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I walk to my bathroom and lock myself inside. Pulling up Michael’s contact, I press call and sit on the edge of my tub. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I chant, willing him to answer.
After three rings, I hear his deep, comforting voice. “Hey baby. How—”
“Michael, listen to me,” I rush to say. I don’t know why I feel a sense of urgency, but he needs to know, and he needs to know now. “It was them. My stepbrothers. They attacked Brent. It was them.”
There’s a beat of silence and I hear rustling. “What do you mean?”
“They were talking in James’s office. I heard them.” I pull the phone from my ear and quickly send him the recording. “There’s your proof. It was them. Remember what I told you the other night about what James said? The night I came back? That’s what he meant. That was what he didn’t want blowing back on him. They did it. Michael, I’m so sorry.” My voice breaks. Michael said he and Brent are strangers, but he was so torn up when he heard he was in the hospital. I know this can’t be easy to hear.
“Damon,” he says in a deadly calm voice. It sends prickles down my back. “I need you to leave the house. Don’t come back until I call you. As soon as you get back, call the police. Do not go looking for your family. Do you understand?”
I swallow thickly. I know what he’s coming to do. Am I comfortable enough to be complicit in murder? Maybe a triple murder? Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know what I should do.
“Umm …” I start to say, but don’t know what I’ll say after that.
“Damon.” He says my name so patiently. “I’ll tell you what I was doing there when I was at the ball after I take care of this, okay? You’ll know everything.” I nod, though he can’t see me. “I need to take care of this. Leave. Go someplace where you can be seen and don’t come back until I call you.”
I nod. “I love you.”
Even though he’s basically telling me he’s coming to commit murder, my heart melts when he says that. “Love you too,” I whisper, then hang up the phone.
Blowing out a deep breath to calm my racing heart, I stand up, shake my limbs out to get rid of the nerves and try to figure out where to go.
The mall. I can walk around the mall for hours, as it has three levels with at least thirty stores per floor. That will take a lot of time. And I have the money from the casino to buy anything I want.
Having made up my mind, I pull the door open and walk face first into a broad chest. I look up to see Fallon, a murderous look on his face.
Oh shit.
Chapter 20
Damon
FallondragsmetoJames’s office by my ponytail, the pain searing my scalp as he pulls me along. I try to keep up with his longer strides and almost trip more than once, only able to stay on my feet because of the firm grip he has on me.
When we get there, he pushes me inside and my forward momentum has me falling on the floor. I land heavily, scraping my hands on the carpet. My glasses slide off my face and I scramble to put them back on just as Conrad’s foot lands where they used to be.
Fallon’s foot lands in the middle of my back and I drop back to the floor, holding my glasses to my face. “He was talking to somebody, Pop. I heard him telling them what we did.”
My eyes slam shut, but I don’t say anything. I’m not sure how Fallon even knew to come into my room. I thought they didn’t hear me come in. I wince when I realize I left my bedroom door open in my hurry to call Michael. Fallon probably saw it open and ventured in to see what I was up to. Or try to make me to do something for him.
I open my eyes to see James looming over me. Instead of flinching away from him like I would any other time, I meet his eyes and put as much contempt as I can into my gaze. He looks taken aback but smooths his expression and kneels down in front of me.
James tilts his head to the side and reaches out as if to touch me. Quicker than I can think, he smacks me across the face. My head snaps back and my teeth click together. Along with the pain, I gasp because James has never struck me before. He leaves that to his piece of shit sons.
They know it as well, because Conrad and Fallon both laugh raucously, talking back and forth to each other while James and I stare each other down.
“What did you hear?” he asks, face impassive.
“Everything,” I answer, no longer willing to back down from him.
“Hmm,” is all he says before standing.
“Why did you attack him? Why did you do it?” I really want to know because it makes no sense. He didn’t even start campaigning yet. There’s no reason for him to attack Brent when he didn’t even know if he would lose.
His shrug is nonchalant. “He was in my way. I want to run unopposed. If people think opponents are being knocked off because they’re running, they won’t step up.”
Or they’ll think James has something to do with it. I don’t say that bit though. “James, you don’t have to do that. What’s the point?”
