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I’m left with the sound of retreating footsteps and in the corner of my eye, the security cameras capture the bar nearly packed, the stage curtains closed but ready to open as the nightdescends. It’s all patrons. There’s no one I’m concerned about in this whole damn place right now.
There’s no break in this life. No moment of reprieve. Even as I beg the footage to show me something, anything at all, I’m not given a moment for it all to just stop.
There were only so many hours she was left alone with the computer. I know from history she didn’t email anything or save information to portable storage.
There were only a handful of details given to the feds. A few lines that she must’ve memorized. No one else touched that computer. In the security footage, she doesn’t save data onto a USB. But she also doesn’t take any notes. A note that someone else could find or a note she was paid to make.
There’s no way around it. There was incriminating evidence in drug sales on the spreadsheets and she remembered them because they didn’t make sense, fed the information to someone and that’s the only possible explanation.
The numbers don’t exist in reality. They’re fake. Planted there just for her.
She taps away on the screen in the video, occasionally looking across the office to my empty chair. I swear she smiles in fondness and I have to rewind the footage.
I swear she loves me even here. It makes no sense.
How could she want me like she does here, while planning on turning over evidence? Frustration gets the best of me and I throw the fucking remote across the room, smashing it into the drywall. The damage is minimal and I couldn’t care less.
I don’t fucking know what happened, but I believe her.
There has to be a reason other than Braelynn handing over the information. She would have had to memorize it since she didn’t leave the office with it. Exact numbers. It’s not difficult, but it doesn’t seem like Braelynn.
The video plays and I watch as the door opens and my Braelynn straightens her posture, peering up at me and waiting for an order. I watch as I grasp her chin, lower my hand to her throat and kiss her. No, I fucking devour her and she leans into my touch. Eager and wanting. The laptop falls to the floor and she doesn’t stop it. She doesn’t care about it.
My chest tightens with an uncomfortable ache.
I really fucking love her. I should marry her, just in case they pick her up. Then she can leave. She can go anywhere and the feds can’t legally question her about me. No one would dare touch her if she had my ring on her finger. None of this would fucking matter.
I think she’d do it. If she could leave without worry, she’d agree to it in a heartbeat.
My brothers would leave us alone. They would learn to trust her when all of this blows over. And it will. I won’t allow it to linger and taint her reputation or mine. They’ll all see that she’s good and good for me.
I watch as the screen plays nothing but an empty room after I lead her away. The laptop closed and the room quiet. Every minute of footage is like this. She’s the only one who touched it and there’s no explanation that makes sense. But I don’t give a fuck about logic or reason anymore.
They’ll learn to love her and she’ll learn to love them and the ways of this life. Just as the thought hits me, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out to see Carter calling.
He’ll give his blessing. I know he will. Even still, I’m anxious to answer the phone. I can’t shake this feeling.
“Carter,” I answer and clear my throat. I lean back in my seat but stiffen when I hear the tone in his voice.
“Declan, where are you?” He already knows what’s happening today.
Chills prick down my arm. “At the bar waiting for the—” I answer.
“She left. Half the money and left you a note.”
“No.” The word leaves me even though even I can hear the denial that’s wrapped around the single syllable.
“I’m sorry,” he tells me, his tone full of remorse. Clicking over to the tabs for my room, I flick through them, each and every one.
My gaze flicks to the empty screen, willing her to be there, but she’s not.
“Do you want me to read the note?” he asks and the blood drains from my face.
“What does it say?”
“I’m sorry. I love you. I can’t stay here anymore. I swear, I didn’t mean to.”
“I wonder what they gave her. What the feds could have offered her that would make her want to work with them,” I say.
