Page 13 of Wreckage of Me
Fuck.
I miss her already.
5
Wrecker
I watchin fascination the screen in front of me. Becca is at the police station, talking to who she thinks is a detective investigating my case. Spoiler alert, he’s not. Not even close. I can’t even imagine what the fuck Devereaux’s connections are that he was able to pull this shit off.
“I’d like to file a complaint,” she leans back in her chair, full of attitude. The guy’s an ass, and he just told her that he expected her to look slutty.
“She’s a pistol,” Malone chuckles from next to me at the table. “You did good.” He brings his fist up for me to bump, and I do it without taking my eyes off the computer monitor.
When I see Becca crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing the asshole pretending to be part of the police force, my mouth stretches into the biggest grin. It actually hurts, that’s how far it stretches.
“I hope she kicks the fucker in the balls,” I mutter in the corner of my mouth, making Malone laugh again.
“So go get your boss,” Becca waves the fucker off like she’s done with him. Shortie, who we thought for some very weird reason that he’d make a good pretend attorney, is sitting there like a bump on a log. His eyes are going back and forth between Becca and the asshole, as he’s sitting there completely unprepared for the situation he’s found himself in.
“My boss is not available at this time,” the asshole gives her a condescending smile, pulling his notebook closer, like he’s about to write something down.
With a wide swipe of her arm that surprises even me, Becca manages to clear the table of his notebook, pen and paper cup full of coffee.
“This is not a joke.” My smile dies at the way her voice is shaking when she says that. “I’m here to give my statement and help Dylan, not for you to talk to me like I don’t matter.” Now she sounds like she’s close to tears, and I feel like the worst person on the planet.
My life’s become this crazy catch twenty-two. No matter what decision I make, someone will get hurt. My main goal right now is to get Ethan safely to my brother. The wheels are in motion as far as that goes.
What am I going to do about Becca? She needs to get the hell out of town, for her own safety. Also, as a side note, I can’t watch the despair on her face anymore. It’s obvious that she cares, and that she wants to help me.
I bring a hand up and slam the laptop shut. Malone doesn’t react in any other way than by raising an eyebrow at me in question.
“I need to talk to Devereaux. I got an idea.”
It takes the fucker twenty long minutes to come back from wherever the hell he’d gone to when I started watching Becca’s interview at the police station. How in the hell he’s got cameras there is a mystery to me.
“Mr. Knight,” Devereaux interrupts my pacing when he walks in, looking fresh as can be, dark hair slicked back, pristine suit without one wrinkle in it despite all the hours we’ve been spending in this godforsaken place.
“How far are we from the police station?” I ask because I have no fuckin’ clue where we are. I am not very familiar with Dallas, just know some parts of it well, but I couldn’t see where they brought me while in the dark van.
“About…” he makes a show of bringing his wrist up to look at the expensive watch he has on. “Two and a half minutes.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” I throw my head back and look at the high ceiling. “Are we in their back yard?”
“Pretty much,” Devereaux shrugs and gives me the first sincere grin since we’ve met. It changes his face almost completely. He looks approachable all of a sudden. And familiar somehow... “What do you need?”
“Becca,” I point to the now closed laptop. “We need her to be able to see me. I need to tell her in person to go back home.”
“You think that’d help?” Devereaux doesn’t look convinced.
“I’d bet money on it.”
I say it and I mean it. I will need to channel my inner asshole and get this girl to go the fuck home. That way I won’t have to worry about it anymore. And since she’s friends with Devereaux’s daughter, I know she’ll be safe back in Montana. He wouldn’t let anyone harm his daughter through her friend, I’m sure of it.
“Alright,” Devereaux nods thoughtfully. “There’s just one thing.”
“What’s that?”
That’s the last thing I remember asking before I get sucker punched by Malone. I swear I blacked out for a second. The room is spinning with me as I lie on the concrete floor staring at the industrial pipes plumbed to the high ceiling.
