Page 56 of Nitro

“I don’t think I’d be good at it,” he says softly.

“You can’t know that until you have them. Why would you even say something like that?”

“Look at all the shit that happened to me when I was a kid. How the hell am I supposed to raise a child when I wasn’t ever one myself? I grew up fast, Holly. I didn’t play with toys or have friends the way regular kids did. My toys were whips and handcuffs and nipple clamps. That’s what I had to play with. Is that what you want? A deviant freak of a husband who will fuck up your children’s lives?”

“Stop yelling!” I’m so shocked by his outburst that I almost miss the rumble of an approaching car. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Right.” He turns toward the road, but not before I see the muscle in his jaw twitching. He doesn’t actually believe what he said, does he? That’s just crazy. Sure, he went through hell, but that doesn’t have anything to do with his ability to raise kids. If anything, it might make him a better father because he’ll know whatnotto do.

A sleek, black SUV pulls to a stop next to the bike. We walk back across the bridge to greet Walter Reynolds. He looks shorter than he does on TV. His typically dark brown hair is almost completely gray. They must apply a temporary dye to it before his broadcasts. His sallow skin doesn’t have the healthytanned glow it usually does. The makeup team must cake on foundation before he goes live. Exhaustion shows on his face, and for once, he looks every bit of his sixty-eight years.

“Eric?” He extends a hand to Nitro.

“Yes, sir.” Nitro shakes his hand before turning to me. “This is my wife, Holly.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

I’m glad we decided to use my real first name. I don’t think I can remember another one right now because I’m nervous. This has to go well. So many children’s lives depend on it. This video could start an investigation. It could bring down an entire ring of pedophiles. I’m sure Blackstone isn’t the mastermind behind it. He has too much other shit going on to take the time to manage that too. He probably outsources it to other repulsive perverts. Thinking about how his operation might work disgusts me.

“When I got your email, I deleted it.”

“I know,” Nitro says. He and Matrix went over every communication in detail so Nitro wouldn’t make a mistake when talking to Reynolds.

“And then I got your text on my unlisted number. How did you get that?”

“A friend of a friend.” Nitro shrugs.

“You have some interesting connections.” Reynolds is assessing him, studying him the way an anthropologist might study a primitive tribe. He’s probably trying to figure out whether Nitro’s lying or telling the truth.

“I brought a laptop so we could watch the video.” Nitro opens his backpack and pulls the computer out. He sets it on the hood of Reynolds’ SUV. The reporter doesn’t seem to mind. He’s far too interested in what’s on the screen. It’s a still image of Blackstone. I hold my breath as he hits the button to make it play.

The recording shows Blackstone and Senator McNash sharing brandy in front of a crackling fire. A brightly lit Christmas tree frames one side of a stone fireplace, while a snowy window frames the other. According to the time and date stamp, this meeting happened last December, only a few days before Christmas. Somehow the fact that it happened so close to that holiday makes it even more nauseating.

Blackstone’s voice comes through crystal clear. “When I got your call that you wanted two boys and one girl, I wondered if your tastes had changed since the last time you were here.”

“Well, that little Indian boy made me rethink my affinity for young girls. Is he still around?” McNash leans forward in his wingback chair, bringing his face fully into the light. There’s no doubt it’s the senator.

“Tragically, he moved on to another place.” Blackstone lifts his snifter of brandy and swirls it. He takes a sniff. “This comes from a rare bottle of 1865 Cognac. I won’t name-drop, but there are only two bottles left in the world. I have both, of course.” His oily laugh echoes against the dark, wood-paneled walls.

“As always, I appreciate your hospitality. But back to the boys, do you have a catalog to choose from?”

“I have binders full of boys. Girls, too, for variety’s sake. Shall I bring them in?”

“Yes. Please.”

I shudder at the lust oozing through his voice. My stomach lurches, and I’m glad we decided to wait until after this meeting to have dinner. I don’t think I could handle listening to this without vomiting. These men disgust me.

Blackstone presses a button on the end table beside his chair. An intercom crackles to life. “Katrina, please bring the binders.”

“Right away, sir,” a young woman says.

Blackstone presses the button again, presumably to turn off the intercom.

“Did you know she used to be one of my girls?” Blackstone says.

“That little Russian peach? I believe I used her several years ago. She’s too old for my tastes now.”

“The minute they turn fourteen, they’re done here. Used up. Time to turn them over to the cartels. They’re very good at recycling trash.”

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