Page 89 of Declan

His eyes dart to mine as he listens, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t look away.

“How?” he finally asks, his voice colder than before. He hangs up, still staring at me.

“Nolan Keeffe was shot,” Flynn says, deadpan.

My hands fly to my mouth, muffling the yelp that escapes.

“I’m guessing this is Alek proving you can trust him,” Flynn adds with a smirk, lifting his glass like we’re at a damn toast. “Never liked the fucker.” He takes another sip of whiskey, utterly unbothered.

I whip around to Declan, who’s wearing the same smirk.

“One less piece of shit for me to deal with,” he says casually, clinking his glass against Flynn’s.

“Are you all insane?!” I yell, waving my arms and shooting to my feet. “He’s dead! Someone died!”

Declan chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “He almost got you killed over some high school jealous bullshit. He deserved it.”

“And he was a pain in the ass,” Connor adds with a grin. “Always getting into trouble.”

“I’m surrounded by psychopaths!” I shout, pointing an accusatory finger at all three of them.

Ding.

I freeze, looking down at my phone.

Now, do you trust me?

Chapter 28

Viviana

Ding.

Alek:Now the question is, how can I be sure I can trust you.

Right. I knew this was coming. He knows what he did. He knows how hard it was for me after that night. Selma told me to go to the cops, said it was rape. But in my mind, I was to blame—part of me still thinks that.

But the question now is, what can I do to make him believe me? I already gave him intel about the shipments and the warehouse, and there’s no way I’m killing anyone.

I glance at Declan, who’s glued to his phone, completely ignoring me.

“Now what?” I cross my arms, irritation bubbling over.

“You’re asking me?” he smirks without looking up. “I thought you said you’d deal with him.”

I swear to God, one day, I’ll beat that smirk off his face with a broom.

“You psychos think like him, I might add!” I snap, pacing the room. Damn it, Viviana, think. There has to be a way.

Declan doesn’t even look up.

“I got it,” I mutter, a smirk tugging at my lips as an idea forms.

I grab my phone and start typing, ignoring Flynn, who stands behind me, watching with far too much interest.

“Declan,” Flynn calls out, amusement lacing his voice.

Before I can react, a shadow looms over me, and my phone is snatched from my hand.

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