Page 53 of White Rabbit

They nod to my pockets, and reaching in, I pull out my phone and the USB.

“I copied files and emails from my father’s office. I didn’t quite know what I was looking at—but I think it links him to The Cartel and some international business called SolTech.”

“SolTech?” Nicco and Cato share another look. Another silent conversation.

“And what were you planning to do with these files?”

It’s my turn to shrug because, in all honesty, I haven’t gotten that far yet. All I had been focused on was actually getting the information—I was running on adrenaline and rage, and planning had gone out the window. “I was going to go to the authorities.”

“Are you listening to this?” Cato shakes their head with a sneer as they walk back and forth, muttering to themselves. Finally whirling to a stop in front of me, they jab a finger into my shoulder angrily. “An artist wades into the middle of a turf war, has proof of shady dealings linked to a D-list celebrity judge and thinks she can just drop this at a police station and be done with it? Wake up sweetheart.”

Nicco coughs awkwardly, gesticulating slowly with his large hands as he says, “I think what Cato means is that those files would mysteriously vanish and you’d be dead by sunrise, probably in a ‘burglary gone wrong’. That’s if they can identify your body. You might just be chopped up, wrapped in chicken wire and dropped in a barrel in the dock. It happens.”

I don’t think he realizes his words aren’t any kinder or more understanding than Cato’s. In fact, I think I’m more disturbed as I stare at the couple.

Cato also seems to stare at Nicco with concern. “Anyway…This world isn’t a game. Either you’re in it, or you’re blissfully ignorant. This is the only chance you’ll have to go back. Do you understand that?”

Go back?

Go back to what?

A boyfriend who wanted me to be someone I wasn’t, while he fucked around, being part of a throuple with someone I thought was my best friend?

The job where I was handled like glass, kept away from any real responsibilities or opportunities, and discarded easily because of who my father knew?

And let’s not start on my mess of a family. My father treats me like a second class-citizen, who’s only worth is as an extension of him. Constantly overlooked. Constantly criticized. Held up against my brother—who is an addict of some kind, slowly coming unglued and hates me for reasons he doesn’t feel the need to explain.

Then there’s him.

Elijah Creed.

Left Hand of the Family.

A man who takes what he wants and leaves very little room for discussion. Claims what he thinks belongs to him with teeth and nails, clawing to keep hold of it like a wild animal.

I chuckle. “We both know there's no going back from someone like Eli.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Here, you can do something more useful with it.” Handing the memory stick to Cato, I open my phone and begin preparing the emails and files to be sent.

They nudge me with their shoulder, the corner of their mouth lifted into a wicked smile. “Welcome to WunderLnd, Bishop.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

ELIJAH

White Rabbit.

When I first set my sights on her, I thought she was small, easily frightened, innocent, and I wanted to be the wolf that devoured her. The beast who dirtied up her pristine fur.

I had planned to use her to get the information I wanted and as a way to get closer to Judge Walters.

But Ava isn’t helpless prey. She isn’t running scared, she’s watching and waiting. She knows the darkest parts of me, knows me at my core and yet still stays. The days of wanting to use her for leverage have long passed. I didn’t want her at my feet, used and broken. I needed her standing by my side. My darkness calls to hers and together we’re like a burst of color in a world of gray and black.

She was fearless, feisty and had a body that I would kill for. I mean, I have killed for less and if anyone so much as looked at my woman, I’d pop their eyeballs out of their heads and make them eat them.

Not being able to enjoy my Rabbit was the hardest part about being inside, besides the shit food and being surrounded by too many men. My time in the slammer needed to end soon. There were only so many clandestine meetings we could have before we were caught.

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