Page 56 of Wreckage of My Life
“Wrecker,” I exclaim in annoyance. “I already told you.”
“You didn’t tell me you fornicated with a criminal before when you came to Texas, so how would I know?”
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Not to mention the fact that she alsofornicatedwith a criminal if what she said earlier is true.
“Who the hell says things likefornicate?” I look at her incredulously. “And since when are you this judgmental?” I am taken aback by the new side of her that I never witnessed before.
“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes fill with unshed tears, and I notice her hands shaking. “I’m a little scared. Who are these guys? I can’t believe this is who my father hired to drive us around while here.”
I feel kind of standoffish toward her all of a sudden. I was excited for us to go on this girl trip, thought it’d do my head good. Now she’s looking at me like I am the worst person on the planet for having spent the night with a man who is being accused of something there’s no way he would’ve had time to do. But she is judging me for it, I can feel it.
I sigh and grab my bag off the floor. “Let’s go see if we can find these guys. I need to figure out who I should speak with about this mess.”
Emily follows me without a word. I am not in the mood for small talk anyway, so I don’t acknowledge her on our trip in the elevator which takes us to the large lobby of the hotel her father put us in.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers just as I spot the two guys who greeted us at the airport.
“Blake,” I call out toward the broody one. “Hey,” I wave an arm out when he doesn’t look at me right away. I don’t care that he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. I march right up to him and get into his face as much as I can, given the height difference.
“What can I do for you, Becca?” He sounds polite to the extreme.
“I heard what happened to Dylan.” I am almost out of breath from my light jog across the lobby to get to him. “He was with me all night long. There is no way he did what they say he did.”
Blake’s dark brown, almost black, eyes assess me coldly, not giving anything away.
“And what is it that you think he did?” he finally says when he realizes that I won’t be going away quietly.
“I understand that he’s being accused of having tried to kill someone?” I glance to Emily real quick, and she nods in confirmation.
“Where did you hear that?” I didn’t think his voice could grow colder or that his face could look more impassive, but he just proved me wrong.
“From me,” Emily jumps into the conversation. She almost cowers back when he fixates his gaze on her. “I told her. I heard the detectives talking about it out in the parking lot.” She’s wringing her hands in distress, chewing on her bottom lip, glancing from him to me and back.
“He doesn’t need your help,” he finally tells me. My eyebrows go up in surprise. I don’t understand what’s happening.
“So, they let him go then?”
“No. And they won’t for a while.” He widens his stance and crosses his arms over his massive chest, the move making him look even more intimidating than before.
“I can help him, Blake,” I reach out and touch his arm without meaning to. I drop it like it’s on fire when his eyes move to my fingers, one eyebrow raised in question.
“How would you help him?” And now he sounds condescending.
“What do you mean how?” I’m getting irritated and I’m running out of patience. “I’m his alibi for last night.”
“Look, Miss,” he finally sighs, and looks a bit more human. “Wrecker’s got enough to deal with right now. He doesn’t need to worry about what the fuck you think you can do for him. Just forget he exists and go back home. Montana, is it?”
“I, uh, what?” I can’t form coherent thoughts. Is this guy crazy? Maybe the steroids he’s on have killed all the brain cells in his head.
“The person you think you want to help doesn’t exist,” he smirks down at me. “Go home.” With that, he turns around and walks away like I just became invisible.
“What the hell was that?” Emily’s shocked voice only confirms that the dude really was a douchebag.
“Hell if I know. I got an idea though.” I re-arrange my bag over my shoulder, then pull my phone out of my back pocket to start doing some Google detective work.
“What are we going to do? You do have to tell the police, right?” She grabs my arm to turn me around. “I mean, it’s the law. I think. I don’t know. Is it mandatory to do it?”
I can’t believe she’s asking me this.
