Page 43 of Heart Stopping
"It wasn't only you, love," I told her. "I was well aware whoever you asked to help would get caught up in it. We all understood that." I decided not to bring Archer's name into it yet. Cass had no idea a third person was involved. It would be better to keep it that way for now.
"Yes, but it was me who brought him into it," Harlow said. "I'm sorry, Cass I?—"
"I want to help," Cass said. He shook his head slowly, the front of his hair falling over his face before he pushed it back. "However all of this went down, it went down. What I saw, I can't unsee, but I can do something about it. Right?" He looked from Harlow to me and back again.
"You don't know what you're asking," she said.
"Yes, he does." I eyed him carefully. "He knows exactly what he's asking, but what I don't know is why. Why do you want to help?"
"Why do you?" Cass shot back at me.
Knowing he could just as easily end up being cubed, slid onto a skewer and barbecued, I told him my story in as few words as I could. Then glanced at Harlow before telling him about her sister.
"You've seen mine, show me yours," I said. "You or someone close to you?" Yeah, that was direct, but I'd been the same with him. If he was going to join our little crusade, then he was going to have to give us something.
"My younger brother," Cass said slowly, like he'd prefer to have his teeth pulled one by one. "He took his own life because of it." He didn't go into detail and I didn't ask.
Harlow slid off the desk and knelt in front of him, her hands on his knees. "I'm so sorry. If I'd had any idea, I never would have asked you to get involved."
I squinted at Cass. "You didn't have to," I said. "You only had to give him Granger Fairfield's name. He already knew."
Cass swallowed. "I had my suspicions. He was friends with Fairfield's son. He had a sleepover there one night. When he came back…" He pressed his eyes shut. "He was different. He refused to talk about it. He shut down. A few weeks later he…" His voice broke on the last couple of words.
"Fuck," Harlow whispered. "I'm so sorry. How old was he?"
"He was seventeen," Cass said, dropping his eyes.
"You never spoke to the cops about it?" I asked.
Cass didn't respond at first. He kept his head down for a minute or two. Finally, he looked up and over at me.
"And tell them what? I had no proof. Now we have proof. But you're right. They won't touch him. He's too powerful." He looked back at Harlow. "Is this what you do? You hunt down people like him and you…what? Kill them?" His voice was higher on the last couple of words.
"Yes," she said. "We make sure they can't do it to anyone else."
"You've never been caught." It wasn't a question. Obviously she hadn't or she wouldn't be here right now.
She smiled slightly. "I'm good at…covering my tracks."
"So am I," I said. I leaned back against the door and crossed my arms like the cocky fuck I was.
"This is insane," Cass said to himself.
"The necessity is insane," I agreed. "No one should be so powerful they get away with anything and everything. The law can't do anything about it, but we can and we do. In a perfect world, we wouldn't need to."
"In a perfect world, people like Granger Fairfield wouldn't exist," Harlow said darkly. "Fucked up monsters. But they do, and I refuse to let them continue. He murdered my sister and I can't forgive that. I won't let him keep doing it. I can't."
"He'll get a nasty, painful, preferably slow death," I assured her, trying to contain how turned on I was by her passion.
"What was your brother's name?" I was a big believer in knowing all the names, so they wouldn't be forgotten. It was my way of honoring the people we'd lost.
Admittedly, in this case, I wanted to observe Cass's sincerity. Call it risk assessment if you like. If I was going to turn my back on him, I wanted to know I wouldn't find a knife in it.
That kind of information was somewhat important.
"Augustus," Cass said. "My parents had a thing for ancient Rome. My older brother's name is Julius.” He made a face and then added, "He goes by Jules."
"Thank fuck they didn't name any of you Nero," I said. "Or Caligula. Screwy in the head, both of them." I made a screwing motion in the air with my finger. As in, driving one into a piece of wood with a screwdriver, not the fucking kind of screwing.
