Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
SPENCER
S itting in an FBI interrogation room is not how I thought today was going to go. When I woke up alone, in Asher’s bed, I wasn’t surprised he didn’t stick around for the awkward “this can’t happen again” conversation.
But when I woke up to the smell of pancakes and bacon, I did not expect for Asher to say that we were all going to work with him. He made it very clear that I, specifically, didn’t have a say in whether or not I went. So, I got dressed and when we arrived, Asher placed me in this room with a glass of water and left.
That was an hour ago. Maybe longer.
I don’t mind quiet—I prefer to spend time in my own company. But with nothing to do except stare at these walls and a two-way mirror . . . I might go crazy.
My mind has already replayed all of my most embarrassing moments, and all of the times I should have said something different. Like yesterday, when Rio surprised me in the shower and I made the most ungodly and humiliating sound. It was like a cross between a donkey baying and a cat screeching.
Now, I’m just staring at my reflection and wondering what the fuck is going on. I didn’t do anything wrong, so I assume I was left in here so I’m out of the way. But then that begs the question: Why do I need to be here in the first place?
The metal chair is cold, and I swear they keep the temperature below fifty degrees in here. The LED light overhead buzzes and is finally starting to get on my nerves. Keeping my eyes open is getting more and more difficult.
Right when I’m getting ready to settle in and take the world’s most uncomfortable nap, Rio walks in.
“Seriously? What the hell!” I lean back in my chair.
Rio winces and shuts the door behind him. “Sorry.” He’s wearing a suit and tie today and there’s something about seeing him all dressed up with his tattoos peeking out above his collar that sends a fluttering through my stomach.
“Aren’t you supposed to be my lawyer? Wouldn’t a lawyer make sure I’m treated fairly? Not to mention the fact that you’re my boyfriend?” I give him a pointed look.
Rio’s eyes widen, and a charming smile stretches across his face as he strides to me. “Did you just call me your boyfriend?”
“Uhh . . .” I didn’t think he’d catch that, but that’s what I agreed to, right?
He peers down at me. “Say it again.”
My eyes dart around the room. “Boyfriend?”
His rough hand turns my chin in his direction. “Next time, say it like you mean it, Mama.” Rio leans down and slams his mouth to mine in a passionate kiss. Even when the door opens and someone clears their throat, Rio doesn’t pull away.
“That’s enough, Rio. We have shit to get done.”
When I open my eyes, I look up to see Asher with his hand on Rio’s shoulder, pulling him away from me. Zane is gazing at Rio and me with a heat in his eyes. My cheeks flush knowing Zane and Asher saw Rio and me going at it.
I really need to chill.
Oh God. They really have turned me into a sex-crazed monster.
Or was she always there?
Fuck Inner Spencer and her horny ways.
Rio pulls up a chair and sits next to me while Asher takes a seat across from us. Zane leans against the wall next to the mirror with his ankles and arms crossed. The feel of the room goes from playful to formal and slightly claustrophobic.
Am I on trial here?
Asher sets a thick brown file on the table, and I hear a crinkle of paper come from next to me but just out of my sight. “Ms. Gray?—”
“Ms. Gray? Is this a joke?”
Ms. Gray, my ass. He wasn’t calling me Ms. Gray when I fucking had his dick in my mouth last night.
Asher gives me a stern look. “Ms. Gray, let’s start with something easy.” He reaches down and pulls out a clear plastic bag with a red piece of tape that reads “evidence.” He sets the bag on the table and asks, “Have you ever seen this before?”
My eyes widen. In the bag is my handgun. I glance to my side for guidance from Rio.
“You don’t have to answer that.”
Asher gives Rio an exasperated look. “Not helping, man.”
Rio shrugs. “My priority is my client. I’m advising her not to incriminate herself. That gun is a class D felony and we both know where you got it. Ms. Gray here could earn up to seven years in prison. I wouldn’t be a good lawyer if I didn’t intercede on my client’s behalf.”
Asher breathes an exhausted sigh. “Fine. If your client provides useful information, the potential gun charge will be dropped.”
“In writing,” Rio says with a smirk.
Asher groans and leaves the room.
My jaw clenches. “Was he really going to charge me with a felony?”
Rio shakes his head.
I frown. “Then why are we going through all the motions?”
Rio leans to the side and tilts his head to speak to me. “Mama, I’m a lawyer. I learned early on that you cross all your T’s and dot all the I’s—you can never be too careful. The government is sneaky and knows how to sway a jury.”
“Sway a jury? This wouldn’t have gone to a jury, right?”
Rio gives a noncommittal shrug. “You never know. The law isn’t black and white like everyone thinks. It’s all about what you can prove, or convince the jury of. A prosecutor would have no problem persuading a jury that you knowingly bought this gun illegally and were fully aware that the serial numbers had been filed off.”
I throw my hands up. “But you said Asher wouldn’t have charged me.”
“He wouldn’t. I can’t speak for his partners or his boss.”
That shuts me up.
After about twenty minutes of waiting, Asher comes back with the paper Rio requested, signed by Asher’s boss, Aaron Marreli. Rio looks it over, then slides it to me with a pen. I scribble out my signature and hand it back to Asher.
“I would like a copy for my records,” Rio tells Asher.
Asher deflates in frustration. “Seriously, man?”
“You can never be too careful.”
“Whatever. I’ll get you a copy after.” Asher’s attention turns back to me. “Ms. Gray, have you ever seen this gun before?”
I cross my arms and peek at Rio, who gives me a nod of approval. “Yes.”
“Is this your gun, Ms. Gray?”
Another peek, another nod. “Yes.”
“Where did you purchase the gun? There’s no official record of the sale, so I’m assuming you bought it from someone illegally.”
When I peek at Rio for a third time, Asher makes a sound of annoyance. “You don’t have to look to him for everything.”
I put on my best brat face and reply, “Excuse me, I’m consulting my lawyer.” Rio nods again. “I bought it from a guy in Central Park. My ex-fiancé terrifies me, and I needed a way to protect myself without there being a paper trail.”
Asher leans on his arms on the table. “What was the name of the seller?”
Shaking my head, I give him an answer he doesn’t like. “I don’t remember.”
“Oh, come on.” Asher rolls his eyes.
“I’m being honest. I don’t remember his name. It was an old guy name, though—I know that much. I remember thinking it was odd his mother named him that and figured it must be a family name.”
Asher squints. “Hank?”
I snap my fingers. “Yes! That was his name. Hank.”
I’m unable to see Asher’s face when he turns to Zane. Zane doesn’t seem phased, so everything must be okay. “I know.”
Asher rights himself in his chair and inquires, “Have you heard of the Bride Butcher?”
Receiving another nod from Rio, I tell the truth. “No.”
Asher sighs. “You’re not in trouble here, Spencer—you have the paper to prove it. You don’t have to look to Mr. Flores for every answer.”
“Could’ve fooled me, Mr. Dawson,” I mock. “Since we’re in an interrogation room, this seems like the perfect place for questions. Where did y’all get that recording of Anthony?”
“Hold that thought,” Asher instructs and gets up from his chair.
“Leaving when the questions get tough? Hypocrite,” I mumble.
Asher raises a brow. “I’m going to turn off the recording equipment. There are some things that we don’t need a record of.” He leaves for a few minutes and comes back to his chair quickly. He waves his hand at me. “Okay, throw your tantrum.”
I place my hands on the table and stand. “Tantrum? Bullshit, Mr. I-Have-A-Badge. You three must have done something incredibly stupid to get that recording. Now, what was it?”
Asher stands and matches my position. “ I didn’t do anything.”
My brow furrows. “Huh?”
“It wasn’t me. Ask them.” He points to Rio and Zane.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“We can explain, Angel.” Zane crosses the room to me.
Sarcasm and vexation leak from my every pore. “Oh, goodie. Please do.”
“Dustin Cox wore a wire?—”
“You mean Police Officer Dustin Cox? Was he undercover?”
Rio interjects into the conversation. “Well . . . it wasn’t exactly voluntary.”
“What do you mean?” My lips purse.
“They’re talking about coercion, Princess.” Asher rests his hands on his hips.
I look down at Rio, still sitting in his chair. “Why would you force him to wear a wire? Is he okay?”
“If you consider a bullet in his brain okay, then yes. Está bien .” He’s good.
My hands fly to my mouth, and I gasp. “You killed him?”
Zane shakes his head. “No, not us. Anthony. We made him wear a wire and go to a strip club to talk to people to get information on Anthony.”
My head spins, trying to make sense of it all. “Y’all are talking in circles.”
Zane grabs me by the shoulders and turns me to face. “Dustin wasn’t a good man. We found out what he did and used that against him. We made him wear the wire, dropped him off at the club, and listened in on the conversation. Anthony wasn’t happy and killed him. That’s all.”
My head feels like it’s stuck in a vise. “This is too much. I’m done here. Let’s go.” I turn to leave, but Asher grabs my arm before I can make it to the door.
“We’re not even close to being done here. You still haven’t fulfilled your end of the deal.”
“Are you shitting me? What other information could I possibly give you?”
Asher leads me back to my chair and takes up his on the other side. “If you’re going to be childish about this, fine.” He flips open the file and begins pulling out photos, each just as horrid as the next. He lays out six photos depicting dead women lying on the ground.
The blood drains from my face as my eyes scan the pictures with numbed horror. “They . . . They’re all . . .”
“Dead.” Asher’s voice is empty.
“Wearing my dress.”
Zane rests two hands on the table, Asher stares in a catatonic stupor, and Rio’s face turns stricken. The pin-drop silence bounces off the walls as everyone stares at me. I’m even sure whoever is watching on the other side of the glass is staring.
All my men recover at the same time.
“What?”
“What the hell, Angel?”
“Are you sure?”
My stomach hardens into a tight ball, and I’m pretty sure I stop breathing. “That’s my dress. My mom helped me pick it out after Anthony proposed. And they’re all holding . . .”
“Purple hyacinths.”
Asher gives me a sympathetic look. I knew Anthony was always looking for me—his text messages indicated as much—but I didn’t think he’d go this far.
I lick my dry lips. “Are all of them from New York?”
Asher points to each photo in order. “Austin, Texas. Evergreen Falls, Idaho. Willow Creek, Wyoming. Brooklyn, New York. Los Angeles, California. Oakland, California.” He reaches back into the file and pulls out another photo. This woman is unrecognizable. Her face is beaten and bloody, and the hyacinths are cut up and scattered around her body. “Harlem.”
Delicately grabbing the photo, I examine it closely. “Anthony used to buy me hyacinths after we got into an argument, or after he’d hurt me. It was always little things. When I pushed the wedding date back the first time, he grabbed my arms so hard that I had bruises for over a week. I never thought of myself as an abused woman—he never punched or slapped me, so I thought it didn’t count, and I was too ashamed to show my mom.”
Rio’s hand wipes a tear on my cheek that I didn’t know was there. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of here.”
I give him a half-hearted smile, not entirely sure I believe him. Turning back to Asher, I continue. “It didn’t happen often, but when it did, he’d buy me purple hyacinths. He always said his flower deserved flowers and that purple hyacinths showed how sorry he was. But the next day, the flowers were always ripped to shreds.” I place the photo back on the table and cross my arms.
“That’s not creepy,” Zane murmurs sarcastically.
Asher gathers the photos and places them back in the file. “Do you know where he’d buy the hyacinths?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.” I fidget with my hands in my lap. “What were their names?”
“Angel . . .” Zane rests a hand on my shoulder.
“I need to know.”
Asher shakes his head and gives me a pitying look. “I’m not telling you their names; it won’t help anything.”
My body goes numb. “I feel responsible. If I had just gone back to him when he texted me the first time, maybe those women would still be alive.”
“Don’t do that to yourself, Mama. It’s not your fault. There’s no way you could have known. He might have still done it even if you stayed.” Rio grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze.
They’re too kind—they’ll make every excuse to make me feel better. But how can I not feel responsible? He’s doing all of this because of me, because I won’t go with him.
“But that’s just it. I should have known. I should have! Especially after I saw . . .”
Asher leans forward in his chair. “Saw what?”
I bite my lip and glance to the side.
Asher uses an index finger to guide my chin back to him. His eyes are soft and distressed. “After you saw what, Princess?”
“After I saw him kill someone.”