Page 66 of Filthy Lies


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Around me, the plane readied itself for takeoff. The champagne glass was retrieved by a flight attendant and a bottle of water was put in its place. The doors were closed, and, for whatever reason, Temper left me alone as I kept my attention averted from her.

Only then did I reply to Dead To Me:

Me: If Goldstein contacts you, just do what you have to do.

Dead To Me: He’s a stickler but I don’t want to kill him.

Me: That’s on you. I don’t think he’d turn you in. Just be careful. It’s more than likely that you’ll never meet.

Dead To Me: Got it.

That didn’t allay my tension any, but at least that bastard McClure would be dead.

Though I should have conferred with Aidan, there was no way in fuck I could let that poor woman exist in the basement of some senator’s house, just waiting for the ax to fall. Which was exactly what’d happen if McClure thought his dirty little secret was about to see the light of day.

The woman would die to cover his sins up and…

Fuck.

It smacked too much of Star. Of the precariousness of her situation once upon a time.

Just thinking of what I’d learned about her, of what they’d put her through, was enough to make me want to kill someone.

While vengeance had always been my da’s preference and not mine, I understood his mentality at that moment.

Reinier was going to die in a shipping container, whether it was at Star’s hand or of starvation and dehydration and only God knew what else. When I thought about what he’d put Star through, I hoped he went full-throttle28 Days Lateron himself.

An hour into the flight, when I felt as if I’d managed to draw on a strong enough mask, I turned to her and, creepily enough, found her watching me.

It was like being studied by a scorpion. One wrong move and she’d sting me. The only difference was, on the outside, she was beautiful: golden-blonde hair, bright-as-a-button blue eyes, flawless skin, a neat figure that was destroyed by a bland, boxy, off-the-rack suit. If Barbie had developed a CIA agent doll, it would have looked like Temperance.

“Is your first cousin a Brother?”

“No,” she derided. Her head angled to the side. “Why?”

So, Dead To Me was a solid ally. I figured as much, to be fair.

“Why did you say ‘no’ like that?”

“Because my cousin has a side gig that wouldn’t wash in the Union.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that only the best are inducted into the Brotherhood.”

The best?

She was a psycho who had an in with a society of fucking nutcases.

Coming up with the ‘leave the asswipe to rot in a shipping container’ plan was something even Da wouldn’t have rolled with.

Didn’t mean I wasn’t glad about it.

I’d once watched a horror movie where a serial killer left his victims to rot like Reinier would and, back then, it had freaked me out. Enough that Aidan had gotten sick of me waking him up with my nightmares and he’d told my very young twelve-year-old ass to research what would happen to a person left like that because, in his words,to know was to control.

Looking back, it wasn’t a standard way to deal with nightmares, but what in my family was standard?

He’d probably amplified a toxic trait of never being able to leave any stone unturned, which had undoubtedly put me in my current position, but hey, every step I’d taken down this path had led me to Star.

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