Bow Down(148)
“Hey there, Cassidy,” I said, trying to mask my horror and shock.
She stared at me, clearly just as surprised as I was. I grinned, trying to play it cool, but inwardly I was fucked up.
It was really her, the girl I couldn’t keep my mind off of. I had known she was probably bad news, but a fucking journalist? I never would have guessed she’d be so fucking stupid as to go to that bar alone as a fucking journalist.
“Going to let me in, Cassidy, or are we doing this the hard way?” I asked.
She continued to stare at me before softly shutting the door. I heard the chain rattle, and then the door opened up again. She stepped aside, letting me into her apartment.
I stepped in, my heart hammering in my chest.
What the fuck was I going to do?
This whole situation had been fucked before, but now it had just reached a whole new level.
7
Cassidy
“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
He walked into my apartment like he owned the place, and I shut the door behind him. He looked around, not answering me right away. I crossed my arms, my nerves on fire. I felt like I should do something, maybe run out the front door screaming my head off, or maybe call the police. I knew this was bad if he knew my real name, but I had no clue how bad.
Maybe that was all he knew. Maybe he didn’t know I was involved with the human trafficking story. Maybe he had just figured out my real identity and was unhappy about it.
But he had mentioned “the hard way.”
He finally looked at me. “Why did you lie to me about your name?”
“I was afraid,” I said honestly.
“You should be afraid.” He sighed and sat down at my kitchen table. “Got a drink?”
I blinked, surprised. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“Whisky if you got it.”
I went into the kitchen and found an old bottle in the back of the cabinet. I grabbed two glasses, brought it all over to the table, and poured two drinks. He took his, smashed it back, and then poured himself another. I sipped mine, grateful and hoping that it would help calm my nerves a bit.
Finally, I sat down and he just stared at me.
“You’re a journalist,” he said finally.
“Freelance.”
“For who?”
“The Chicago Daily.”
“Shit paper.”
“Yeah. Pays the bills.”
“What were you doing in that bar that night?”
“Research,” I admitted.
“For what kind of story?”
“About the mob.”
He nodded, his face cool and impassive. I couldn’t read him one bit.
“What do you want to know about the mob, Jessica?” He paused and smiled. “Sorry. I mean Cassidy.”
“I don’t know. Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me. You wanted to find something out. Go ahead, ask me.”
“What do you know about human trafficking?” I blurted out.
His face broke for just an instant. He looked almost pained, like I had said the exact wrong thing in that moment. He quickly gathered himself together, though, and that moment passed.
He shook his head. “I don’t know much.”
“But your organization does it.”
“We do.”
“Why? Isn’t it wrong, even for you?”
“Yes,” he agreed, “it is. There’s a split in the mob. We’re not all interested in trafficking.”
“So why do it?”
“Because it brings money. And we’re not about to tear ourselves apart from the inside over it.”
“Why are you here?” I asked him.
He took a drink and sighed. For a second, I had the totally irrational desire to stand up and walk around the table. I wanted to sit in his lap and forget all of this, go back to being Jessica, go back to that moment in the alley. It had been a perfect moment, and I’d been thinking about it so much since then. We nearly got it back once, but now it looked like it was totally gone.
“Do you know a woman named Dasha?”
My heart nearly stopped.
I leaned back in my chair and then drank my whisky down. It burned my throat and nearly turned my stomach, but I took a deep breath and steadied myself.
“I do,” I said.
“Fuck.” He stared at me. “Dasha is currently in a warehouse on the edge of town, getting tortured for everything she knows. So far, she gave up your name.”
“Why?” I asked. “What?”
“We wanted to know how she knew about that whorehouse. She said a journalist named Cassidy told her. That’s you.”
I felt like my whole world was spiraling down around me.
I was in way over my head. I always had been, but now I knew it. Sitting across from this gangster, I realized that I didn’t really know him. This whole time he was just a stranger and all I’d wanted was to taste him. That was all it was between us.