Page 74 of Girl, Reformed

Ella felt her guts turn to ice, a slowfrost creeping through her veins. ‘Paid you.’

‘Two grand, cash on the barrel.’ Mulroneylooked up at her through wispy lashes, pleading. ‘I needed the money, alright?Medical bills, they don't pay for themselves!’

Ella's head was pounding, rage and disgusta two-headed viper sinking fangs in her frontal lobe. Greed and cruelty, theoldest dance partnership in the book. Chew a man up and spit him out, then selltickets to the aftermath. She wanted to laugh or scream or punch her own headuntil the world made sense again. This mook, this soft-handed little worm hadsold Doyle out. Cashed in on his humiliation for a measly two grand.

And now people were dead because of it.Good, bad, didn't matter - they were all just punchlines now. Christ, no wonderDoyle had snapped. No wonder he'd started painting the town red one laugh at atime. Ella almost couldn't blame him.

But there was no time for sympathy, forunderstanding. No time to plumb the depths of a broken man's shattered psyche.Not when there was still one name left in his little black book.

‘Did Doyle know?’ She asked, voice coldenough to leave hoarfrost in its wake. ‘That you got paid to ruin his life?’

Brandon's chin wobbled, tears starting toleak. Pathetic.

‘Doyle emailed me,’ he said, snotbubbling. ‘Begged me to take the video down. But I couldn’t. Freddy would havecut me off. Blackballed me from every other club in town. Said he’d sue me if Itold anyone about our deal.’

Ella saw red. Blood in her eyes, poundingin her ears. For a second, she wanted nothing more than to crack Brandon'sempty skull open and see if there was anything rattling around besides echoesand IOUs.

But she reined it in. Barely. The job camefirst. Finding Freddy Vanzetti the club owner and beating Doyle to the lastsquare on this messed-up bingo board.

‘It’s a hard life,’ she said. ‘And thisFreddy Vanzetti. He was there the night it happened?’

'He's there every night. Every day, too.He was the one who boosted my video out there. Put it on all the social sites,all the video sites. He made sure millions saw it.'

The man behind the curtain. The one who'dset the stage, called the cues. The one who'd made a laughingstock of awannabe’s dreams, and then had the gall, the sheer unmitigated audacity toprofit from it.

Another star of this freakshow. Anothervillain, cackling and capering in the wings.

And Doyle was headed right for him. Aguided missile, locked and loaded with enough psychotic rage to level cityblocks. He'd save Vanzetti for last, the pièce de résistance of hisbloody revenge fantasy.

So now Ella had to save his life.

She whirled away, already fishing out hercell. Ready to put an APB on every cop, crud, and camgirl from here to thestate line. Smoke this Freddy fucker out, get him in protective before he woundup the big finish at Doyle's stand-up special.

But Luca caught her elbow, his grip gentleas a shrink's question. Ella snapped around to snarl at him, but the look inhis eyes stopped her dead.

‘We already know where Doyle's headed,’ hesaid softly. ‘Where he's been headed this whole damn time. We knowwhere this ends.’

And Ella saw it. The dots connecting,lightning streaking across a black sky. The endgame Sebastian had plannedbefore the first body hit the ground.

‘The Laughingstock club,’ Ella said as sheeyed her partner, this rookie who’d seen too much too soon. Who still had hopeand heart and a hunger for justice that matched her own.

And she knew, in that moment, that she’dhappily go down, all guns blazing and middle fingers raised alongside him. Hemight not have been Ripley, but damn if he didn’t make a good argument forbeing her replacement.

She turned to Harland, jerked her head atMulroney still quaking on the couch. ‘Hold down the fort here, Chief. Babysitthe cameraman, make sure he doesn't accidentally make any more murderers.’

Harland grunted, already moving to blockthe door with his bulk. ‘You got it. Where are you going?’

‘We’re going to find Doyle and show himsome real laughs.’

And with that, she was moving. Out thedoor, down the walk, Luca hot on her heels like a hound scenting blood.

Doyle had had his fill of the spotlight,basked in the crimson glow of revenge served raw and wriggling. Now it was timefor the hook, the long drag offstage and into a cold cement cell.

No more encores. No more death rattles inthe dark. Ella was ending this freakshow tonight.

She was going to have the last laugh if itkilled her.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

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