Page 44 of Savior
“Where are they?”
“Destroyed. Burned.” I answer quickly, hoping that pleases her to some degree. “So was the chip from his camera. Those photos will never hurt you again.”
She lifts her hand to her face, pressing the back of her fingers to her forehead, her other hand resting fisted against her hip, eyes closed. She nearly whispers, “So, there were more like the one Jack left the night he destroyed Serene?”
“Yes... But they’re gone now, baby. Forever.”
“Who else saw them? And were they worse?”
Fuck me…
“Dean.”
“Jason did… Though, not all of them and I don’t believe he really looked.” As if this will reassure her, but I try. “He called me right away to come and take them all before he radioed in the crime scene.”
“Were they worse?” she asks again, dropping her hand and looking up at me once more. I can already see the humiliation behind her dark eyes. The same look she had that night every cop took a gander at that photo of us fucking on the pool table last fall, the night Serene was murdered.
“Baby… Only I saw.”
She looks away from me to glare back down at the purple jar of hearts stationary in her hand. “The party’s here… What does that mean?”
I clear my throat. “Lucinda didn’t write that.”
She glances up at me, perplexed. “Then who did? What does it mean?”
“I don’t know for sure. I only suspect… but that isn’t Lucinda’s hand writing. Look again.”
“It’s not Jack’s either.”
“No. But it looks similar, to this.” I retrieve my wallet and pull the Demons’ Den business card out of my wallet, handing it to her.
Her eyes shoot up to mine as she recognizes the card. “Legion?” she says in disbelief. “Why would Legion write this?”
“I can’t say for certain he did. The phone number looks similar to the writing on that paper, though.”
“So, you would rather blame Legion, a man who’s shown me more kindness than Lucinda ever has, than face the actual facts that your ex-wife tried to have me killed?”
Her words give me chills. The hairs on my body stand on end and my pulse quickens. Legion orchestrated what happened to us in the cabin. I can feel it in my bones. And what happened to us, to her, that night, is a far cry from showing her fucking kindness.
“He isn’t kind, Vanna. I know he fucking wrote that… I just can’t fucking prove it. Like I can’t prove he killed Preacher, either.” I sigh with frustration.
She looks astounded again. “Killed Preacher?”
“Yes.”
“Preacher committed suicide. That’s what the news said months ago.”
“I know.”
“Why then?” She eyes me suspiciously, damn near scowling. “I know what you’ve told me of his motorcycle club in the past… the girls, the drugs… But Preacher’s death was ruled a suicide.” She lifts the letter, as if she needs to show me what I’ve read over a hundred times already. “And you admit you don’t know for certain Legion wrote this.”
“The handwriting is similar.”
She studies it again. “Maybe. It could have been written by Jack’s accomplice. Why would you think Legion wrote this? The party’s here. What is this even supposed to mean?”
“I saw something the night the Demons showed up at the Twisted Throttle. Do you remember that night?”
“Yes.”
