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On the other hand, if anyone saw her…
“Quinton? Please, open up.” That’s not Aspen’s voice, but it is one I vaguely recognize. And it’s thick with tears.
I open the door to find Brittney weeping, and immediately my heart leaps into my throat. “What happened? Where is she?” I take her by the arms and barely stop short of shaking her.
“No, she’s fine. As far as I know, anyway. A-and I c-can’t imagine how.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving trails of mascara behind. “I did what you asked.”
Shit. I sit her down on the bed, and she wraps her arms around herself before rocking back and forth a little. “You got into the phone?”
Her head bobs up and down before a broken sob tears itself out of her. “The video. He had the video. Oh, my god—”
We’ve never had a close relationship by any standards, but now we are united in this. Our perspective isn’t precisely the same, but we both have reason to be shaken to the core by what we saw. I can’t imagine that would be easy for a woman to witness, even knowing now that Aspen is safe and healed physically.
I hand her one of the bottles of water on the nightstand, intended for Aspen when she was here earlier. “I am sorry you had to see that,” I murmur, and I mean it. I wouldn’t wish it on nearly anyone.
“How could they? Those monsters. I didn’t know…”
“You couldn’t have.” I leave a box of tissues beside her and wonder at myself. When did I grow a conscience? When did I start caring about people?
What a disingenuous question. It’s Aspen. That’s the tie that binds us. We have her in common, and Brittney clearly cares deeply about her.
I take a seat on the other side of the tissue box, absorbing this. Nash had a copy of the video, as I suspected he might. For once, I can’t say I’m glad I was right.
“How could anybody do that?”
It’s a rhetorical question, the sort nobody can answer. I’ve done some terrible, even unforgivable things, but the depravity recorded in that video is beyond even me. “I don’t know.”
“I feel filthy after seeing it.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. If it wasn’t so important, knowing for sure what Nash knows about that night, I wouldn’t have taken the risk of you watching it. Really.”
She drinks some water, then blows her nose. All I can do in the meantime is ask myself how Nash came to possess the video. Matteo must have sent it to him, or maybe Rico. How many other people might have seen it? How many people can tie her to a family who so mysteriously ended up dead only days later?
Once Brittney has calmed down, I ask the next logical question. “What did you do? After you saw it?”
“You mean besides throwing up?” She runs a hand under her eye to catch a stray tear. “I planted a virus on the phone. It wiped everything and is untraceable. He’ll never know what happened.”
“Thank you. Really. And I trust you’ll keep this between us.”
She moans softly. “How am I supposed to pretend I didn’t see it? The next time she’s with me, I have to act like I don’t have the first idea?”
“You’ll do it because you love her. And because if she’s ever going to move on, she needs to know everyone around her isn’t thinking about it whenever they set eyes on her.” Our gazes meet, and in hers, I see the pain I feel inside. “We have to think about her, not ourselves.”
“You’re right. And God knows she has enough going on right now.”
“Also true.”
“I checked to see who he was messaging. He didn’t send the video out to anyone, but there was one number he kept texting and calling a lot. It just said D as the contact in the phone, but I traced the number and found out her name is Delilah Wallace. She seems to be connected to the Valentines somehow. I’m sending everything I have on her to your email.”
In a surprising move, she turns to me, grabbing my arm. “What are you going to do? Now that you know he had it. What happens to Aspen?”
“As long as I breathe, no harm will come to her ever again. I’m going to fix this. I promised her, and I’m promising you.” That seems to satisfy her, and she releases her grip on me.
The only trick now is working out exactly how I’m going to do it.
23
ASPEN
My stomach is in knots. There are wet spots on my jeans from wiping my sweaty palms so many times. I’ve been sitting here for only a few minutes, but it feels more like a few hours.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Aspen,” Dr. Lauren apologizes as soon as she enters the room. “You’d think we'd have better printers for such an elite university.” She tries to lighten the mood with a joke, but I can’t bring myself to lift the corners of my mouth even a little.
