A Reputation Dark & Deadly (A Dark & Deadly Series Book 2)

by Heather C. Myers

  His tone was condescending, his face contorted into a look of disbelief. If she had any sense at all, she would say no. She would say she was wrong and it sounded ludicrous and the fact that she even suggested something so ridiculous was her fault and could she please sit down now?

  But something in her refused to budge.

  "There's no way these boys would risk their scholarships," Peyton pushed, raising her brow up. She knew her face was red but she couldn't stop herself from arguing her point. Even now, as his hazel eyes trimmed her features, the same arrogantly amused smile staining his face, she couldn't find it in her to press her lips together and shut her mouth. "They've worked their entire life to play basketball for a university, to even go to college in the first place, that there's absolutely no way a girl is going to come between them and their goals."

  Logan Jeffrey was silent but he continued to stare at her, his eyes curving over her cheeks, across her lips, down to the tip of her chin, before sliding back up to her eyes. He quirked a brow before asking, "How old are you?"

  Peyton blinked in surprise. That was a question she wasn't expecting from him in this context. In fact, she wasn't expecting a personal question from him at all. Immediately, her defenses were on high alert and she couldn't help but hesitate. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly enough to relay the message that now was not the appropriate time to withhold any information.

  She clenched her teeth together. "Twenty-four," she replied finally. She didn't hide the fact that she wasn't too happy about revealing that bit of information either. "Why?"

  He grinned at the fact that she questioned him. "You're young," he said. "You probably, what, took a few years off between college and grad school to find yourself. Now, if I had to guess, I would say you spent Daddy's money traveling. Not alone, you'd never fucking leave the country alone, but with a girlfriend, maybe a boyfriend..." He perked his brow up, leaving the rest of his question silent.

  Why was he asking her these things? More than that, how could he tell just by looking at her? Sure, her age gave her away a little bit but how could he know she spent that time traveling?

  "What are you getting at?" she asked.

  "What I'm getting at, sweetheart, is you're fucking young and naive," he said. "Let me see a show of hands for the guys - and don't fucking bullshit me, either. I know a lot of you are a bunch of nerds but let's talk pussy for a second. I'll set the scene: you're in high school, this is your senior year, you're in your prime, guys, and your hormones are fucking raging. You go to a party at the end of the year before Christmas break with all your classmates. There are some pretty girls and the thing about pretty girls is they're either complete trash and sloppy or they stay classy, they don't drink, they're only here because their uglier friend dragged them to the party. That, or they came for a fucking boy. Not to get paid but because they think a party is a perfectly acceptable place to meet your future ex-boyfriend. If I had to guess, sweetheart, you're the type to never even go to parties unless forced by a friend."

  "And what does this have anything to do with me?" Peyton asked, feeling uncomfortable with the way he spoke about her. She ignored the fact that he called her pretty indirectly.

  "Everything, sweetheart," he replied with mild exasperation.

  "Pussy is pussy. Right, guys?" His eyes left Peyton's to return to the class and he pushed his brow up, wrinkling his forehead. "Is your scholarship on your fucking mind when you have pussy right in front of you? Do you consider your fucking future when you know you're going to get laid?" He paused and looked around. "Fuck no, you don't. You don't let consequences talk you out of getting laid. And you wouldn't know that, sweetheart, because you're a chick. You think with your head, guys think with their dicks. It's the way the world works."

  Peyton hated herself for blushing at his words. His seemed to notice too, causing his hazel eyes to sparkle with unabashed amusement, making it even worse.

  "Carter is a chick," she pointed out, raising a questionable brow.

  "So?" Logan asked.

  "So," Peyton said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. His brow perked at the detection of attitude in her tone but he seemed to approve of it, which was weird but not something Peyton planned to look too much into. "You said chicks wouldn't get it because they think with their heads. Carter is a chick, she still propositioned Cornell and Luke for sex."

  "Carter isn't like you, sweetheart," Logan pointed out. "Carter is like most girls. She went through her whole goddamn life with an average everything. It made her invisible for the most part. Invisible girls are usually the crazy ones, which also makes them better in bed, because they actually have to work to get that attention. Once they fucking have it, they're going to be unforgettable."

  "Except Carter wasn't unforgettable in the sense that she was good in bed," Peyton pointed out. "She's unforgettable in that she accused these boys of gang raping her in the guest bedroom of a student's house."

  "Let me ask you a question," Logan said, shifting his weight so his right hip jutted out. His focus was solely on Peyton. "Do you agree that sex took place between all three in question, and what I mean by that is, do you agree that each boy took his turn at fucking Carter?"

  Peyton took a moment to process his question before slowly nodding her head once.

  "Okay," he said, turning on the heel of his foot as he started to stroll up and down the front if the class room like he was taking a walk in the park. "So the sex definitely took place. What we need to establish is whether or not the sex was consensual. The fact that they were drinking could work in her favor."

  "But why?" Peyton asked, interrupting him.

  "Why, what?" He stopped mid-step and turned to face Peyton once more.

  "They were all drinking, right?" Peyton asked. "Why does the burden fall on the drunk men to restrain the drunk women? Why isn't there an equal amount of responsibility placed on everyone's shoulders? Multiple witnesses say she was the one propositioning them. Blood alcohol content shows she was less drunk than they were. If anything, she took advantage of them."

  "Are you saying she raped both boys?" Logan asked. He wasn't incredulous with his tone nor did he make her feel stupid but the question was firm and inquisitive. He wanted to see where she went with this.

  "I wouldn't go that far," Peyton said. "You said it yourself. Pussy is pussy. If you have a girl at a party in your face basically telling you and your friends that she'll fuck you right here right now added to the fact that you and your friend are both ridiculously drunk, how are you going to say no?"

  "Are you asking me or are you asking a general question, sweetheart?" Logan asked, that arrogant smile back on his face.

  "I'm saying, using your logic that pussy is pussy, amplified by the fact that everyone had been drinking, plus witnesses said she was all over them for the entire party, it's hard for me to automatically believe that she was raped the next morning," Peyton said. "How can she remember that she said no when she doesn't even remember what happened?"

  "She clearly remembers what fucking happened," Logan pointed out, pushing his brows up and pressing his lips together. "I'm sure you read her account twenty pages from now."

  "But in her statement, she doesn't remember anything," Peyton said. "And that just highlights my point. No one saw these two brothers force Carter into the room with them. In fact, they say that she was laughing and smiling and that she chose to go with him of her free will. She wanted it. She wanted them. She wanted the attention."

  "So she's not allowed to change her mind?" Logan asked, quirking a brow. His jaw was set and the intensity of his stare caused Peyton's heart to palpitate.

  "What?" she asked, feeling relatively stupid.

  "Change her mind," he repeated. "Don't pretend like you don't have a goddamn clue what I'm talking about, either. You women change your mind constantly. Let's say you're right," he began as he started to pace back up and down the front of the classroom. "Let's say she ini
tiates the flirting, she laughs and twirls her fucking hair and bats her fucking eyelashes. Let's say you're right so the witnesses see her all over them. Let's say she leads them to the room and they get into the room and they start kissing and fondling. Is she allowed to change her fucking mind?"

  Peyton bit the inside of her bottom lip. His words sunk in and she realized that he had her because of course she was allowed to change her mind. It's did matter if she was naked, ready for him to enter her, she could still say no. She had that right.

  "And," he went on slowly, his eyes meeting Peyton's once more, "she claims she did. And you, a reasonably intelligent young woman is looking me in my fucking eyes and telling me that that, unto itself, might not even be goddamn good enough? Are you fucking crazy or just sexist?" Peyton wrinkled her nose and his brow shot straight to the sky. "Whoa, there, sweetheart, did I touch a nerve? You're reacting to my comments in a way that I've never fucking seen before. Why so fucking defensive?"

  Peyton had no idea what to say. She just knew she hated the man in front of her and she hated how confident she had been thinking that she would be right and he would be wrong and she could beat him. How silly, how ignorant she was.

  "So, once again, we have a he said-she said," Logan continued, his eyes sweeping across the class. "There were only three fucking people in that room that night. Sex definitely happened. Whether it was rape or consensual is schematics. In the end, a lot of prosecutors will not prosecute on a he said-she said." His hazel eyes found Peyton's once more. "Care to tell me why, sweetheart?"

  "The DA won't file unless he knows it's something he can win," she said, trying to keep her voice strong but failing miserably.

  "Exactly," Logan said, crinkling his eyes and pointing at her gleefully. "Ex-fucking-actly. The DA is the biggest bitch of them all. That guy won't file unless he knows it's a case he can fucking win. Now, it's a practice all DA's fucking adhere to because prosecutors are pussies but a big reason the Newport DA is so fucking stingy about shit like this is because of a 1931 case against an old time fucking gangster Alvin Herbert. That guy was a fucking hoot, let me tell you. I'm sure you've all heard of him, he's fucking notorious here, but does anyone know what case I'm fucking referring to?"

  No one raised their hands. When Peyton realized no one would, she did.

  Logan seemed surprised. "Really, sweetheart?" he asked with a grin. "You don't seem like the bad boy type."

  "He's not the typical modern day bad boy," she said before she could stop herself. "Alvin Herbert was a gangster from the nineteen thirties, from the depression era. He was known as the Robin Hood of the Thirties, stealing from the banks and giving to the poor. In fact, during one hold up, he refused to take money from a man who had been about to deposit it. He never fired first, that was his thing, and on the rare occasion he took tellers with him to shield him and his men as they made their getaway, he was always cordial, polite, and even charming."

  "Thank you for that goddamn history lesson nobody asked for," Logan said, though there was a slight surprise to his face as he watched her speak about Alvin Herbert. "What case am I referring to, sweetheart? Let's stay fucking focused."

  Peyton rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. His mouth dropped open at her reaction and his eyes widened, as though couldn't believe anyone would dare give him attitude, especially in public. Not as though anyone was really paying attention to her. Their eyes were either on the surface of the desk, praying to God Logan didn't call on them, or watching him from the corner of their eyes, trying not to make direct eye contact with him. He was solely focused on her, however, and Peyton wasn't sure that was a good thing.

  "During one of his armed robberies, as he was getting away, a police officer shot at him," Peyton explained. Her eyes never left Logan's. Whether that was by design or if it was because she wasn't fully able to, she couldn't say. "Barker was wearing a bulletproof vest on the inside of his suit so he didn't die. However, Herbert shot back in self-defense and killed the officer. The thing is, there were so many bullets going off, witnesses at the time couldn't pinpoint who actually killed the officer but Hoover and the rest of the Bureau of Investigation wanted to blame Herbert because the public was in love with him. When he was caught in St. Paul, he was extradited to California, where the death took place on those charges."

  "You know your Newport history," Logan murmured and it sounded as though he was genuinely impressed with her.

  Peyton shrugged dismissively. "I know Alvin Herbert history," she replied. "The DA was so sure he was going to win, he demanded the police department throw a case together as soon as possible."

  "What a bitch, am I right?" Logan asked, throwing his gaze around the room but keeping his body square in front of Peyton. "The guy can't even wait for the police to collect their goddamn evidence. That's how bad DA Peterson wanted a win even though, besides a dead officer, there was absolutely no fucking evidence to put his ass away. Think about that for a minute. There was a shit ton of pressure from everyone. Herbert finally had a charge that might be able to stick. Old Newport Jail is small but nearly fucking impossible to escape. As slippery as the guy was, he wasn't that slippery. So he gets charged." He swept his eyes over to Peyton. "What was another thing about Herbert's trial that made it unique?"

  Peyton didn't even hesitate. "Herbert stayed at the jail rather being transported to the prison," she replied.

  "Ding ding fucking ding," Logan said. Peyton couldn't be sure but he seemed even more impressed now than he had been since she first stood up. "Why the fuck do you think that happened, sweetheart, since no one else in the fucking class wants to speak and you seem to have a hard-on for Herbert."

  Peyton felt herself blush at the accusation but didn't deny it. "This was a big deal because prisoners were usually transported to a prison upstate until their trial," she said. "Herbert stayed in the jail the whole time. I don't think he didn't escape because he couldn't. I think he chose to remain in the jail for the duration of his trial, until they delivered the not guilty sentence."

  "Really?" Logan asked, raising a brow. "And what makes you say that?"

  "I mean, I've read a lot about him," she pointed out. "He learned how to pick locks the first time he got sent to prison. It was where he decided to become a bank robber in the first place. He met Bob Holks, his mentor there, networked, made some connections. He managed to escape thanks to a big bribe from Holks to one of the guards but also because he could pick locks and charm anyone he came in contact with. He managed to escape from Little Bohemia, completely surrounded by Bureau of Investigation agents, armed and ready to take his gang out. Do you know how impossible that is? There's a lake behind the inn and agents surrounding the front. If you visit the place today, there are still bullet casings on the grounds. He was the only survivor. If he can escape that without a scratch, there's no way some jail is going to keep him locked up." She shook her head. "I think he chose to stay."

  "And why do you think that is, sweetheart, since you think you know so goddamn much about him?" Logan asked.

  "In jail, he could have daily visitors," she explained. "Lola Faulkner visited him every day for the duration of his trial. I think he would rather stay, knowing he would see her every day, than escape and risk being on the run. If he got a not guilty verdict, which he did, he wouldn't have to run anymore. He could actually start a life with her."

  "Except for the fact Hoover's Bureau wanted him so fucking badly for laws that weren't even in the federal jurisdiction until Barker committed them and Hoover changed the laws," Logan said, his eyes dancing with merriment. "I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, think about that. Hoover wanted this guy so badly, he changed the laws. And finally, he fucking gets him, but Petersen files without even looking at the fucking evidence. He wants the police to do his job. What happens?"

  "The jury says not guilty," Peyton responded. "Petersen underestimates the public's love for him and overestimates the police and his own ability to get a guilty verdict. He thinks tha
t because everyone knows Barker is a bad guy, the jury would have no choice but to convict. But he's wrong."

  "But he's wrong," Logan agreed, not taking his eyes off of Peyton. "Okay, assholes, time to go. You better come back Wednesday with more shit to say. I'm tired of hearing her talk so damn much."

  But then, as he continued to stare at Peyton, he nodded once. A sign of approval.

  Peyton swallowed as she forced herself to look away, her throat raw and dry, and started collecting her books. She had survived her first class with Logan Jeffrey. Now, she just needed to survive the year.

  Chapter 2

  Being in grad school meant getting the option to TA. When Peyton got the message after her class with Logan Jeffrey from someone begging her to fill in for her for the entire quarter, Peyton jumped at the chance without thinking about it.

  Three hours and twenty-nine minutes later, in the half-empty room of a lecture building, Peyton decided she regretted her decision.

  "Well, well, well, sweetheart," he drawled, his eyes going up and down Peyton's frame. It wasn't lecherous, but it was enough to show that he was in charge and he hadn't forgotten her little outburst in class just a few hours ago. "Miss me already?"

  Peyton felt her anger spark. It was like he had dumped gasoline and her and was waiting for a spark, some kind of flame to hit her just right so she could catch fire. She had no idea how he was allowed to talk to her with such condensation without any sort of reprimand. She didn't appreciate the pet name either, but she also knew he didn't reserve that solely for the female population of the student body. Rather, he called everyone something except their name. Plus, she knew from friends who had been in his classes before that he absolutely detested any physical or sexual abuse against women and children. The pet name had nothing to do with her sex and everything to do with power. He didn't need to learn her name; she was just another student. He would forget her existence the minute she walked out of his classroom for the last time. But he knew he was someone that wasn't easily forgotten. Even for her.