Page 60 of Dirty As Puck
I pace around my living room, my arms wrapped tight around myself like that’ll hold me together. My instincts scream to call Kai, to blurt everything out and let him carry this weight with me. He deserves the truth. He deserves to know who’s cutting him open piece by piece.
But then I picture his face from this morning, his hollow eyes, the way he looked like he was one bad hit away from shattering.
If I drop this bomb without proof that Derek is more than just a screw-up with a gambling problem, I could destroy him.
What if I’m wrong? What if the name, the records, the trail of sleazy connections are just really a coincidence? What if Derek is family but not the blackmailer? I’ve seen what false leads can do to a career, to a reputation. To a man already hanging on by a thread.
No. I can’t risk being the bearer of false news.
I sink onto the couch, pressing my laptop to my knees like it’s both a weapon and a curse. Telling Kai now would unravel him, yet holding back feels like betrayal. Either way, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.
The journalist in me whispers verify, verify, verify. The woman in me who’s felt Kai’s hands steadying her, and who’s seen the flash of fear in his eyes wants to protect him, even if it means carrying this alone for now.
I inhale slowly, steadying myself. The only path forward is clear, even if it’s the harder one. I’ll keep digging discreetly and thoroughly, until I have enough to confront Derek and end this without ripping Kai apart in the process.
My pulse calms just enough to let the decision settle like a stone in my chest. Protect him first, then prove later.
And I’ll do it alone.
22
I’m still in the driver’s seat long after the garage has emptied, my headlights reflecting on the concrete like blades. My hands are locked on the wheel, but I’m not driving anywhere. I can’t. Not with his voice still ringing in my ears.
Brother.
The word feels foreign, like it belongs to someone else’s story. I don’t have any brothers. I don’t have a family. Foster homes, couch surfing, and a string of social workers who rotated in and out, that’s my history. And now Derek shows up with proof in his pocket and a poisonous smile, calling himself my blood.
The ultimatum circles in my head like a relentless chant––pay two million dollars or everything I’ve tried to bury gets dragged into the light.
My mother’s death. The charity work I’ve always kept quiet, because if people saw the kids at the hospital as just “PR,” it would ruin them. And worst of all, he has eyes on Rochelle.
He said her name without saying it.That pretty journalist girlfriend of yours, I’ve got my eyes on her.The implication was enough to twist my stomach. Derek’s been watching her. Following her. The thought makes bile rise in my throat.
I want to punch the dashboard, scream at something. Instead, I sit frozen, because underneath the rage I feel is fear. Not just of losing my career, or my reputation. But I’m scared of dragging Rochelle down with me.
She didn’t sign up for this nightmare. She deserves better than to be a collateral in some brother’s sick game.
My chest tightens as I think of her face if she ever found out. The way her eyes would widen, that sharp mind of hers connecting the dots, her trust in me dissolving. I’ve spent years building walls to keep the world out, and she’s the first person who’s slipped through the cracks. I can’t let Derek use her as bait.
I run a hand over my face, breath ragged, as the steering wheel slick beneath my palms. Every option feels like a trap. Pay him and I’m bled dry. Refuse and he destroys my life. Fight back… and I don’t even know where to start.
But I can’t tell Rochelle about this. Not yet. Not until I figure out how to protect her.
I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles white. My brother wants to break me.
He won’t.
The apartment is dark except for the light from my phone screen. I should be asleep, resting for morning practice, but my body won’t let me. Every time I shut my eyes, I hear Derek’s voice again, smooth, cold, dripping with audacity.
The phone vibrates and my stomach knots before I even look.
A photo fills the screen. Me at the children’s hospital last week, crouched beside a kid in a wheelchair, both of us smiling. The timestamp matches perfectly.
Another vibration.
Unknown:It would be a shame if the world thought you only did this for headlines.
My chest tightens. That place is sacred. Those kids deserve better than to be dragged into his blackmail game.
