57
The glass in Sydney’s hand is empty now, but she has no memory of drinking the hard liquor.
She can feel it burning in her chest, though, warming her belly.
The alcohol seeps through her nervous system, tries to numb her to the horror and disgust she’s feeling.
But it’s no match for the vile tale she’s just heard.
She sets the tumbler on the coffee table.
Only then does she meet her husband’s eyes, shining with desperation, a glimmer of something more positive… It’s hope.
When Sydney speaks, she sounds like the attorney that she is. But she barely recognizes the faraway, professional voice coming out of her. “You’re a child rapist.”
“It wasn’t like that, Syd. I never hurt her. I—I was gentle.”
Her stomach churns, but she maintains her cool. “You were involved in human trafficking. And child abuse. And sexual slavery.”
“I wasn’t involved. I was forced to provide the venues. That’s all.”
“That’s being involved. That’s being an accessory.”
“The things I saw, Syd.” His voice trembles. “The things they were doing to those girls. What I did was nothing by comparison.”
“Stop minimizing what you did!” Her throat is filled with acid. “You had sex with a drugged teenager! You’re disgusting!”
She gets up, moves away from him. The fact that she had ever loved him, that she had ever let him touch her, that she had moved across the fucking ocean with him, makes her want to puke.
What happened to the man she’d married? The guy who’d made her coffee and ensured she ate properly?
Who’d made her feel safe and cared for and chosen?
When had he been replaced by this sick bastard making excuses for his role in a sex-trafficking ring?
“I—I’m not the villain here, Sydney. I protected Bianca’s sister. I took care of her.”
“But the video of you protecting her was used to blackmail you,” she spits. “You had sex with her. She was a child!”
He clutches at his head like her words cause him pain. “They gave me a pill. I was so fucked-up. I—I wasn’t myself. But Lyric felt safe with me. I didn’t do anything she wasn’t okay with.”
“She was an abused and exploited girl! She couldn’t give her consent!”
“There were famous people at that party. Movie stars and athletes and business moguls. Everyone was doing it! Far worse things than I did!”
“Stop!” Sydney feels a nearly overwhelming urge to violence.
She’s never struck another person in her life, but now she wants to attack.
She wants to hit and punch and claw this man.
This stranger. Because this is not her husband.
There’s a monster trapped inside his familiar form, a demon.
She’s never felt such overwhelming hatred.
She rushes out of the room to the kitchen, desperate for distance from Curtis.
She knows he’ll follow her, that he’s not done begging for absolution, but she needs space.
Collapsing her arms onto the counter, she presses her forehead to the cool surface.
Tears pour untouched down her face, and her body shakes with sobs.
She can sense her husband’s presence in the room like a toxic gas, but she takes her time, lets out the pain.
Eventually, her sobs subside, and she wipes her face with a tea towel.
She feels calm now. Focused on what she needs to do.
“I’m going to call Brian Hale. He’ll put me in touch with the DA in New York.”
“You can’t.” Curtis’s voice is adamant. “I won’t allow it.”
“You can’t stop me,” she snaps. She takes a few steps toward the bedroom to get her phone, but Curtis grabs her arm, yanks her back. He holds her roughly, his voice a growl.
“There are huge, influential names involved in this, Sydney. They’ll do what needs to be done to protect themselves. West Beatty is fucking ruthless. That’s why I had to get rid of Bianca and Damian.”
“You poisoned them.” After what she’s heard today, nothing can surprise her anymore.
“I had to.” He loosens his grip slightly, allows her to extricate herself. “West would have sent a hired killer here to take care of them. It wasn’t safe for you.”
Syd crosses the kitchen, turns back to face him. “What did you give them?”
“Remember the death cap mushrooms the Realtor warned us about?”
“Of course. But you ate mushrooms, too.”
“I had some regular mushrooms in the fridge. I added those to my plate.”
“Jesus.” The lengths he’s gone to to protect himself are astounding.
“Once Bianca and Damian are dead, no one can implicate me anymore. Simon is providing the venues now. I sent him to a party, and he got himself wrapped up in it.” He takes a tentative step toward her. “We can still have an amazing life here. We can still build the future we’ve always wanted.”
She looks at her husband, his expression so desperate, so pleading.
He’s been lying and manipulating for so long.
He must be exhausted. And he’s tied up all the loose ends, except for one.
Her. Because Curtis and Sydney could have an incredible future in their beautiful Spanish villa.
If not for the simple fact that Sydney has a conscience. And her husband knows it.
Wordlessly, she moves to the fridge and pulls open the door. Inside, she finds Bianca’s leftover meal covered in plastic. She removes the plate of poisoned food and sets it on the counter. It’s cold and congealed, looks unappetizing but completely benign.
“What are you doing with that?” Curtis asks, but she ignores his question.
“You know I can’t let this go. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to stop it.”
“You can’t stop it, Sydney. You’ll be erased.”
“The feds could build a RICO case,” she continues, as if he hadn’t spoken. “You’ll likely be charged as a co-conspirator. You’d go to jail as a pedophile. And a sex trafficker.”
“And you know what would happen to me there!” he cries. “But I’d never make it to jail. Ratting on Beatty is a death sentence. For both of us.”
For a breath, Sydney wonders if she should be afraid of her husband. She’s the only thing standing between Curtis and a blissful life in Spain. But everything he’s done—the move, the lies, the poisoning—has been for her. He is a corrupt, weak, and selfish man, but he loves her.
“I’m offering you a way out,” she says, pushing the plate of food toward him.
“You want me to kill myself? Are you serious?”
“I’ll make an anonymous call to the DA and leave both our names out of it.
” She moves to the kitchen drawer and pulls out a fork.
“If you die of an accidental poisoning, I can go on with my life without the shadow of what you did. It’s the only way that I won’t be painted with your disgusting brush. ”
“After all our years together, you want me to die a slow, agonizing death? To suffer like Damian is?”
“But Damian’s weak, remember?” She sets the fork on the counter. “Surely you’ll handle it better.”
Curtis stares at the plate of poisoned food, his expression a blend of shock, disbelief, and grief, almost like he can’t believe involving himself in a pedophile ring has had such a dire outcome. He looks up at his wife.
“If I eat this, you have to promise me you’ll call the DA from a burner phone. And you won’t tell them your name.”
“I promise.”
“I—I love you so much,” Curtis blubbers, letting the tears pour from his eyes. “You mean everything to me.”
Sympathy grips her heart, but just for a breath. It’s undeserved, and she pushes it aside. “Then you’ll eat. Or the world will know you’re a pedophile. And we’ll both suffer the consequences of that.”
A sob bursts out of him as he picks up the fork.
Sydney turns and walks out of the room.