanning on your finger shows you only took off yourweddingring mere seconds before approaching me.”
