Page 89 of The Logic of Loyalty

I lift my shirt to check the damage. “Nothing yet.”

“It’ll bruise. Are you really just gonna let him leave?”

“Fuck no. The paper trail will follow him wherever he ends up. Asher is taking too damn long. Now, do it again. Also, don’t warn me again—Umph. Fuck!”

“Alright, done.” Billy smiles and shakes his hand out again. He looks way too pleased with himself.

I graze my hand across my abdomen and flinch. His aim is impressive. I’m confident he hit me in the same exact place. “I think you got too much pleasure out of doing this for me.”

“Hell yeah, I did. I’ve been wanting to land one on you for weeks.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, when are you joining us full-time at The Shop?” Billy turns and leans back against the brick, staring at the opposite wall. His voice is nonchalant, but I know him too well now.

“I’ll let you know.”

He grunts again and checks his watch. “Paul needs to go. He’s a liability at this point.”

“I know. I can handle his shit before going full-time. He’s only a figurehead right now.”

Billy nods his head. “Sure, sure. Go to bed and put some ice on that.” He tilts his chin in the direction of my gut. “Take a few photos, though. A few now, then a few later.” He straightens and grabs his helmet from the ground before he heads back to wherever he parked his bike. “You know he probably got plenty of evidence with Bobby coming at you, right? I didn’t need to hit you.”

I focus on the physical pain and wish it could drown out everything else I’ve been feeling since it all went down with Paige. Her face flashes through mine. Each time a fresh one of my fuckups hurt her.

“No. You definitely needed to.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

PAIGE

“Paige? Hey, I didn’t expect you to be here so quickly.” Joseph Banks, the lawyer friend Trevor made in college, meets me in the waiting room, a look of concern etched across his ridiculously attractive features.

“It’s really important and time-sensitive.” I stand with my manila folder. Inside is everything I need to take this next, massive step.

I dropped Becky off at work, then ran back to my house and got ready for my day. Today, I’m taking the wheel and doing what I want to do. Not what I think others believe I should do. Not what society thinks I should do, and definitely not what Dick Shitaker thinks I should do. I’m doing what I want to do, and everyone else is going to have to adjust. The fear that coursed through me when Bobby put his hands on me reset my system. A series of incidents over the years. The confusion I felt when my doctor told me I couldn’t have another baby. The fear of watching the doctors take me away from my husband. The pain of watching my child cry from want of love from his grandparents. The hopelessness, pain, fear, confusion. I’m sick of it. I’m done with it. I’m not letting things happen to me anymore.

I want our family out from under Dick’s thumb. I want to kick my husband’s ass. I want to pull Krista around by her hair and throw her into a puddle of mud.

Mostly, I want my family back. I want my babies to be in a safe, happy, and full home with their father in their lives to watch them grow. I’m going to get what I want, now. I’m not hoping. I’m not watching. I’m not asking. I’m done waiting.

“Yes, of course. Come on.” Joseph ushers me toward the door, but stops and calls to the receptionist. “Hey, Charlotte, could you reschedule my ten o’clock?” Joseph meets my expression, and he must see something significant there because he adds, “Maybe postpone the next one if you don’t hear from me in twenty, and keep doing that until I come back out.”

“Can do, boss.”

He nods, then directs me to his office. He holds the door open to a clean space—generic successful lawyer stuff. Big windows, heavy wooden furniture, and a ton of important-looking books. “Please, sit. Tell me what I can do to help, Paige.” Instead of rounding the desk, he sits in the seat next to mine. Picking up a pen, he selects a notepad and turns to me, clicking once before raising a brow and poising it above the paper. “You are aware that I can’t represent both of you⁠—”

I slap my thick folder against the desk. “I need you to tell me about predatory loans. In particular, personal loans that exceed one million dollars without any safeguards or paperwork to track them.”

The concern on his face melts away into one of confusion. “You—I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Isn’t he supposed to be good at this stuff? “Is it legal to require someone to fill an NDA that prohibits them from speaking to even a lawyer as part of a loan?” I pull out the papers I brought, one by one—bank statements, copies of Trevor’s paychecks over the last five years since he started at the bank, the hospital bill. In my pocket is a copy of his father’s shackles. That will come out later.

“I—” He clears his throat and straightens up in his seat. “I’m sorry. I have to admit that I had some assumptions about why you’re here, and I need to think about your question for a second.” He looks genuinely perplexed, and I have no idea why he’s expecting me to show up. He must read my confusion. “Uh, yeah. So, Trevor has talked to me a few times, making sure to update and ensure the …” He begins to fidget. “Ahem. The post-nup⁠—”

“Oh. Oh!” Wow. “Did he ask you to draft a⁠—”

“No! Not that. Hell, I’m botching this all to shit. The only reason I’m telling you this is because he expressly told me that the Lawyer-client confidentiality between us extends to you.”