Page 159 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

I gripped the edge of the table, fighting the urge to throw my phone across the room. He wasn’t just a monster. He was the devil in a tailored suit.

Before I could fully process it, my phone buzzed again.

Lincoln: Everything you need to bury him. Use the server I gave you to send it as an anonymous tip so you don’t get caught up in it. The PI removed you and Sloane’s names from the docs. Don’t screw this up.

Me: How the fuck do you always have this stuff ready to go so fast?

His response came almost immediately.

Lincoln: It’s a Circle of Trust thing.

I snorted.

Me: So it does exist.

Lincoln: …

Sliding over to my laptop, I pulled up the secure server Lincoln had set up for me. Uploading the files felt both satisfying and sickening. Every document, every photo painted an unmistakable picture of Everett’s guilt, but the faces of those women, their hollow eyes staring back at me in the photographs, made my chest tighten.

With one final click, the files were sent.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the confirmation message on the screen. The weight in my chest eased just slightly. The tip had gone through, hopefully anonymous and untraceable, and it was only a matter of time before the fallout began.

Everett was going to lose everything.

CHAPTER44

SLOANE

The apartment was quiet, except for the clinking of my fork against the plate as I finished the last bite of one of Mrs. Bentley’s stuffed French toast. I’d been painting all morning while Logan was at practice and had almost forgotten to eat.

I moaned around my last bite like some kind of crazy person. The guys liked her burritos, but her French toast may have been better than anything I’d ever tasted.

Even if I wasn’t head over heels for Logan, it might be worth sticking around just for access to them.

Snorting at that thought, I reached for the remote, flicking on the television more for noise than anything else. I barely glanced at the screen as the bright logo of a news channel filled the space, the familiar anchor’s voice droning on about the usual chaos of the world.

And then I heard it.

“Breaking news this afternoon: Prominent business tycoon Everett Wells has been arrested on charges related to human trafficking and running an extensive prostitution ring.”

The fork dropped from my hand, clattering onto the plate as my head snapped toward the screen. My breath caught as they showed footage of him being escorted in handcuffs, his suit rumpled for the first time in memory.

My heart thundered as the anchor continued, her voice polished and detached, like she wasn’t dismantling the man who had controlled every aspect of my life for years.

“An anonymous tip provided authorities with detailed evidence of Wells’s operations, including high-profile clients connected to the ring. One name already making headlines is Congressman Jared Stroople, who has been linked to the case. More details are expected as this story develops.”

I sank to the floor, the cold hardwood pressing against my legs as my body shook. My mind raced through a frenzied storm of emotions—relief, disbelief, anger, grief, and something else I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just that Everett was gone. It was that the entire foundation of his power was being obliterated.

The weight of it all crushed me in waves, and for a long moment, I just sat there, trembling as the images on the screen blurred together.

* * *

An hour later, the sound of the front door opening jolted me out of my haze. I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding all over again. Logan was barely through the doorway when I ran to him, throwing my arms around his neck with a force that startled even me.

“Thank you,” I breathed, my voice breaking as I clung to him. “Thank you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his lips curving into that cocky, infuriating grin that never failed to make my chest flutter. “Don’t thank me,” he said smoothly. “Thank Batman.”

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