Page 20 of The Venom We Bleed

“But, I need?—”

“I know what you need.” His continued inability to listen to my commands is quickly growing on my nerves. One hand flies over the keyboard while the other keeps the phone pinned to my ear. In under ten seconds, I’ve got all the court documents of his upcoming trial pulled up as well as the mugshot that had been taken when he’d been hauled in three months prior. On her fucking birthday no less. If I didn’t think it might make her hate me later on, I’d call in one of the favors I’ve got and have some POS in that facility gut him in his sleep.

I can always kill him later,I assure myself, but I can’t bring her father back if I act too hastily. For Juliet, I can do anything—even help her dipshit father.

“Allen Donovan. Age forty-seven. Born in St. Trinity, Vermont. Graduated from Eastpoint University in the late nineties. Married to Denise Donovan in the early?—”

“How do you know that?” Allen Donovan’s shock is clear through the phone

I continue. “You’re being charged with grand larceny of embezzlement and you’re facing, at minimum, ten years in a federal prison.”

Utter silence is all that meets my listing of his information. I didn’t need to pull any of it up. Because of Juliet, I’d done a deep dive into everyone surrounding her the second I’d learned how to work the dark web without getting caught. Now, it seems, my skills are coming in more than handy.

“Let me guess,” I say, pulling the phone away from my ear and turning the speaker function back on again before setting it down next to me. “You want my help to prove that you were framed.” I fold my hands together and lean back. “What makes you think I’ll believe you?”

“Because you have to!” Allen Donovan says, his volume rising as an edge of desperation takes over. “I really didn’t do it—why the fuck would I embezzle from my own company? We weren’t in any trouble. I was making millions?—”

“Sometimes, millions isn’t enough,” I tell him. “Sometimes, a man wants more and more and more. Sometimes, he wants what he shouldn’t.” I know that more than most.

My eyes lift to meet hers—the picture I’d taken from one of her social media pages before she’d taken them all down over the summer. Her eyes meet mine from where she lies, spread out over someone’s bed—a soft pink comforter at her back and her shoulders bare save for a few freckles. Her big blue eyes with a hint of gray glimmer with mirth, and my cock twitches in my pants.

“I didn’t do it.” Allen Donovan practically sobs into the receiver of the phone. If he weren’t my girl’s father, I would’ve already hung up on the asshole by now. Instead, I contemplate his claim.

I’m not a lawyer he’s trying to get to defend him. I’m not a court judge he’s trying to convince of his innocence. In fact, if he’s going to be honest to anyone—it would be me, right? The hacker he’s contacting to find evidence, to help him prove his innocence.

“I’ll know if you’re lying to me, Mr. Donovan,” I state.

“I’m not,” he says. “I swear it. I was framed—I don’t know by who and I don’t know why, but I swear, I wouldn’t be calling you if I was guilty of this. I’ve heard of your reputation here. I knowyou can find out anything. I’m willing to pay. Whatever it takes, but I did not do this.”

My eyes go from the screen to the phone sitting on my desk as I contemplate my answer and my choices. I’m taking the job, there’s no doubt about that—if there’s potential for me to save my baby from anything, I’ll do it.

I unlace my fingers. “I’ll give you some advice, Donovan,” I say as I hover over the red button on the phone screen. “Next time you call a criminal to help you, don’t talk about your fucking daughter. I’ll be in touch.”

With that, I end the call. It’s time to get to work.

9

JULIET

Ipeel off several bills from the wad of cash I hold in my hand, feeling my chest tighten with each one until the stack I’ve pulled free is considerably larger than the leftovers in my palm. I hand the cash over to Mrs. Ritchie, the apartment complex’s ‘receptionist’ aka the landlord’s wife who runs the front like a general at war.

She takes the money, glaring at me over the top of her cat-eye glasses. The old me might have haughtily informed her that they’re about seventy years out of date. The new me could not give a shit less what she wears or looks like as long as she takes my money, and I have a place to sleep for the next several months.

“This ain’t rent for one month,” she states, eyeing me as if trying to determine where I got this kind of money when everyone in town knows all my parents’ money is being held in governmental assets—the joys of living in Silverwood. Big enough to catch federal attention, but small enough that everybody knows every-fucking-body’s business.

“Yeah,” I say. “I want to pay the next six in advance.” Who would say no to that?

“You want to pay out your lease?” Her tone is suspicious, and though I hate the snide glances and the obvious disdain she has for me—this is the only apartment complex in town that hadn’t slammed the door in my face. So, I offer a smile, albeit a tight one.

The rent is too high and their facilities are a joke and I’m not too stupid to realize that they charged me double the deposit because I ‘don’t have any rental history.’ The real fact is, everyone knows I don’t have a dollar to my name, but Mr. Ritchie is a sucker for drama and the closer I am, the more he and his wife can watch my life fall apart. They’re givers like that.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say as politely as I can manage.

“Hmmm.” The old goat hums in the back of her throat as she licks her fingers and thumbs through the bills. After a moment, she hums again. “It’s all here,” she states.

No shit, Sherlock.

I try not to show my disgust as she licks her fingers once again and then fans the green stack out as if she’s just double-checking despite her words. Doesn’t she know how dirty money can be? Unfortunately, I do. I know exactly how dirty that money is. It’s probably why I’m kinda grossed out by how intimate she’s becoming with it. Maybe she wants the room.

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