6. Tess
Tess
Logan and I barely spoke all day. He buried himself in his laptop, and I did the same with mine. Neither of us mentioned last night.
How he bent me over the island and made me come. How he tasted me first, before anyone else ever had. How he explored every inch of me like he'd been starving for it.
Even now, driving to meet Andrew, I can still feel the ghost of his mouth on me.
I thought last night was a one-time thing. Now I'm sure of it—especially after sneaking out to meet a coworker behind Logan's back. He's going to be furious.
But I have to do this. I need to know what's happening with the case.
I'm a journalist. This is the biggest story of my life. I can't afford to be out of the loop.
Besides, it's just Andrew. Nothing's going to happen.
Five minutes, tops. I get the intel, I go home. Logan might never even know.
And then maybe you get a repeat kitchen encounter.
I clench my jaw at my own thought. I'm not some horn-dog. What is wrong with me? Did one orgasm really rewire my whole brain?
The answer comes fast and certain.
Yes. Yes, it did.
I pull up to the house Andrew described—dingy, sagging, exactly as grimy as I pictured. Abandoned, he'd said.
I cut the engine and pocket my keys. The street outside is dim, lit by a single flickering lamp. Meeting here in broad daylight would be risky enough. At night, it's worse.
In and out, Tess. Get what you need and go.
I climb the three steps to the door and knock out the code—not "Shave and a Haircut," but six taps to the beat of "We Will Rock You." Andrew's idea of clever.
Footsteps. The door swings open, and he waves me into the dark living room. The only light comes from the street outside and a bare bulb hanging in the kitchen.
"Alright, I dragged my ass out here. What'd you learn?"
Andrew circles behind me, then settles in front, back to the kitchen. I watch him carefully. I trust the guy—mostly—but something about this place has my skin crawling.
"You're in way over your head, cheesecake."
I roll my eyes at the nickname. Order the same thing at one holiday party and you're branded for life.
"Cut the dramatics, Andrew. I know exactly how dangerous the Cilentos are. That's why I want them locked up."
"They're moving, Tess." I go still. His face has gone serious. "Cilento's people are going door to door looking for you. Offering money for information. You get that?"
That stops me cold.
I knew there were threats. I didn't realize he'd actually gone hunting. I'm about to testify against the man—of course he wouldn't just sit back.
"Fine. I underestimated him. Doesn't change anything. I'm still testifying. Still publishing everything I've got, because the corruption goes deep, and I won't be bullied into silence."
"I really wish you hadn't said that."
Andrew's gaze drops to the floor. His shoulders are tight now, his weight shifting foot to foot.
Is he nervous? Does he think he'll take the fall for this too?
"Andy, you're not involved. They don't even know you exist. You're fine."
"Oh, they know exactly who I am."
He reaches for the pull chain on the bare bulb.
Every instinct I have goes off at once. He hasn't done anything yet, but this isn't him. Years of reading people, chasing sources, tracking liars—my gut knows something's wrong.
"Why couldn't you just drop it?" His eyes lift to mine, and there's a darkness in them I've never seen. "Cheesecake."
I'm backing away before I've even decided to. Too slow. He yanks the cord, the room drops into black, and his hands close around my throat.
Panic explodes through me. I claw at his fingers, kick out with one leg, try to scream. I'm one wrong step from the floor when I dig a nail into the back of his hand hard enough to break skin. His grip loosens. I shove him off.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"Me? Please. You think anyone in this city turns down Cilento money? That's more naive than I gave you credit for."
"I work with you! You're supposed to have my back!"
"I've got my own back!" He drags a hand through his hair, and I hold mine up between us, waiting for him to come at me again. He doesn't. "You think the rest of us have it easy? You land a Pulitzer piece at twenty-eight while some of us are drowning in debt to every loan shark in town?"
Before I can tell him my money goes straight to my parents, that I live in the same cramped apartment as everyone else, he pulls a gun from his pocket.
I freeze. This isn't how tonight was supposed to go.
"You think you're better than the rest of us. So noble. We all bend the rules, baby. We all work an angle."
Tears streak hot down my face as I stare down the barrel. Of course this is my luck.
"You're doing this for money!" I know screaming won't help, but I can't stop myself. "You made your own mistakes, and now I pay for them? What the hell, Andrew?"
"Don't act like you wouldn't do the same." He straightens his arm, the gun level with my face. "Any last words?"
I've spent years building a career on honesty. I don't take bribes. I don't cut corners. I don't bend.
And here I am, about to die in some rotted-out house because I couldn't leave one lead alone.
I'm furious at Andrew. I'm angrier at myself.
I knew the risk. I came anyway.
Of every mistake I've ever made, this one's the worst.
"You suck, Andrew."
I hold his stare, jaw locked, refusing to shrink.
"I covered for you. Every missed deadline, every hungover no-show dressed up as a family emergency. I believed you were putting in the work like I was. Guess I was wrong."
He scoffs. "I had my own business, cheesecake. None of it concerned you. Shame, though. I always wondered what it'd be like to get a little—"
He lets it hang, stepping closer. I bare my teeth, refusing to give ground.
"—after-hours research session. You've got the body for it. Curvy girls always fuck the dirtiest."
Bile rises in my throat. Then he's shoving me toward the front door.