Chapter 42
KIR
For the record, I fucking hate Florida.
It’s the humidity. Years in the frozen, bitter north of Siberia, eating fucking rats and bugs? Fine. Wouldn’t recommend, would not do again, but it was fine.
But Florida ? If I had to spend more than twelve hours here, I’d lose my mind.
Luckily, I don’t plan on being here even a fraction of that.
When I hear the commotion outside on the second-floor walkway of the motel, I take a slow breath and just wait . The sound of two women’s shrill, coked-up laughter slams against the door at the same time as a man-sized body.
“ One sec, one sec ,” the man laughs heartily, jangling his keys. “I got another eight-ball inside. You two ladies can do rails off my dick.”
The girls cheer and hoot. My brow cocks.
Showtime .
My priority is and always will be to protect Brooklyn—both her physical and emotional safety.
Right now, she’s still under the impression that Derrick is one of the few if only men she can trust in the world. If she learns the truth about what’s been going on for the last year and change, it’ll destroy her.
And I will not allow that to happen.
It’s going to pain me to tell her a lie. Well, a half-truth, if I’m being generous. But again, my priority is to keep her heart safe. And when presented with two terrible options, this is the lesser of two evils.
The lock clicks, and the door slams open as three laughing, groping, sloppy bodies tumble into the motel room.
“Okay, okayyy!” Derrick giggles. “Lemme find that coke. You girls get your fuckin’ clothes off?—”
It’s the girls who spot me first when Derrick flicks on the lights. They scream blue murder, which has him screaming blue murder, then all three of them turn to where I’m calmly sitting at the table in the motel room’s kitchenette.
“ You and you ,” I say quietly, gesturing at each girl in turn with the gun in my hand. “Come. Here.”
When they hesitate, looking terrified, I sigh, slip a hand into my jacket pocket, and pull out a folded wad of cash. I start to count it, but then just say fuck it and drop it on the table in front of me.
“This is yours. In exchange, tonight never happened. You never saw this man.” I point the gun at Derrick. “And you definitely never saw me. How's that sound?”
The two of them look at the money, then at each other. It takes about one second for them to shrug, walk over to the table, and pick up the cash.
“Smart.” I smile coldly. “Now it’s time to leave.”
The girls quickly run out the door. Derrick starts to follow but I cock the gun, stopping him cold.
“ Surely you didn’t think that included you, Derrick ,” I growl quietly. “Or is it Mike Brommer down here? Or—no. Don’t tell me. Carl Willoughby.”
His throat works as his face pales.
“W-what do you want?”
“ Sit ,” I murmur, tapping the table across from me. “Right here. Right now.”
He shuffles over, pulls the chair out and drops into it.
“N-now what?” he stutters.
I take a deep breath, looking at him with cold eyes. “Now it's story time, Derrick. This is a good one. It’s about a girl—beautiful, smart, braver than most. She doesn’t let life break her spirit, even when it beats her the fuck down and grinds her under its heel. She’s….incredible that way.”
I take another breath.
“She’s also a phenomenal dancer.” I sigh, chuckling quietly. “I mean, you should see her, Derrick. She’s unbelievable. So goddamn talented.”
He smiles weakly. “She… She sounds great.”
I smile coldly at him. “You know, Derrick, she is . And the thing is, you fucking know her .” The smile drops from my face. “It’s Brooklyn , you piece of shit.”
Every drop of color drains from his face. His eyes bulge, looking bloodshot and haggard even as fear coils in them.
It wasn’t difficult to find him, although he is going by another name down here—Mark Jepson.
Because it wasn’t hard to find Diego , not when I told him I wanted to hire a whole team of world-class financial forensics experts to work on Brooklyn’s stepfather's case and that I’d pay whatever it took.
Greedy little fuck threw out forty grand as a number, and I told him I’d meet him with the cash.
…That's when I beat the living fuck out of him, broke every bone in both hands, and told him if I ever saw him anywhere near the tri-state area again, I’d cut off his head.
And he gladly gave up his accomplice.
Derrick’s eyes grow wider by the second as the full magnitude of the shit he’s stepped in really washes over him.
“Okay—wait —I can explain?—”
“I’m not interested in explanations,” I say quietly.
“I’m not actually interested in anything you might feel compelled to say.
Shut your fucking mouth and listen to me.
” I level a cold look at him. “Ripping off military widows and retirees is pretty low, Derrick. But scamming your own fucking stepdaughter ?” I shake my head.
“Do you have any idea what she’s done just to survive over the last year or so?
How hard she’s been treading water, just to keep her nose barely above it?
All so you could rip her off month after month for… what, coke money ?” I snarl.
Derrick starts to cry. I don’t give a single flying fuck.
“Stop fucking sniveling, asshole,” I hiss. When he keeps at it, I pound my fist on the table. “ You don’t get to be sad, motherfucker!! ” I roar. He chokes, trying to hold back the tears with a terrified look on his face.
“ Please ,” he whimpers. “If…just…” He glances at the gun in my hand. “Just make it fast?”
I chuckle. “Oh, this ? No no no, Derrick,” I sigh.
“I’m not going to kill you. For a start, although you were terrible at it, I’m giving you a small fucking pass for at least trying with Brooklyn when she was a kid, after her mother died.
You were a shitty caregiver, but you at least kept a roof over her head, and some food in her mouth.
” I shake my head. “But also, I won’t kill you simply because you’re the only family she has left. I won’t take that from her.”
He starts to relax until I use the gun to push the little pad of paper and pen across the table to him.
“ You will.”
He blinks in stunned, scared confusion.
“You’re going to disappear, Derrick,” I growl quietly. “For good. But before that, you’re going to write Brooklyn a letter.”
He starts to nod eagerly, but I hold up a hand. “Let me finish, or I’ll blow off one of your testicles.”
He freezes.
“In this letter, you’re going to tell her that your crimes were far worse than you said. That you hadn't been charged with grand larceny, but with sexual assault on a child. Let's make that several children, actually.”
He looks at me in horror. “ W-what ?! I would never ?—”
I cock the gun, making him jump.
“What you are, in fact, never going to do,” I growl, “is let that poor girl know that she’s been lowering herself to levels she never imagined she’d have to, just so you could scam her.
Because it would break her.” I grit my teeth and lean forward.
“Disgusting her is the lesser of two evils for you here, Derrick. If you break her…” I shake my head.
“Well, there’s no hell I could threaten you with that would even come close to what I’d put you through. ”
I nod at the paper and pen. “So: you’ll tell her you’re a disgusting child abusing piece of shit.
You’ve been hiding your true crimes from her, and Diego has been a part of that at your request. You’ll tell her you’re sorry for doing what you did and being what you are, and that you hate yourself.
You’ll say that you have made bail, but your intentions are to go on the run, because you’re terrified to face prison after everything you’ve done. ”
Derrick crumples, his face gaunt as he stares at the piece of paper.
“What happens after I write the letter?” he chokes.
“You disappear ,” I growl. “And I do mean disappear. You find the most remote place on Earth, you dig yourself a nice little hole there, and you fucking stay in that hole until you die. Because if I ever hear about you, even know anyone who hears about you, there is no length to which I won’t go to drag you through a hell you cannot even imagine. Is that clear enough even for you?”
He nods pitifully, not meeting my eyes.
“Good. Now write the fucking letter. Don’t leave anything out.”
He swallows as he picks up the pen. Then he glances up at me. “How is she?” he murmurs quietly. “I mean, is she?—”
“She’s no longer someone you're allowed to think about. You forfeited that privilege when you put her through hell just to scam her.” I level a dark look at him as I tap the table with the gun. “ Write , motherfucker.”
It’s like a knife to my chest when I see her crumple a week later, reading the letter mailed to our house from Florida.
If she hurts, I hurt, even though I know this is a pain I’m technically behind.
But honestly, there was no option here that didn’t hurt her. Behind door number one, Derrick disappoints her and makes her a victim yet again. One more instance of a man using her innate desire to see the best in the world to hurt her. Door number two, he just…disappoints her.
Picking that lie over the truth is one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make. But my priority now is her , and her safety.
And again, that includes her heart and spirit. There was no way I was going to let that motherfucker rip her off for a year and also crush both those things.
All that matters is that she knows Derrick is a piece of shit, and that he’s out of her life for good.
A few days after the letter, she slowly starts becoming an even brighter version of herself.
It’s like a final weight has been lifted from her chest or the last shadowy cloud has been cleared from the sky, and she can finally turn the page on that black chapter of her life, and our new one together can truly begin.
After a long night of deliberating, we decide that we’re done hiding this from people. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about it, and neither does she.
So, we go public.
…In a very, very big way.
We don’t bother easing into it slowly. Everyone’s going to talk anyway, right?
So the grand reveal ends up being Laz Kislev’s birthday party at Doomsday Club, which he’s a part owner of.
Yes , there are open-mouthed stares when Brooklyn and I walk in, my arm around her waist. Yes , she’s pulled away by her friends almost immediately, who not-so-quietly hurl a thousand questions at her.
… Yes , I’m within earshot when Val Bancroft asks her if I’m “giving her that big dick on the reg.” I feel it's my place to answer, so I do, loudly, over the din of the party.
That brings another whole explosion of squeals and laughter and wide-eyed questions, while Evelina turns an interesting shade of scarlet.
Eventually, though, it all blends into a blur, and I find myself weirdly content: sitting in one of Doomsday's VIP booths, a drink in my hand, the woman I’m fucking crazy about wrapped up in my other arm with her head on my shoulder.
Life is perfect.
…Until it’s not.