Page 79 of Bullet

“You know what I think? You don’t believe that, which is why you resorted to sneaking back here, kidnapping me, and holding me for ransom. You need the money. You can’t stand living in poverty, or maybe it’s just that you can’t leave a score unfinished.”

Another flash of light in his frigid eyes tells me that I’m right. I have to keep pushing, keep telling the truth. Anything less feels like letting Harold win, and I can’t do that, even if shutting up would probably keep me safe.

“You can’t stand that the club had the last word. In your mind, it doesn’t even matter what Donny did. You’re too greedy and drunk on your own ego. I can’t think of a single thing the public likes more than corruption, especially when it’s at the highest level. It makes everyone in the law look bad, but those judges deserve to lose their positions. The law is supposed to be fair and good. Justice is supposed to be served.”

“Says the woman breaking laws all because she’s turned into a little club cum dumpster.”

There was a time in my life when those words would have broken me. My honor was what I valued more than anythingelse, but I know there’s no such thing as perfectly good or pure evil. There’s no black and white. And just because this man uses those words, doesn’t make them true.

“You can call me whatever you want, but you didn’t have to turn against the club. You could have helped them follow legal channels years ago. They don’t have to be smuggling weapons to make good money. My hands are as clean as they can be, and that’s all that anyone can ask for.”

“You’d do anything for your sister.” His twisted smile chills my blood. “I know that’s true. That’s what a parent does for their child. Whatever they’re guilty of, they’ll find a way.”

“Donny raped four women. What about that do you not understand?” If Willa was hurt like that, I’d also do anything to ensure that the person who did it never saw the light of day again. “Protect him from what? From the consequences of his own actions? You should let me go before anyone from the club gets here, especially Bullet. He’ll rip you apart and there will be nothing I can do to stop that bloodlust once it starts. No amount of begging is going to save you. He won’t kill you, but you’ll wish he did.”

The unmistakable whine of sirens in the distance causes Harold to freeze. He’d kept his hand raised this whole time and was probably about to deliver another blow that would have knocked me senseless, but he freezes. His face empties out, growing mystified, as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing is real.

He can’t believe he’s lost.

“Did you think they wouldn’t make good on their threats to hand your confessions over to the police?” I spit, digging in forthe real fight now that I know the end is near. “When this whole thing settles, they’re not going to be the ones who lose. You have to have evidence to bury someone, and any evidence you have will only implicate you. A lawyer can break attorney-client privilege if they know for a fact a crime is going to be committed or if it endangers the public. You would have been obligated to do something over the years. You’d be just as guilty as they are. Arms, drugs, smuggling, whatever it is you think you have against them, you’d only be proving yourself guilty.”

“You’re so fucking sure of yourself,” he screams, grabbing my jaw in his disgusting hand. The scent of him is so strong that I nearly gag. I lock eyes with him and refuse to blink, even when his fingers dig in unmercifully. “You think you can save them? You’re nothing. No one. You’re so fucking—”

“I know that,” I whisper, the words distorted by his hold on my face. “But unlike you, I won’t let my ego get in the way. I’m not the only lawyer in the state and I’m sure as fuck not the only one in the country. They’ll be sure to hire the best of the best to fight this. Even if it drags on for years, you won’t win. Then there’s your confession, signed of your own free will, which you attested to when you signed, that you covered up your son’s crime. Even if you don’t do jail time, Donny will.”

“He doesn’t deserve this!” He shakes my face so violently that my teeth rattle right before the back of my head cranks off the cement pillar behind me.

Black spots float in front of my eyes and the room tilts, but I still hear Harold’s frantic words.

“Those women don’t even fucking matter! They’re just a bunch of stupid sluts. What did they think a college party was going to be?”

I have nothing to say. My stomach churns too violently. All I can do is breathe deeply to keep from being sick all over the cement floor. How can this man be so evil and unfeeling that he’s truly convinced of that?

The sirens grow louder, wailing and screaming clearly getting closer. Harold exchanges panicked glances with the men I now notice standing on the periphery. They’ve drawn my attention because they’re moving, just like the black dots still swimming in my vision. They aren’t going to stand their ground for him and go down for kidnapping. Whatever he promised them, it’s clear they can’t deliver.

They scatter, racing through the warehouse, going for back doors and other exits. Harold follows. It’s hard to believe he’s gone. I can only turn my head so far. I can’t see behind me. The warehouse is terribly empty, the space like a vacuum. My lungs won’t draw in air. I can’t believe this is real or that I’m going to be okay.

Willa. The club. It’s clear Harold couldn’t get to them. They’re okay. They have to be okay.

A sick splashing sound behind me causes every atom in me to freeze. The unmistakable smell of gasoline floods the air, caustic and sickly. The strike of a match comes in slow motion, the sound magnified. The whoosh of the gas igniting echoes through the cavernous space.

“Fuck!” Harold’s voice booms loudly, jarring my sore brain, but then so do his footsteps.

I wrench against the zip ties, rubbing my wrists raw, until hot blood trickles down my fingers. I struggle, twisting as much asI can against the ropes, ramming my spine into the pillar and surging forward, but nothing budges.

Is this how I die? Burned to death?

I don’t hear the roar of the flames. I can’t feel their heat. Is this shock? Is this my body shutting down so that I don’t have to live this horror, taking me outside of it to a place of safety?

“Help!” I scream, though all I can hear is the whine of sirens. “In here!” There might still be someone here. Someone with a gun willing to put a bullet in my head for calling out, but nothing happens. “Please! Help! Please! In here! I’m in here!”

Tears prick my eyes the instant the first uniformed officers rush into the warehouse in a sea of blue. My relationship with police has been tenuous ever since I witnessed how little they cared about finding the man who killed my mother. I understand now that they did care, but that the men handling the case had seen too much death and violence and they came across as insensitive and uncaring. The justice system works slowly, and there are many, many loopholes and pitfalls along the way. I didn’t know that as a teenager, but I know it now.

And I’ve never been more thankful that these men and women do care. They charged in here, heedless of their own safety.

“They’ve lit it on fire!” I yell hoarsely, trying to warn them, but also to hurry them into untying me. “They went out the back! Four men in black and Harold Jacobs in a gray suit.”

Bodies in uniforms rush in like a great tide, filling the warehouse, flashes of blue and black, guns extended, quick rapid-fire chatter.

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