Page 841 of Filthy Elites

“A dress,” I say, batting my eyelashes. “Do you like it?”

The detective sighs and eyes Declan, who has finally gotten up and stands just behind me. Not in front of me. Not as if he has to protect me because I’ve proven I can protect myself. He’s still acting as backup.

The weight of what we’ve done finally hits me, and I blink back tears. What we did was batshit crazy. Absolutely insane.

But it had to be done. Clearly.

“It was Brooke’s idea,” Declan says. “She pretended her car was dead, that her phone was dead.”

“You thought he was targeting students from the dojo because he did one from the class,” the detective says.

“Precisely. Poor Ashley.” I shake my head. “Declan was my backup.”

“And my dad was mine,” Declan says.

“You didn’t call me because…”

“You’re so hard to get a hold of,” I say sweetly, even as I side-eye Declan. Why get his father involved and not the detective? He could’ve. Maybe he thought the detective wouldn’t go for it. At least his father trusted him enough to be willing to do it.

“How do you know we didn’t?” Declan adds.

Now I turn to look at him full on. Had he called the detective? His lips twist ever so slightly in a smirk. No, he didn’t, but he’s giving the detective some food for thought.

With a groan, the mugger blinks and stirs but doesn’t open his eyes just yet. He’s starting to come around.

“What you two did was so very dangerous,” the detective says.

“I know, and we won’t do anything like that ever again,” I assure him. “Trust me. I don’t know how you guys do it day in and day out.”

“You might be cut out for this after all,” the detective grunts, eyeing Declan. “Always thought it was just nepotism, but…”

Declan snorts. “It was more Brooke than me,” he insists.

“Then you better work on changing her mind,” the detective warns.

The mugger groans again and opens his eyes. “What…”

“You’re under arrest,” Detective Rivera says eagerly. “You won’t be able to mug anyone else ever again.”

“I don’t know what the hell ya be talking about!” the mugger shouts. “I never mugged—”

“You mugged me twice,” I say sweetly, “including just now.”

The mugger eyes me and mutters a curse.

“Yeah. Hi. How do you like being caught by a college student?” I wave to him.

“Fuck you, bitch.”

“I’m just wondering why you did it,” I continue.

The detective is seething, clearly not wanting me to talk.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” Detective Rivera says quickly.

"Deny it all you want," I say, my tone still sweet. "I'll be on the witness stand to tell the jury all of the details about the two times you mugged me. One successful, the other not. Clearly not. Tried too many times, and for what? What do you have to show for it?"

The mugger grits his teeth. “Ya and your huge wallets, your deep pocketbooks,” he hisses. “Ya have more money than you need. Ya could wipe your asses with it and not miss it! But me, I get laid off right before my wife is diagnosed with cancer, and now I can’t get a job, no insurance, and she needs treatment, or she’ll die, and I… I’m not smart enough to rob a bank. I just needed money. Is that so wrong?”

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