by Eva Ashwood
How the hell are we supposed to stop Alan?
He’ll obviously stop at nothing to protect himself and his secrets. He’ll happily let Reagan rot in jail to protect his own interests. I’d bet anything that he went back down into the bunker after the cops interviewed him and planted evidence that would lead them straight to her.
“What the fuck just happened?” Max asks. “Did you get anything from her before…”
She trails off, glancing at the door the cops led Reagan through.
“Before she got arrested?” I ask dully, snorting. “No. I might’ve been able to worm something out of her if I pressed the right buttons. She’s even easier to rile up than Cliff is. But no, the cops dragged her away before I could get anything useful out of her.”
“Alan,” Gray mutters, speaking my thoughts aloud. “It’s gotta be him.”
“Aw, motherfucker. What the hell does he want?” Declan’s face hardens as he looks at someone over my shoulder.
I don’t have time to glance in the direction he’s looking before I feel Cliff’s presence behind me. He comes around to the other side of the table, shoving his way into an empty seat between Max and Elias while keeping his gaze fixed on me. Max makes a show of moving away from him, as if his bullshit will rub off on her if she’s too close.
“Poor Reagan.” Cliff preens smugly, making a face that I assume is supposed to look like sympathy. “Only takes one time to learn the hard way not to mess with my father. He doesn’t fire any warning shots.” I’m about to tell him to fuck off, when he continues, his lips twisting into a cruel smile. “You know what will happen to her, Sophie? Her ass is going to jail. She’s not coming back, all because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time, trying to poke around in business that wasn’t hers.”
I want to launch myself over the table and wrap my hands around his throat, but I clench my hands and hold myself back. I know the consequences of lashing out at him, and I can’t risk it now, not when everything is so fucking volatile.
“I think we both know someone else who’s been poking around a little too much,” Cliff says, his voice dropping. He leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “And she’s gotten one too many warning shots. Warning shots that end now. Let this be a lesson to her not to fuck around with my business, or my father’s business, because that shit that just happened?” He jerks his head toward the door. “That’s only the tip of the iceberg.”
“It’s too fucking bad the only threat you can throw around is your daddy’s power and money,” Gray says almost dryly, but I can tell he’s seeing red. “Fuck off.”
Cliff’s jaw twitches, but he doesn’t say anything else as he pushes away from the table, jerking his head toward the door as he catches Aaron and Shane’s gazes. They’re standing near the front of the room, far enough away that they haven’t been able to hear anything Cliff just said to us.
Usually, he keeps them around as backup, but I get the feeling he’s been instructed to be a lot more careful about what he says in front of people. Alan is locking things down, plugging up potential leaks so that his secrets will remain buried.
The two men stride over to meet Cliff as he stalks toward the door. They start to follow him out, but as they go, Aaron hesitates. He says something to Shane, then hangs back as Shane and Cliff leave the room.
I glance at Max, who’s doing her best to avoid his gaze, even though he’s clearly looking at her, conflict written in the tension of his body. He finally seems to reach some internal decision, because he crosses over to our table quick and pulls out the chair Cliff just vacated, sitting down beside her awkwardly.
“Can I talk to you, Max?” he says in a quiet voice.
Max squares her shoulders and looks at him dead in the eyes. “Sure, go ahead.”
He glances around the table at the guys and me, but none of us make a move to leave. It’s clear that he’s silently asking us to give them a little privacy, but I know for a fact that my friend doesn’t want to talk to him alone, and none of us are leaving this table.
Aaron clears his throat, lowering his voice a little as he leans closer to Max, like he’s trying to keep this conversation at least a little private.
“Look, I thought things were going well between us. I thought it was real. But then, after that thing with Cliff, I don’t really know what’s going on anymore.”
It takes me a second to register what he’s talking about. There have been so many “things with Cliff” that it’s hard to sort out which bullshit incident he’s referring to. Then I remember the look on his face when the Sinners, Max, and I confronted Cliff about the hooker he hired and refused to let leave his place.
Aaron was the one who told her about that.
“I just…” Aaron grimaces, flushing slightly as he glances at the Sinners and then back at Max. “I don’t know, maybe you were just using me or something, but I don’t… I don’t want things to end like this. You haven’t even talked to me since then, and I don’t get why you’re avoiding me. What’s going on?”
I watch Max as Aaron speaks, trying to read what’s going through her head, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
She looks torn, just as conflicted as Aaron was before he decided to come over here. The guys are all tense around me, and a swell of affection rises up in my chest at how protective they are of Max. They know I care about her, and their protectiveness of me seems to extend to my best friend. Almost like she’s a surrogate sister to all of them.
“I like you, Max,” Aaron murmurs softly, and I have to give the guy credit for being willing to say it in front of a table full of people who look ready to bite his head off. “I thought you liked me, but if I was wrong, just… just tell me, and I’ll back off.”
Max looks over at me as if looking for guidance, but I keep my mouth shut. It’s up to her how she wants to handle this. She used Aaron to get dirt on Cliff, and she told me it almost seemed like he knew what he was doing when he told her the fucked up story about Cliff and a hooker. Like he knew he was handing her ammo to use against his friend.
“Why do you hang out with them, Aaron?” Max asks finally, her voice quiet. “Why are you friends with the Saints?”
Aaron blinks, as if surprised by the questions. Then he flushes, dropping her gaze.
“Cliff and Shane…” He trails off, hesitating. “During my senior year of high school, I transferred schools. I was the new kid, and it… it was rough. My parents had just died, and I’d moved in with my grandparents. And the kids at my new school were assholes. But Cliff let me hang with him and Shane. They’ve been friends since they were little, and they called themselves the Saints. He told me I could be one too.”
My gaze drags from him to Max. Her face has softened a little, but when she speaks, her tone is firm. “I like you, Aaron. But if you really want to be with me, to give this a real shot, you need to stop hanging out with the Saints. They’re not good people, and you’re too good for them.”
Good answer, I think.
Aaron’s head jerks up, and he looks surprised by her words. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” She nods.
“Okay.” Standing up, he opens his mouth as if to say something else, but then nods once and leaves us behind at the table, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Max lets out a breath as soon as he leaves, dropping her unfinished sandwich onto her plate. “I doubt he’ll fucking do it.” She grimaces. “But I’m glad to know he hasn’t been friends with Cliff as long as Shane has. Maybe he hasn’t drunk so much of the Kool-Aid that he can’t still get out. But either way, I’m sure as hell not going to trust him without him proving that he’s really on my side first. I learned that from you, Sophie.”
I give her a small smile.
I genuinely hope for her sake that Aaron will manage to prove himself. But my history with the rest of the Saints has made me fucking doubtful.
18
A few days go by, and I can’t stop thinking about Reagan. As much as I�
��d like to write it off and tell myself that she deserved it for trying to kill me, I can’t just let it go like that. I can’t drop it, knowing that Alan is behind it all.
Sure, Reagan isn’t completely innocent, but she’s as much of a victim of that man as I am, whether she realizes it or not.
Maybe more so, in a way, since she can’t see it.
And it pisses me the fuck off.
From our short conversation in the dining hall, it’s clear that she knows more than we thought she did in the beginning. If only I could talk to her, convince her that Alan isn’t the man she thinks he is, maybe she would be able to help us and bring him down.
As fucked up as it is, Reagan is obsessed with Alan, maybe even in love with him, and she was obviously reluctant to betray him.
Which is why now might just be the best time to get in. I saw the pain and surprise and shock on her face when the cops came for her—it wasn’t a plan she was in on. She didn’t offer to sacrifice herself. Alan did it behind her back, and it hurt her. He fucked her over like the manipulative asshole he is.
And now, more than any time, her walls might just be down enough that she’ll see things for the way they really are.
“I want to go visit Reagan in jail,” I say one night as the guys and I sit around the table back at our place eating takeout. The table goes silent as three pairs of eyes turn to me in question, and I grimace. “She might talk now,” I say, telling them what I’ve been thinking. “She knows now that Alan isn’t her friend or whatever the fuck she thought he was, and maybe she’ll be able to help us.”
Gray sets down his fork. “I see your point,” he says slowly, “but are you sure it would work? That girl has about a dozen screws loose, and if she was willing to murder for him, who knows how deep her allegiance runs?”
“I felt like she was about to say something right before the cops came,” I argue. “Her walls were getting shaky before, and now, they might just crumble with the right push.”
“It’s not all that bad of a plan,” Elias says, but I still catch the hint of skepticism in his voice. “It might work.”
“Well, then.” Declan lets out a breath, his gaze catching mine. “Looks like we’re going to prison.”
On Saturday morning, the guys and I all head over to the South Hills Correctional Center. It’s on the far south side of town, and unlike everything else in Hawthorne, there’s nothing fancy or luxurious about it. It’s an imposing gray brick building, squat and wide with tall fences surrounding it.
We sign in as visitors, and once we’re checked for hidden weapons and shit, a guard leads us into the visitation room where Reagan already sits behind a glass partition, tan jumper hanging loosely on her frame, shoulders slightly slumped.
When she looks up at the four of us, my chest constricts a little. Her eyes are rimmed with dark circles, red and swollen, a clear sign that she’s only just stopped crying. Her skin and lips are pale, her appearance hollow and hurt. Confused. She doesn’t react negatively to the sight of us, but she doesn’t respond with anything at all, so I’m not really sure what to think.
I take the seat across from her. There are two guards on either side of the room, heavy-set men with buzz cuts and bored expressions.
I spare them a glance before picking up the receiver that will let me talk to Reagan. I’m honestly a little surprised she agreed to see us, and I feel like I need to get the conversation moving before she changes her mind.
“I’m sorry, Reagan,” I say, not really sure why I’m apologizing.
But the truth is, I am sorry. I haven’t forgotten that she tried to kidnap and kill me, and I don’t think I’ll ever really forgive her for that. But no woman should have to go through the mental and physical abuse she’s been through, no matter how shitty of a person they are. No one should be framed and imprisoned for crimes they didn’t commit.
“I know you didn’t have anything to do with the drugs or the money,” I say softly. “And I want to help you.”
She looks up abruptly, her dull eyes sparking with something.
“I didn’t do it,” she whispers hoarsely. “I’m not a drug dealer. I’ve tried to tell them, but they think it was me. They said they found my fingerprints, but I’ve never even touched drugs. Not even when Gemma and Caitlin—”
“I know,” I say, my voice gentle. She could be lying about that, but somehow, I don’t think she is. And I know without question that she’s not running a drug ring.
Speaking slowly, I explain everything we knew about Alan. The way he’s manipulated things, the way he emptied out the bunker before the cops showed up to investigate the first time, then deposited contraband in it before they came back the second time.
I know it’s a long shot, considering how long she’s been brainwashed by this asshole, but if I can only get her to understand that Alan is a bad man—a cruel, selfish man who did this to her—she’ll see things clearly. I need to pop the lenses out of her rose-colored glasses.
“He doesn’t care about you the way that you care about him, Reagan,” I conclude. “And it’s not because you’re bad or you’ve done something wrong, it’s because he’s a bad man. If he really loved you, would he set you up like that? Would he let you go to jail for the crimes he committed and not you?”
“No,” she whispers, the word hollow.
“You’ve tried so hard, Reagan,” I tell her. “But bad men don’t care about us. They just want to hurt as many people as they can, and Alan wants to hurt you so that he can keep hurting other people.”
“Like you,” she says quietly, looking up at me again. She blinks slowly, as if she’s in a daze. Her throat works as she swallows. “He wants to hurt us.”
My heart jumps, excitement surging through me. She didn’t just say “you,” she said “hurt us.” This is the first time I’ve heard her admit that out loud. That not only was I Alan’s victim, but so was she.
I nod. “He does. He’s wanted to do that for a long time. And it’ll only get worse now, Reagan. Now he sees you as an enemy, just because you know things about him that he doesn’t want people to find out. Do you see that?”
“He doesn’t love me,” she whispers. Her face crumples, and she looks so much like the little girl from my dreams that it makes my chest ache. “It hurts, Sophie. I love him so much, and he… he doesn’t…” A tear slides down her cheek. “He doesn’t love me. Sometimes I think he hates me.”
“I’m sorry.” I fight the urge to press my hand to the glass. I want to comfort her, but I’m not sure how. I feel like I’m dealing with a sensitive, frightened animal. “But you can make things better by helping us, and when you help us, we’ll do our best to get you out of here, okay?”
“This place is awful,” she says, her voice trembling. “I hate it. I don’t want to be locked up again. I don’t… I can’t take it.”
My chest tightens. She reminds me so much of the little girl I once knew—only this version of Reagan does want to get out.
In my mind’s eye, I can imagine wrapping my little hand around hers and pulling her to safety, helping her leave the bunker we were both trapped in. I couldn’t save her then, and I don’t know if I can do much to help her now. But if I don’t bring down Alan, I know he’ll make sure she stays locked up for the rest of her life.
“I know.” I keep my voice even, although the backs of my eyes burn. “It is awful. But if you help us, we can try to help you. Will you do that?”
She nods. It’s such a small movement that I can barely pick it up at first, but it becomes stronger and more decisive as she nods again.
“Then tell me what you know about Alan,” I say. “What you remember. Why were we down there in the bunker? Do you know how we ended up there?”
Reagan lets out a shuddery breath, and when she speaks, there’s something different in her voice. She sounds older, more weary. But she also sounds more sane.
I hate that the trauma of being locked away again was what it took to break Alan’s hold on
her, but I can see the blind worship fading away a little.
“We were given to Alan as collateral.” Her voice is low, and she gestures between the two of us with her free hand as she speaks. “He has a way of… he helps people who find themselves in bad situations. People who need a favor only someone powerful can give them. But it’s not really a favor, because he asks for a lot of money in return. And if someone can’t pay up front, as security, he holds their children until their debts are paid. We were some of those children.”
I can feel all three of the Sinners tense behind me. I can practically feel their shock and anger bleeding into my body, but it’s drowned out by my own emotions. I can’t speak. I just grip the phone receiver mutely as I stare at Reagan.
“You were already there when I was given to him,” she continues. “I remember you, just like you remembered me. I got sent back to my parents a little while after you ran away, because they managed to pay their debts. They told everyone I was at a boarding school… for several years. No family visits, no holidays, nothing.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
Her voice is so blunt and matter-of-fact as she speaks that it almost makes the words sound worse. As if she should never have expected better from the people who were supposed to love and protect her.
“Your parents never paid off their debts, and if they did, you ran away before they could get you back.”
My parents… debts… given up.
My head spins as I grasp the worn countertop that runs along the glass partitions on either side, trying to process everything Reagan has just told me.
My parents gave me up? Just like that? On purpose? They traded me as currency for a favor? And her parents did that too? What kind of fucked up world am I living in where parents will trade in their children to save their own asses? To protect their businesses, their image, their secrets?
“I remember you running,” Reagan says quietly. “You asked me to go, but I didn’t want to leave… I never wanted to leave. I thought that he wanted me, needed me. But he only ever saw me as a tool.” Her voice breaks. “I’m sorry for everything I did to you. I just wanted Alan to love me. I thought if I did what he wanted, if I made him happy, it would be…”
