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“Do they have any idea who did it?” I ask, massaging the muscle in my shoulder. My entire body aches from the training session with Sibby, and I’m damn near ready to collapse on the floor and just stay there forever.
I’d make a good fertilizer, and vines of roses could grow from my rib cage while I become one with the earth again.
Zade would probably call me dramatic for thinking that.
“All they have to go off of is the debacle at Supple. Of course, your faces were hidden, which helps.”
“I was wearing a wig, too,” I say.
“They won’t be able to identify you. At least, the public won’t, but I’m sure Claire will know it was you two.”
“But they can’t prove it.”
“They don’t need to. She controls the entire government and all the worker bees that run it. Including the police force, feds—all of them.”
I chew on my lip, digging at the spot on my shoulder harder. “So what, do you think Zade’s face is going to end up on the evening news?”
She’s quiet for a beat. “Or yours.”
My heart drops, thudding heavily in the pit of my stomach. Claire pinning the murder on me would actually be convenient. It will absolutely destroy any reputation I have as an author, but that wouldn’t be the worst of it. They could press charges, fabricate evidence against me, and convict me. And I wouldn’t be going to jail, but right back into Claire’s hands.
Fuck. Me.
“Zade isn’t going to let anything happen to you, Addie,” Daya assures. “Don’t panic. We’ll figure it out, and I’m sure this is something he would’ve planned for.”
Though she can’t see me, I nod my head. It does little to calm my racing heart.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have—”
“Addie, don’t be one of those where you’re only sorry you got caught. Be sorry because it doesn’t sit right in your soul, if that’s truly how you feel. If I’m being honest, I feel nothing about ending Luke’s life, so I guess we’re both on God’s shitlist or whatever. Regardless, what we’re doing with Claire? It’s huge. Bigger than you or me. And it’s going to save a lot of lives.”
I nod my head again, squeezing my eyes shut tightly.
“I know, you’re right. I’m not sorry for what I did.” I blow out a heavy breath. “I just don’t know what’s going to happen, and I’m scared.”
“We’re going to be okay. Remember who you have on your side.”
On cue, I feel a touch brush away my hand from my shoulder before replacing it with his own, digging his thumb into that persistent knot.
My hand drops, and a mix of pain and pleasure erupt from where his skilled fingers work my muscles.
“I remember,” I murmur, trapping a moan in my throat when he hits a particularly painful spot. “Thank you, Daya. I’ll call you later, okay?”
The second we hang up, I let loose a groan. I figured if Daya heard that, it might disturb her. His other hand joins the assault, drawing out more sounds of pleasure. It hurts so fucking good.
“Daya break the news?” he asks quietly in a deep timbre.
“Yeah,” I answer with a cracked voice.
“Nothing—”
“Is going to happen to me, I know,” I cut in. “But sometimes things don’t go to plan.”
He directs me around, and I turn with a tired sigh. His scar crinkles from his amused grin, noting the sassy look on my face.
“You’re going to want to tune into the news at eight o’clock then.”
My brows knit, and a frown curls my lips down. “What did you do?”
