Page 55 of Tainted Truth

Sarcasm and vexation leak from my every pore. “Oh, goodie. Please do.”

“Dustin Cox wore a wire?—”

“You mean Police Officer Dustin Cox? Was he undercover?”

Rio interjects into the conversation. “Well . . . it wasn’t exactly voluntary.”

“What do you mean?” My lips purse.

“They’re talking about coercion, Princess.” Asher rests his hands on his hips.

I look down at Rio, still sitting in his chair. “Why would you force him to wear a wire? Is he okay?”

“If you consider a bullet in his brain okay, then yes.Está bien.”He’s good.

My hands fly to my mouth, and I gasp. “You killed him?”

Zane shakes his head. “No, not us. Anthony. We made him wear a wire and go to a strip club to talk to people to get information on Anthony.”

My head spins, trying to make sense of it all. “Y’all are talking in circles.”

Zane grabs me by the shoulders and turns me to face. “Dustin wasn’t a good man. We found out what he did and used that against him. We made him wear the wire, dropped him off at the club, and listened in on the conversation. Anthony wasn’t happy and killed him. That’s all.”

My head feels like it’s stuck in a vise. “This is too much. I’m done here. Let’s go.” I turn to leave, but Asher grabs my arm before I can make it to the door.

“We’re not even close to being done here. You still haven’t fulfilled your end of the deal.”

“Are you shitting me? What other information could I possibly give you?”

Asher leads me back to my chair and takes up his on the other side. “If you’re going to be childish about this, fine.” He flips open the file and begins pulling out photos, each just as horrid as the next. He lays out six photos depicting dead women lying on the ground.

The blood drains from my face as my eyes scan the pictures with numbed horror. “They . . . They’re all . . .”

“Dead.” Asher’s voice is empty.

“Wearing my dress.”

Zane rests two hands on the table, Asher stares in a catatonic stupor, and Rio’s face turns stricken. The pin-drop silence bounces off the walls as everyone stares at me. I’m even sure whoever is watching on the other side of the glass is staring.

All my men recover at the same time.

“What?”

“What the hell, Angel?”

“Are you sure?”

My stomach hardens into a tight ball, and I’m pretty sure I stop breathing. “That’s my dress. My mom helped me pick it out after Anthony proposed. And they’re all holding . . .”

“Purple hyacinths.”

Asher gives me a sympathetic look. I knew Anthony was always looking for me—his text messages indicated as much—but I didn’t think he’d go this far.

I lick my dry lips. “Are all of them from New York?”

Asher points to each photo in order. “Austin, Texas. Evergreen Falls, Idaho. Willow Creek, Wyoming. Brooklyn, New York. Los Angeles, California. Oakland, California.” He reaches back into the file and pulls out another photo. This woman is unrecognizable. Her face is beaten and bloody, and the hyacinths are cut up and scattered around her body. “Harlem.”

Delicately grabbing the photo, I examine it closely. “Anthony used to buy me hyacinths after we got into an argument, or after he’d hurt me. It was always little things. When I pushed the wedding date back the first time, he grabbed my arms so hard that I had bruises for over a week. I never thought of myself as an abused woman—he never punched or slapped me, so I thought it didn’t count, and I was too ashamed to show my mom.”

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