Page 63 of Painted Scars
She flicks a pineapple slice at me. “Blasphemy!”
Her voice curls around me like smoke, squeezing my ribcage. I should be immune by now. Fuck. What am I here for again? Business? Pleasure? Both. I stuff the pineapple in her mouth and regroup.
Better get to the damn point when the threat’s escalated. Fun and games won’t kill the Romans. It’ll kill the blood flow to my dick.
“Why are you investigating the Pluto Neptune story?” I need to know if it’s for leverage or personal reasons.
She freezes mid-chew. “How do you know about that? Been reading my notes while I was out cold?”
I offer a casual shrug, deliberately flippant. “I know things.”
“Vaguebook.” She goes back to chewing, unbothered or pretending to be. “I guess that explains how you got expensive spying tech.”
Dammit. She’s been burned too many times and won’t give me a thing unless I trade something. Vulnerability for vulnerability.
I sigh and rub my palms together to ease the need to take on Blackthorn all by myself. “The guy who drugged you is connected to Preston Blackthorn.”
Color drains from her face. Appetite gone, she relocates the plate from her lap to the bedside table.
I wrap her hand in mine, chasing away the chill that’s settled into her fingers. “Do you know why he’s targeting you, besides the blog?”
Stubborn and sharp eyes meet mine. “How about you start talking? Information’s a two-way street. What do you want?”
If she’s still tied to Mercury, I can’t risk revealing everything.
“I know Blackthorn buries reports and protects men like the one who tried to take you.” I leave it at that and wait to see what she gives me.
Rigid with dread, she picks at the comforter like she’s unraveling her nerves stitch by stitch. “He buried my sexual assault report. Got the cop investigating it demoted. Pulled strings to get me fired.” Her fingers claw into the material. “My career? Gone. Reputation smeared.”
My spine locks. It’s not just her story anymore. Blackthorn did the same to me with equal precision. I was the cop who didn’t play ball. Reported the wrong man, asked the right questions. Just like that, I became unstable, volatile, and aliability to the force. They scrubbed me out of my badge like a fucking stain.
Honestly, I can’t bring myself to share this just yet. She doesn’t need my ghost haunting her right now. Or the fury simmering beneath my ribs for both of us.
“You’re gathering stories to go public?” I push her for more.
“That’s the plan.” Her hands still, but her voice doesn’t.
I drag my palm along her thigh, slow and steady. “That’s brave, Glitter Bomb. But dangerous. He’s got reach and can monitor your phone and internet.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she snaps, her eyes igniting with lethal fury. “Sit around and let him destroy me again?”
My grip on her legs tightens. “No. Youcrushhim.”
Her jaw softens. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? I’m useful to you? We can help each other.”
Clever girl. Knows when she’s being handled and still dares me to lie. Now I don’t have to pretend to play friend anymore. I don’t know what we are anymore. Allies with benefits? Stalker with benefits? Arranged marriage and forced proximity trope?
She studies me like she’s weighing my worth. “Fuck. I was so stupid to think otherwise.”
The words knock something loose in me. I don’t want her thinking this is a one-sided game, but I can’t let this get messier than it already is.
I drag a palm down my helmet. “It’s not like that, Glitter Bomb.”
She sits taller and straighter. “What do you want?”
Time for a partial confession aimed at getting me the answers I seek. “Which side are you on, Glitter Bomb? Are you connected to the Romans?”
Pink floods her cheeks. Guilt. Anger. Embarrassment. I’m about to find out. “You know about my father. My, you do have connections.”
