Page 13 of Reckless Seduction
I can’t dismiss the idea that she was the one to plant the faulty spark plug to cement her story and make us believe she was the victim.
Bingo.
Her cell phone is tucked at the bottom of her purse, beneath all the crap, and it isn’t locked. What the fuck? For a reporter, she is really fucking stupid. Who doesn’t lock their phone?
She has a slew of missed calls.Jaysus, there are nearly sixty. Most of them from a number labeledStepcunt, while the rest come from one she labeledCHEATER, in large capital letters with a puke face emoji.
Cute.
Opening her messages, I sneak a peek at some of them. There are a few from the stepcunt asking about where she is and telling her she needs to talk to Drew.
Stepcunt:
You need to come home. Drew said you walked out with all of your things. Where are you planning on going? You two need to figure this out. We can’t let your premarital spat ruin your father’s plans.
Bailey never answers.
Stepcunt:
Bailey Elizabeth Crowe, I am not kidding. Men cheat. Get over it and get your ass back home before I involve your father in this.
Crowe?That isn’t the last name she lists on her driver’s license.
Why does that name sound familiar?
Shaking my head, I focus back on the text messages. None of which Bailey responds to. There is a whole host more of them from her stepmother, mostly dragging on about how she can’t let this ruin everything her father has worked for and how she’ll regret leaving Drew, the one I assume is labeled cheater in her contacts.
Damn, I thought my mother was a frigid bitch. The two of them could be best friends. Both worried about social standings and how things affect the family image, not caring about how the family itself is affected. Not that we have much of an image. It isn’t a secret that my father runs the Irish Mafia.
Not even from the police, who we have in our back pockets. Most of them, anyway. There are always a few who think they can beat the system of corruption we have going. It never works.
It never will.
We run this city just as much as Dashkov and Romano, just with less pomp and circumstance.
They call us rats because we keep to the shadows. Hidden from prying eyes. We have more people than people think we do. More control than they can imagine.
The Wards have the shipping port.
The Romanos have several billion-dollar hotels.
Dashkov has his fancy security corporations.
Businesses like that are easy targets. They are out in the open and everyone knows of them. It makes them stand out. It’s only a matter of time before someone somewhere gets curious. The FBI. IRS. DEA. You name it. There is always some gung-ho newbie agent desperate to prove themselves and willing to go the extra mile.
All it takes is one small lead.
One minor mistake.
One very good reporter, like Bailey.
Dammit. We are risking everything by bringing her here. We should have killed her.
But…
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, bringing it to my ear without bothering to look at the number. There is only one person it will be at this hour.
“Tell me you got something for me, Bridg.”
