Delilah and Quinn.
Sometimes on their own. Other times with multiple partners.
Fast-forward to two days ago. Breaking news. Maxwell and Delilah’s ashen faces when the footage is projected onto a large screen at a gala they’re attending. Friends being interviewed. The mayor giving his opinion on the scandal. The footage shown again.
The police leading Maxwell away in handcuffs. Then Delilah in handcuffs.
Different footage of Quinn. He’s also with the police, but there are no handcuffs. Cameras are shoved in his face. The look in his eyes…soulless.
Then Q, masked. Q, unmasked. Q with other women.
Q with me. I have my blindfold on for all of the footage, unlike the other women.
I now understand the need for the blindfold, but that brings zero relief.
A sound bubbles up from my throat. My vision blurs with raw tears and burning humiliation. The footage rolls forward and ends with the caption: The Life & Times Of The Notorious, Murdering Blackwoods.
Earl smirks as he retrieves the laptop.
I feel dead inside.
“Your man is quite the internet sensation, just like you.” Clayton shakes his head. “What a family. All that money. Not a single sane brain cell between them.”
“He did it for his mother.” That much is glaringly obvious.
But why the fuck am I defending him?
“He’s a sick freak. The only reason he isn’t locked away yet is because of all those Blackwood billions. But I see he got his claws into you.” His eyes gleam with malice, then turn contemplative. “What did you make out of this shindig? And don’t say nothing. I taught you better than that. I also heard when you said you had money.”
I use the only bargaining chip I have. “Eight hundred thousand dollars. It’s yours if you let me go and promise never to go after Petra.”
Earl snorts. “She’s lying.”
Clayton eyes me. “What’s to stop me from taking the money and going after her anyway?”
I force myself to remain calm. “I’ll give you half of it now. Then a hundred thousand every nine months for the next thirty-six months.”
He smiles. “You’re a clever little thing, aren’t you? You think I won’t go after her once she turns eighteen?”
“Think about it. You make half a million from all the girls combined in a year—yes, I’ve seen the books. I’m offering you eight hundred thousand for one girl.”
“What about you burning down my family home? You expect me to just forget about that? And Ridge?”
“The insurance will take care of The Villa. As for Ridge, you’ve already had the coroner rule his death an accident. Use the money to mourn him.”
He rushes forward and seizes my chin in his hands. “You have it all figured out, haven’t you?” he seethes. “I should teach you an unforgettable lesson. Fortunately, for you, incest isn’t my thing.”
I don’t answer. Fury blazes in his eyes. He’s on the edge. All I can do is count on cold hard cash saving my life. And Petra’s.
“Where’s the money?”
I shake my head. “I’m not telling you. Not until we have a deal.”
He stares down at me for an age. Then he hands the warrant to Earl. “You and I are going to get this money. Earl will sit on this for two hours. If we’re not back by then, he’ll happily put the wheels in motion, won’t you, Earl?”
Earl takes the warrant and stuffs it in his pocket. “With pleasure.”
My hands and feet are untied. I stagger to my feet, then stumble as blood rushes back into deprived areas of my body. At some point my boots were taken off, so I follow Clayton out of the basement in my soiled socks.#p#分页标题#e#
“Can I have my shoes back?”
He shrugs. “I have no clue where they are. Besides, if no shoes will keep you in line, I’m all for it.”
We reach the top of the stairs and I look around. If anyone lives here, they’ve long since given up on any need to keep the place tidy. There’s a soiled, ripped futon sofa shoved up against one wall, actual holes in the carpet, beer bottles and pizza boxes discarded everywhere, and the fridge door is hanging on one screw.
Before I can ask who lives here, a rake-thin man emerges from the single bedroom. His eyes are bloodshot and track marks trail down both gangly arms.
Clayton passes him a hundred-dollar note, which he pounces on with rabid glee. “Remember what we talked about. Keep an eye on things and you’ll get another one of those.”
The junkie nods. When he cracks open the bedroom door and dives back in, I see my shoes tucked against the door.
I have a fair idea how much they cost, and what the resale value means to an addict. I’m not prepared to die over shoes, so I follow Clayton out. Two of his henchmen are guarding the hallway, another two the stairwell.