Page 104 of Brazen Criminals

I’m still shaking as I pace the living room. I recorded my starting bit earlier, me telling “Bryce” that I’m turning on the water, basically implying that I’m stress cleaning. The sound of water in the bathroom sink will hopefully cover up any of the weird audio cuts from feeding the sound out of speakers on either side of the bug. Two speakers, one for me, one for Bryce. RJ set the volume loud enough for the cops to hear, but quiet enough that Bryce and I won’t get an echo in the living room.

God, I don’t want to do this.

He can’t hurt me, the guys are here, all I have to do is say “run” and they’ll come get me.

The wait is interminable. I’m glad the guys are staying away like I asked. I am the exact right amount of fucked up when there’s a knock at the door. Bryce is here.

I inch open the door, glancing down the street as I let him in. The police van idles a half block away, a glimmer of sunlight flashing off a camera lens.

They know he’s here. Now all I have to do is get them to listen.

Bryce is waiting for me in the hallway. He steps closer as I shut the door, looming over me, making me feel small. My heart pounds, my head bowing by instinct, defaulting to his chastisement.

Fuck, I don’t have time for this bullshit.

Bryce’s arm moves to cage me against the door, but I duck under it, diving for the living room. He grabs for my elbow, but I’ve already slipped away.

I don’t want him to touch me ever again. If he does, I don’t know exactly what I’ll do, but the options are either to shatter like a poorly glued broken vase or to explode like a match on a pile of pine needles. Neither reaction will get me what I want—Bryce gone and Trips back.

“We don’t have long. They went out and said they’d be back by one,” I say, curling up in Trips’ chair. I’m safe here—Bryce can’t sit next to me.

He perches on the arm of the couch closest to me. Always taking the higher ground, always in the position of power. He looks me up and down, and I wait for his critique. “Clara, I know it’s been a rough couple of weeks, but when was the last time you did your nails?”

I haven’t done my fingernails or toenails since we broke up. I’ve enjoyed seeing my own nail beds. I haven’t been biting them, so they don’t need to be covered. They’re purely mine. I tuck my hands under my arms, my feet folding under me so he can’t see them. I chew on my lip, working up the courage to start.

I hadn’t realized how out of control I’d feel with Bryce in the room. I’m simultaneously my new strong self and my old broken self, and both versions are screaming, trying to wrench control of the situation. I’ve never been a great actor. I’m going to have to listen to damaged Clara, to tear open the wounds I’ve only just started to patch. That Clara knows how to talk to Bryce.

“Bryce, I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” I start.

“Clara, baby, you’re forgiven. I always have a place for you, you know that.”

I tug on my shirt, on my shorts, not having a safe place to set down my hands. “I’m scared,” I say.

Bryce assumes my fear has nothing to do with him. “I can see that, Clara. That’s why I got that brute out of here. I knew you’d be able to find your way back to me once he was gone. We can get you safe right now. Let’s go pack your stuff and we’ll head home.”

He reaches for my hand.

I’ve never been so grateful for my hands’ impersonation of restless birds as when he misses his first grab. Wary of looking like a fool, he settles his hand on the arm of my chair.

I shake my head, forcing my anger back down. It has no role to play right now. “No, I need to know what you know first. You know how I get. I need details, Bryce.”

He sighs, and the tightness in my chest eases. That sigh means he feels like appeasing me. He’s going to share.

I hold my breath, waiting for him to say something about the assault. He rubs the back of his neck, watching me. He’s waiting for another apology. Soon, he’ll only respond if I’m crying. God, I hope I don’t have to cry for him again. But I’ll play his game. Only this time, I have a stacked deck.

“I’m sorry, Bryce. Please, I just need to know. I need to verify what I already found out. Please.”

Begging works. It always works. “I don’t know about all your roommates. But you should know that brute Archibald is running an illegal high-stakes poker game.”

Not what I was expecting. “Really? I thought I’d found something…worse,” I say.

“Worse than running an underground gambling hall? It sounds like he collects his own debts—I couldn’t find solid proof, but he’s a dangerous guy, Clara. He’s the kind of guy who’ll break your kneecaps if you owe him money. It’s not safe for you to live in the same house as that guy, baby.”

Well shit.

Maybe he thinks one of the other guys is trouble? “You said all of my roommates are dangerous, didn’t you?”

Bryce puts on his serious face, the one he practiced in the mirror so he could deliver bad diagnoses with the appropriate amount of gravitas. “Archibald’s roommates help him with the gambling ring, Clara. I’m sorry. They’re all in on it. They’re not good guys.” He shakes his head. “But at least you have a safe place to land.”

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