Page 27 of Cruel Hearts

“You haven’t seen the photos?”

“What photos?”

Ash didn’t let me access social media. I wasn’t exposed to news of any kind. The only reason my computer had internet at all was so I could save progress to the cloud. Do you know how I know who the president of the United States is? Ash threw a huge party the night of the election and was extremely pissed off when the guy, despite predictions to the contrary, won a second term. That’s how I know. Not because I saw it on the front page of a newspaper or in the feed of my social media account. Not because I was allowed to vote.

“Cardello didn’t let you have a computer?” Denton asks, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

I grit my teeth. “I wasn’t with him.” How many times do I have to deny it before someone will listen?

“Paparazzi photos suggest otherwise, young lady.”

Denton wakes up the laptop, taps in a password, and quickly navigates toTruth or Dare, a trashy gossip website that liked to write nasty articles about me and Zane. He carries the computer to the bed and sits, and I lean around him to watch as he types my name into the search bar.

In two seconds the screen is full of pictures of me and Sergio Cardello, the man I met at Zane’s party who spoke with such a thick accent I could barely understand what he said. On the beach. Walking down a cobblestone street. It looks like France, or Spain, or maybe Italy, but I can’t say for sure because I’ve never been abroad.

There’s one of us lounging on a yacht, and something Zane said comes back to me.

“I can afford a fucking yacht, you know.”

I didn’t know what he meant then, but it’s obvious now.

I skim the captions and articles written under each picture, and the comments are pretty hideous, too. Gold-digging bitch is a favorite among the sweet adjectives used to describe me. Except, anyone who knew me would know that’s not me. Well, maybe not. She has my hair and my face, but her torso is a little longer than mine and her feet are a size bigger.

Zane looked at these and believed that woman is me. I can’t blame him. The whole world thinks it’s me. They even fooled Quinn, though after I corrected her, she changed her mind without argument.

Denton keeps scrolling, and I moan.

Zane thinks I gave Sergio Cardello babies.

“That isn’t me.” My voice is weak. How can I defend myself? I have no proof to explain where I really was.

Denton turns, bringing our faces close together. “I know, Stella.”

His easy agreement fills my eyes with tears of relief. “Why would you believe me?”

“Where have you been?” he asks instead.

“At Black Enterprises.”

“Not voluntarily.”

“No.”

With unexpected kindness, he squeezes my arm, and I almost come undone. “Why don’t you shower? While you were sleeping I bought you some clothes from a store down the street. They aren’t much, but your dress ripped when I fell on you.”

I search his face but don’t find anything but fatigue, downtrodden fatigue. “Why are you doing this?”

He sighs. “I’m not who you think I am. Not any more than who the world thinks you are. We need to work together. I’ll tell you my side of the story when you’re finished cleaning up.”

“All right.”

I shut myself in the tiny bathroom, not unlike the one I used at the warehouse. I stand under the hot water and try to think of anything else that will pull my attention away from the burning pain in my leg. Road rash hurts, bad. The side of my left thigh is scraped and oozing blood from my knee to my hip.

Denton meant business pushing me out of that car’s way. But why was he looking for me? What does he have to gain by us working together?

Why did Zane fire him and Larry Cramer? Did he find out Denton and Clayton were doing more than just meeting for drinks?

It hurts to raise my arms above my head to wash my hair, but I force myself to do it. I don’t know when I’ll be able to shower next. I use Denton’s razor to shave my legs the best I can, and I smile a little. I’m sure he’d love to know that, but it feels good to have smooth skin and gives me a small sense of normalcy.

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