Page 78 of Hart of Darkness
25
Maggie
The muted noises of the newsroom played in the background while I typed away. Almost a week had gone by since the night Dillon and I had paid Duke a visit. That night had shaken the cobwebs loose for me.
I decided that the revenge I’d been so hung up on wasn’t burning inside me as much. I did want Cory to pay for what he’d done to me. But I wanted him along with Miguel and any others to suffer more for what they were doing to other girls out there.
But Cory and the Black Knights weren’t the subject of the words that were flying from my fingers. I was a crime reporter. I reported on the ugliness of the streets and people and all the twisted things that happened outside the newsroom, outside of my little bubble.
However, I couldn’t get over the exchange between Duke and Dillon. Two brothers who loved each other yet hated one another was the great dichotomy between blood and family.
My heart had broken as they’d punched and yelled and spit venom at each other. Under all that, I’d seen the love in Dillon’s eyes for Duke. I’d seen the regret in Duke’s eyes for keeping such a huge secret from Dillon. More than that, as crazy as it might sound, their exchange had made me want to talk to my mom. I hadn’t opened the envelope. But I would when I put the ending on my story. I’d been glued to my desk for the last week, furiously trying to get the bundle of sentences, thoughts, and words down.
I definitely wouldn’t print the story without consulting Dillon, nor would I add Duke or Dillon’s name to the story. I wasn’t sure if Bruce would print any of what I was writing anyway since it had nothing to do with crime, although in a roundabout way, it did. Crime had taken hold of Duke. The streets had sucked up Grace. Nadine’s life had been taken. And I believed that my parents had committed the biggest crime of all by leaving me at a firehouse.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
My cell rang, halting my fingers over the keyboard.
My body did a little dance. “Hey, Dillon.”
“Are you at work?” he asked, his voice raspy and dampening all the right spots.
We hadn’t seen each other since Duke’s, but we had traded a few texts of the normal “how are you doing” or “what are you up to” variety. I’d thought about stopping by his house or the shelter, but after the encounter at Duke’s, I believed he needed space. I was tied to my desk anyway.
“I am. I’m typing away. How about you? Have you talked to Duke since that night at his penthouse?” My fingers were crossed that they had worked out their differences and more importantly, that Grace had shown up.
“No. And he hasn’t called. His deadline is in two days.”
I prayed that Duke would come through for Dillon’s sake. “Are you really going to rat him out if he doesn’t call you if Grace shows up?” I couldn’t see Dillon sending his brother to jail. That type of behavior wasn’t in him as far as I could see.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said with no animosity in his voice.
I was so absorbed in talking to Dillon that I didn’t hear Bruce until he waved a hand in front of me. Then he perched himself on the edge of my cubicle, waiting.
“I have to go.” Normally, Bruce wouldn’t interrupt me unless it was important. “Can I call you later?”Please say yes.
“Of course. Talk soon.”
As soon as I hung up, Bruce asked, “Did you finally prove that Calderon is a soldier for the Black Knights?”
I swiveled my chair. “Not yet. I will, though.” My gut gave me a little punch, and my pulse amped up at the thought that Calderon would suffer for his sins. In between writing, I’d been researching who owned that house on Bleven and Third.
Bruce glanced at my screen.
I franticly closed the Word document. I wasn’t ready for him to read anything.
He folded his arms over his royal-blue polo shirt. The color brought out his gray eyes more. “Care to tell me what you’re working on, then?”
“What if I told you that I have something that would sell more papers on Sunday than we’ve sold in the last four months?”
He deadpanned, not giving me a read on his thoughts like he usually did when I bragged about a topic. “I’m listening.”
I interlocked my fingers to keep any nerves from showing. “Crime is a knife, sharp, jagged, and bloody, immoral in its actions, tearing families apart.” I had the first line memorized and had rewritten it several times.
“Go on,” Bruce said.
I swallowed the rock in my throat. I shouldn’t be timid about sharing. I’d done it so many times in a roundtable discussion when Bruce and all the reporters brainstormed on story ideas. But I was about to get personal, not only about myself, but about two brothers who had shown me that the atrocity in the world was the hatred that took root inside a family. That hatred festered and bled and leaked with poison. And despite the animosity and mountain of problems that had driven a wedge between them, love for each other and their sister still existed. Sure, I’d seen fights and hate in the foster families I’d stayed with, but I’d never seen love in the mix like I had with Dillon and Duke.
