Page 6 of Dirty (Chicago Underground 5)
I took the gun with me. It sat on my passenger seat, seemingly innocuous. Just plastic and metal melded together, like the seat buckle it rested on. Except it was lethal, if I used it right. Marguerite had given me a quick crash course. Would I remember? One shot, one chance.
As I drove through the city, my eyes fixated on every Dumpster or trash can, on every litter-strewn ditch I saw. I could get rid of it and call the whole thing off. And be alone again, afraid again. Was it really power or just the illusion? The pain in my shoulder felt real enough. I wasn’t sure if I could kill in cold blood, even knowing it was for the greater good, but I was sold on using it to protect myself. I would go to the club and carry it with me. If I was going to win this fight, I’d need to get my hands dirty.
Henri was out there searching for me. Philip was waiting for me to fail so he could take what he wanted. And now my father was out there too, with actions unknown and repercussions that could run deep.
Suddenly Luke’s hesitance didn’t seem bad at all. It sounded downright heavenly. The gun might be another wedge between us. He wouldn’t want me to use it. Hell, I didn’t want to use it either. But I would. With Ella’s neck on the line, I would. With my honor against the wall. I wasn’t selfish, despite what my father thought. Maybe this was the final test. The last gift, and then what? I’d do what money hadn’t done for Allie. What innocence hadn’t for Ella. I’d save us all, and then I’d finally prove my father wrong.
Inside Philip’s house, I skated around the kitchen and living rooms, hoping to avoid any contact with anyone. Instead I went up to the observatory, where I dozed into a mindless coma. It didn’t matter whether my eyes were open or closed. They were still blanketed with black and dotted with stars. I could still taste the sour night air through the double-paned glass. Such were the dreams of a hothouse flower, imagining she knew freedom in a cage, reaching for the earth at the bottom of her pot.
“Shelly?” came a whispered question. Then again, closer.
If I didn’t say anything, Ella might go away. And spend the next quarter of a century searching the whole damn house. I sighed. There really was no rest for the wicked.
“What do you need?” I called, knowing my voice would reflect off the glass around us.
“Where are you?”
“Climb the stairs in the far corner.”
A few minutes later, she crawled into the loft sectional. “Hey, this is nice. Peaceful. Kind of private.”
“Yeah,” I said drily. Private.
She nestled among the pillows beside me. “Oh, did you want me to leave?”
I didn’t, really. I liked her chattering presence, her unflagging spirit, her undeserved devotion to me. She filled the void that Allie had once occupied, sharing herself in a way I never could.
“You can stay.”
“The house is just so big. And empty. Where do you suppose Philip went? Do you think he’s coming back?”
“Probably. Don’t go looking for him, okay?”
“Okay. I get it.” She fell silent, but the air still buzzed with her energy.
Maybe I had gone about this all wrong. I had asked question after question, receiving very little back. If I offered answers first, she would… What, trust me? I rolled my eyes in the dark. Love me? The lost little girl who needs everyone to love her.
Pathetic.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, “about what we talked about, about why I didn’t leave. Or why I didn’t leave successfully.”
“Yeah, the poison.” Her voice grew cautious, as if she expected me to pounce.
Not yet, though. First I needed to spin my web, using the strongest net I knew. No words held more power than the truth. I would speak a few honest words tonight, in the hush of twilight, in the presence of innocence, and my only purpose was to draw out something useful in return. This wasn’t for me. There weren’t enough prostitutes in Amsterdam to offer me absolution.
“It’s not about where we end up. It’s about where we came from. Prostitution was always in my future. I just figured I’d be fucking one old guy for money instead of several and that we’d be married.”
Her voice lilted, uncertain. “Why not make your own money?”
“This is my own money. You mean, why not put on a pinched suit and sit in a cubicle for ten hours a day? We have very few choices in life, but one thing we can do is pick our poison. I’ll take a couple of sweaty men over a marketing department full of them any day. Except…”
“Except?”
“I thought about changing, once. That was when I met you. I was completely out. Until I wasn’t. I’m still not sure how it happened. At the time,
I thought it meant Henri was too powerful to deny. But now I wonder if it doesn’t go further back than him. Like maybe someone above him is pulling the strings.”
“You mean God?”
