Page 23 of Velvet Betrayal
Her head snapped around so fast I thought she’d break her neck. “You’re not taking me to Tristan Callahan.”
“I have to,” I said, and it sounded like a cop-out, so I followed with the ugly truth: “He can make this go away. All of it. He can keep you both safe.”
She laughed, wild and sharp. “No one is safe with Tristan. Not even you.”
“Family is,” I said, glancing at Rosie in the mirror. She was busy drawing smiley faces in the condensation. “You’re family.”
“I’m the DA. Tristan Callahan runs half the docks, two strip clubs, and enough black-market muscle to start a war.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know. I work for him.”
“Doing what?” she demanded.
“Well, naturally I’m the muscle,” I said. “You and I both know I’m not the brains.”
“Be serious, Kieran.”
I shrugged. “You asked how I could afford my brownstone. This is how.”
I kept my eyes on the road, not wanting to see her recalibrate everything she thought she knew about me. “I know you hate it, but Tristan will take one look at Rosie and no one on the Eastern seaboard will ever so much as breathe weird in her direction again.”
“You think—” She started to yell, caught herself, and dropped to a whisper. Rosie was already dozing, cheek pressed to the glass, pink from the cold. “You think all you have to do is show up with the world’s cutest kid and he’ll just turn off every contract on me?”
“Yes.”
“And then what?” Her eyes were razor-thin, sharp. “We owe him?”
“No.Weleave.Iowe him.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
I shrugged. “It’s all I’ve got.”
We didn’t talk for the first stretch. The plow hadn’t hit this road since the storm, so the car fishtailed, tires gambling on every curve. We drove the Pike at forty, then fifty-five, and in the hush, Ruby finally slumped against the headrest, hand to her forehead like she needed armor from my driving.
I knew, under the exhaustion and shock, she was running a tally: all the ways I could screw her over, all the ways she might still get away. It didn’t matter. This was my last card. If it failed, I’d lose both of them, or worse.
We stopped twice—once for gas outside Springfield, once for a bathroom at a place so camera-proof it was basically a feature. Ruby kept her hood up, sunglasses on, like a celebrity in hiding.Rosie, in neon boots, charmed the clerk into handing over Oreos and apple juice. If anyone filed a report, the kid’s face would wipe it clean.
Back on the road, Ruby kept scanning the rearview, hunting for tails. The darkness thickened, the road iced over, and I drove straight for Boston, hands numb on the wheel.
She waited until we hit the toll road to break the silence. “Are you planning to meet him at the club, or…?”
“I can do the club or his house. Dealer’s choice.”
“You’re not actually giving me a choice.”
“Rosie needs sleep. We’ll hit a hotel, meet Tristan in the morning…but it needs to be his house or his club. I know we’re safe thereSo what do you want?”
“I want you to drop us off at home.”
“Home?” I shot her a look in the mirror, lowering my voice. “You mean the place where Mickey Russell almost killed you and where I saw some asshole lurking around the other night?”
She mulled it over, chewing her cheek, eyes locked on the night. “His house,” she said finally. “If he wants to play at family, let’s go all in.”
There was bitterness, but also a tired kind of acceptance. I nodded. “Alright. His house it is.”
“For the record, I hate this,” Ruby said.
