Page 85 of Played
So I do. The whole ugly story spills out—how we met, how he seemed perfect at first, how he slowly became controlling, then violent. The slap. The letters. The black roses. The attack in the parking lot just days ago.
Mendez listens without interrupting, her expression unreadable. The younger cop scribbles furiously.
"We filed a restraining order," I add. "It should be in the system."
"It is," Mendez confirms. "We'll be talking to Mr. Ross about that as well."
"So you can arrest him?" Hope flickers in my chest.
She shakes her head. "Not yet. We don't have enough evidence to prove he did this."
My stomach drops. "What? But who else would—"
"The security cameras were smashed," the younger cop interjects. "Inside and out. Whoever did this knew what theywere doing. They knew where the cameras were and took them out first."
"One camera outside caught footage," Mendez adds. "Three men, dressed in black. But the angle's bad—we can't identify anyone from it."
Three men.
Just like the convenience store robbery.
My blood turns to ice.
"We'll question Mr. Ross,” Mendez continues. "See if he has an alibi. But without concrete evidence linking him to the scene, we can't make an arrest."
"So what am I supposed to do?" My voice rises. "Just wait for him to come after me again?"
"You have a restraining order. If he violates it, call us immediately." Her tone softens. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but our hands are tied right now."
I slump back against the booth, defeated.
Daniel's always three steps ahead.
And he knows it.
We order Thai food again—our favorites—cashew orange chicken, and ginger chicken. The irony isn't lost on me. Same meal Daniel and I had that day he threw a phone in an aquarium.
Julian unpacks the containers in silence, his jaw tight.
I can't keep it in anymore. "I need to tell you something."
He looks up, those dark eyes reading me instantly. "What happened?"
So I tell him. Everything. The smashed door, the spray paint, the slashed tables, broken bottles everywhere. How the copshave nothing concrete on Daniel. How he'll probably get away with it.
Julian sets down his fork. Slowly. Carefully.
Too carefully.
"That motherfucker."
"Julian—"
He shoots up—his chair scrapes against the floor. I’ve never seen him look so angry.
“He destroyed your workplace! He could've hurt someone—hurtyou."
"I wasn't there… it was in the middle of the night—"
