Page 93 of Lennox Lane

“Keeping you alive long enough for me to cuss you out later.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Lennox.”

“No.” He shook his head once. “We’ll discuss this when we leave here.”

“I don’t need⁠—”

“Lane.” His voice softened even more, and somehow that made her go still. “Please.”

The word did what force would’ve ruined. She looked at him for a long second, then nodded once. He wanted to pull her into his arms. He wanted to check her and make sure she was unharmed even though she’d just walked in. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out before this room could put another bruise on her spirit. Instead, he stepped aside, remembering that this was her story and that she deserved to lead the charge in her healing.

Jeanette took one shaky step forward. “Lane.”

Lane’s face changed, not much but enough for Lennox to peek at it. The girl inside the woman heard her mother say her name, and the woman had to survive it. Jeanette began to cry, and the tears weren’t pretty or soft. Her sobs were hard and ugly as her shoulders folded inward. She covered her mouth with one trembling hand and shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” Jeanette said. “I’m so sorry.”

Lane didn’t seem moved by her mother’s show. Lennox watched her lock every muscle in place. She’d been ready for cruelty, and Jeanette’s sharp tongue and tears were an angle she hadn’t expected.

“Don’t,” Lane said.

Jeanette’s sob caught. “I didn’t want to send those messages.”

Lane laughed once, sharp and empty. “Of course.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“The truth?” Lane’s voice stayed quiet, but every word cut. “Now you know how to use that?”

Jeanette’s face crumpled again. “I’ve been trying to get clean.”

The man on the couch scoffed as he told Jeanette to shut up. It was as if he knew Jeanette was about to blow up his plan. Lennox turned his head slowly toward him and the man went quiet.

Jeanette wiped her face with the sleeve of her cardigan. “I’ve been trying. I swear I have. I got into a program twice, but Daryl⁠—”

Lane’s entire body stiffened at the mention of his name. Lennox knew it already—Daryl Hargrove, the man from the bathroom. The man from the night Lane left home was the same man still rotting in Jeanette’s life like the past had never learned to die.

Lane’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re still with the man that tried to hurt me then, and he’s likely responsible for trying to hurt me now!” Lane screamed.

Jeanette looked down, and her knees seemed to weaken. “I didn’t know how to get away.”

Lane stared at her. “You didn’t know how to get away?”

Daryl leaned forward indignantly. “This whole damn family is dramatic. Ain’t nobody do nothing to you, girl.”

Lane didn’t even look at him, but Lennox did. Jalen moved before Lennox had to. He stepped behind Daryl, gripped his shoulder, and forced him back against the couch with enough pressure to make him hiss.

“Quiet dirty ass nigga,” Jalen said.

Daryl quieted while Jeanette cried harder. “He made me text you. He knew things. He knew where you were working with celebrities, and he was trying to find out where you lived. He said if I didn’t get you to pay, he’d tell everybody what you did back then. He said he’d find a way to hurt you if you didn’t meet me. I didn’t want him to hurt you.”

Lane looked at her mother for a long time before letting her eyes shift to Lennox. She didn’t ask out loud; she didn’t have to—her eyes searched his to see if what she was saying was true. Lennox hated having to give Jeanette this much.

“She’s telling the truth,” he said, before continuing, “I traced the messages. The phrasing on several came from his device before they were forwarded through burner apps on hers. Daryl’s been controlling the accounts. He’s got photos of her IDs, her program paperwork, debt records, threats. He was using both of you.”

Lane swallowed hard, and Lennox could tell she was warring internally with what she’d just learned.

“And him?” Lane asked, glancing at Daryl.