Page 42 of Scarred Sins
Her parents failed her, and the jury, alongside her lawyer, failed her, too.
No one believed her when she gave the list of names or when she described in vivid, gory details how they put their hands on her. No one believed the stories behind her scars; they just brushed it off as insanity and sent her to prison.
Once I deal with Simmons, the jury and her pathetic excuse of a lawyer are next. The judge will pay the price, and as of right now, all of them have less than a year to live, but it doesn’t mean it’s too early to fuck with their heads.
“It’s not something I want to repeat, ever,’’ I say. I would never betray Blair’s trust like that, either. But Dad needs to know little details in order to fully grasp why I’ll do anything in my power to protect Blair and why her safety is my number one priority. “But I’m planning to train her. It’s her battle, too.’’
“Are you sure about it?” Dad asks, taking a drag of his cigarette. “If she kills someone, there’s no going back from it.’’
“She already killed her mother and stepfather.’’
“That’s different,’’ he explains. “It was out of necessity to stop the abuse and free herself. You’re aware that we’re going up against some of the most influential politicians in our country, and she hasn’t met half of those people. Some are girls her age that have been brainwashed into doing the dirty work. Will she be able to do it?”
“Yes,’’ I responded without missing a beat. “I’m positive.’’
He nods. “Alright. Bring her over sometime; your mother will love to flaunt her toys to anyone willing to listen.’’
“He’s here.’’
Dad doesn’t turn around to see the motherfucker. Instead, he pulls his phone out and starts looking through the cameras I’ve connected previously to his device. Mom’s on tech duty tonight, and she’s very angry that she’s not a part of the action.
I love my mother to pieces, but I get my patience genes from her.
My eyes are glued to the old man as he walks in with another three men in tow. Two are security guards, and the third one looks like he’s his business partner. Dad beats me to it and sends Mom a picture of the unknown man for identification.
Like Simmons, he’s in his mid to late forties.
Everyone radiates something awful. Not a single decent person in sight. Everyone here has blood on their hands; hell, they probably indulge in criminal activities to pass time. However, they all have solid backgrounds, generational wealth, and connections that keep their crimes and wrongdoings under the rug.
“I’ll play with him,’’ I say with a clenched jaw.
“I’ll advise against showing your cards too early,’’ Dad says in a lower tone. “Him not knowing your face is the only advantage we have as of right now.’’
“You’re right,’’ I agree with a nod. “But it’s the only way I can tell him that I’m here and that I’m coming for him. I need any contact with him I can get.’’
“Why?”
I grin. “Because he’s a coward. In a desperate attempt to get rid of any evidence, he’ll become sloppy since he needs to focus fully on his campaign, and it’s exactly what we need right now.’’
Before Dad can utter another word, I take the final sip of the damned sparkling water, fix my hair, and head over to the poker table, with a quick stop by the bar to get some whiskey.
No one plays with him as of right now. Word on the street is that he’s big on cheating and has cheated people out of a lot of money, hence no one truly wants to play with him. And his opponents couldn’t exactly say anything, given that it’s an illegal kind of gambling.
“Mind if I take a seat?”
Adams’ eyes snap to mine, glancing up. Briefly, he’s confused, since it’s rather rare for anyone to challenge him. Soon, the confusion turns into a grin of pleasure, flashing the obviously fake teeth.
“Are you even old enough to be here?”
He’s being cautious.
As I take a seat across from him, I pull out my ID from my wallet and slide it over to him. Not once do I move my eyes from him, and he looks down, then up at me, then back at the ID, until his eyes finally settle on me, his face getting pale.
He swallows uncomfortably, trying to shift in his spot.
“We’ve never officially met.’’ My tone holds just enough venom to get the message across. “I’m Arlo, Jane’s nephew.’’
“It’s a pleasure,’’ he swallows, eyes darting around us.
