Page 50 of Don't Hate Me
“Word on the street is you skimmed twenty million dollars from Landen’s hedge fund. Needless to say, his investors are not happy.”
“Don’t waste my time, Evan. Why are you here?” I asked him.
He tugged on the shirt cuffs under his suit coat. No casual jeans for this guy when visiting someone in jail. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, I’m engaged to Ashleigh Landen. She’s going to be my wife.”
“Not anymore,” I told him, smugly. Because, at the very least, that had happened. I’d married her. She was my wife, and there was some safety from him in that.
I was going to find someone who believed my story and get out of this nightmare, then we would go on with our fucking lives. That was going to happen. I had to believe that was going to happen or I would go insane.
“Yes, I understand there was a wedding while you two were off in Vegas. You’re going to tell me where you two got married, and I’m going to make the whole thing disappear.”
“Doesn’t matter where we were married. The license would have already been filed with the county clerk’s office.”
“Not necessarily.” Evan smiled. “They have up to ten days to file, and you were married less than a week ago. I’ve got people in Vegas now who can intercept that transfer, and, voila, it never happened.”
Who the fuck saidvoila?
“I have a copy of the license,” I said. It was true. I’d packed it in my suitcase I’d checked for our flight back. Best guess, it was now sitting in the unclaimed luggage section of American Airlines. Had Ash thought to pick up our bags? She’d been so distraught when it all went down, that was unlikely.
“Your copy means nothing. And I’m told most chapels do wait the ten days to send over the signed licenses just to make sure the couple doesn’t return with regrets. So, you’re going to tell me where you were married. Obviously, I’ll also need to check for any video that might have been taken.”
I leaned forward, the hard metal chair scraping on the floor as I pressed myself as close as I could to the glass.
“What makes you think I would tell you anything? You’ve lost, Evan. Find another beard wife you can control. Shouldn’t be too hard for a guy like you. There are plenty of women out there who will like your money well enough.”
“Yes,” he said, also getting up close to the glass, so we were only inches apart. “But this one comes with a known medical condition. So easy to arrange for her passing, should that become necessary.”
I sucked in my breath. This guy wasn’t just slick, or sinister. This guy was a psychopath.
He smiled, and, for the first time, I could feel real fear bubble up inside me. Fear for Ash. Fear for myself.
“Tell me where you two were married, or I’ll hurt her,” he said. Quietly, calmly, so as not to raise an alarm with the guards who watched over the visitor room. “It’s that simple. I’ll start by breaking every finger on her right hand, and, if that isn’t enough to convince you, I’ll cut one off and bring it in here to show you.”
My hands clenched into fists. “I swear to God, if you touch a hair on her head, I will end you.”
He gave me a quizzical expression. “How? You’re in jail. You have no power in this. You’re going to tell me where you were married, I’m going to pull the license, and I’m going to marry Ashleigh Landen as planned. Meanwhile, you’re going to go to jail for years and years. No doubt you’ll begin to resent that she brought you to this end, then start to hate her. By the time they let you out, you’ll be so happy to have what’s left of your life back, you’ll never think about her again.”
A sense of helplessness overwhelmed me. But I was on the prisoner side of the glass. If I shouted or yelled or made any kind of scene, it would be used against me. I needed to remain clearheaded and control my anger.
Because I was dealing with a fucking monster.
He made a scissor motion with his fingers. “Tell me, or snip-snip.”
“Hearts of Love Chapel. On the Strip,” I offered. “This isn’t over, Sanderson. I’m not dumb. I will figure this shit out, and when I do, I’m coming for you.”
He frowned, and, again, it was an exaggerated expression. Like everything about him was a carefully constructed act.
“Maybe you’re not dumb, but you’re naïve as fuck. Needless to say, I’ll enjoy banging the shit out of your formerwife.”
I took the hit and swallowed it. Then I watched him stand and casually walk away. A polite nod to the guard at the door.
“Campbell,” the guard on the other side of the glass called. “Let’s go. Back to your cell.”
Numb, I stood, and did as required. No emotion. No anger. No anything. I was going to have to swallow all of it to get through this. Because in that moment, I vowed to myself that I was going to make it happen.
I was going to end Evan Sanderson, one way or another.
