Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
“Have a seat, Ms. English.” Reeves gestured to the chair facing the mirror.
I sat, placing my hands flat on the table to hide their trembling. “Am I under arrest?”
“No, no,” Reeves smiled, the expression never reaching his steel-gray eyes. “Just hoping for your cooperation on a matter of public safety.”
Mercer remained standing while Reeves took the chair opposite me, placing a manila folder on the table between us. The folder remained closed, but his fingers tapped against it rhythmically, drawing my attention.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time at the warehouses,” he said. Not a question. “At the compound of the motorcycle club called Kiss of Death.”
“I deliver groceries there,” I replied, the same answer I’d given during our first encounter. I was beginning to feel I was destined to repeat myself over and over until the end of time. “It’s my job.”
“Is that all it is?” Reeves tilted his head, studying me. “Just a job?”
The image of Marcus’s garden flashed in my mind, of his hands gently pruning the herbs, of his lips against mine in the rain. I forced my face to remain neutral. “Yes.”
Reeves exchanged a glance with Mercer, who nodded almost imperceptibly. He opened the folder and slid several glossy photographs across the table toward me.
My blood turned to ice.
The photos showed me at the compound, but not as I remembered being there. In one, my image had been expertly spliced into what looked like a party scene, my posture suggestive as I leaned against a shirtless man whose face was just out of frame. In another, I appeared to be counting money, surrounded by bags of white powder that I knew had never been there. A third showed me climbing onto the back of Rancor’s motorcycle, which I’d never been on.
“These are fake,” I whispered, my mouth gone dry. “I never -- You made these up somehow.”
“Photoshopped? Altered with some fancy AI program? Perhaps,” Reeves shrugged, the casual gesture belying the threat in his eyes. “But they’d look convincing enough to a judge. Enough to justify charges for prostitution, drug distribution, conspiracy…”
“That’s insane,” I said, pushing the photos away. “You can’t just fabricate evidence.”
“We’re not fabricating anything,” Mercer spoke up, her voice softer than Reeves’ but no less firm. “We’re simply preparing contingencies. In case our request for cooperation is denied.” Was it my imagination, or did Mercer look uncomfortable with my interrogation?
My hands trembled harder, and I balled them into fists. “What do you want from me?”
Reeves leaned forward, his expression saying he had me right where he wanted me. “Information. Access. Eyes and ears inside a criminal organization that has, thus far, managed to operate just beyond our reach.”
Mercer approached the table and placed three small objects on the surface. They looked like small, innocuous everyday objects. A button, a thumbtack, and what appeared to be a tiny plastic air freshener shaped like a pine tree sat in front of me and I got a sick feeling in my stomach.
“Listening devices,” she explained, her tone matter-of-fact. “State of the art.”
I stared at the tiny objects, each no bigger than my thumbnail. “You want me to spy on them.”
“We want you to help us protect the community from dangerous criminals,” Reeves corrected. “Men who’ve killed, who traffic drugs and young girls. They believe they’re above the law.”
The faces of the people I’d met flashed through my mind. Hannah’s warm smile, the club members who treated me with nothing but respect, Marcus… They didn’t match Reeves’s description, and none of them would ever hurt a child like he was suggesting, but I couldn’t deny what Marcus had told me about his past. He’d killed a man. He’d gone to prison. But context mattered, didn’t it? Marcus owned the shit. I couldn’t blame him either. I’d have wanted to do the same thing. Would have if I’d been strong enough. So, no. I wasn’t picking up what these assholes were throwing down.
“I can’t help you,” I said, the words barely audible. “They trust me. Besides, I can’t lie worth a damn.”
“That’s exactly why it has to be you,” Mercer said, almost sympathetically. “Look, we’re not asking you to put yourself in danger. Just place these devices where they won’t be found, then walk away. You never have to know what we hear.”
Reeves tapped the photos again. “Of course, if you prefer to face charges based on this evidence, that’s your choice. Though I imagine it would be difficult to find work with a record for prostitution and drug offenses. Housing too, for that matter.”
My carefully built life, the apartment I’d fought to keep, the job that barely paid my bills but was honest work, all of it hung by a thread these two could snip with a single call. I’d been homeless before. I couldn’t go back to that. Couldn’t face the streets again, the hunger, the constant fear.