Page 180 of Pretty Poisoned

"She's got a filthy mouth. I should have warned you," the female cop says. "Wasn't raised right—that's for sure."

"No," he says. "It's an underground society of sorts that's been branded as a cult. They're mainly operational in Europe, but we've seen evidence of an active chapter here in the Western U.S. We think the De Rossis are involved, and we think you know they were involved."

"Involved in what, exactly?"

"Human trafficking, human sacrifice, and cannibalism."

I scoff. "No. They weren't involved in anything like that. They drank blood sometimes. Liked a little blood with sex. It was just…they were trying to create an aesthetic. They aren't fucking cannibals."

"I'm going to show you some photos, and you tell me if any of these people look familiar to you."

I shrug. "Okay."

One by one, he sets about eight photos of different men in front of me. All of them have a similar look—an air of wealth and power. But not a single one looks familiar.

"I've never seen any of these douchebags in my fucking life," I tell him honestly.

At this point, I'm just trying to bother the female officer with my language. It's the only source of amusement I have.

"What can you tell me about Layla? Why did Declan kill her?"

"He didn't."

"Then what happened to her?"

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know he didn't kill her?"

"Look—I've been through all of this with them already. I'm sure they took notes. I barely knew Layla. We interacted a couple of times; she was quiet. From what I saw, Declan really cared about her. But I barely knew them, either. I was just there for the parties."

"Is that why you carved their initials into your chest?" he asks.

"Everyone was doing it," I say. "I just wanted attention."

"Several tabloids have identified you as Luca De Rossi's girlfriend. He posted pictures of the two of you together on his social media."

I shrug. "I was sleeping with him. I was sleeping with both of them, to be honest."

Visibly frustrated, the man sighs before laying his palms down on the table. "Teagan, you don't have to protect them. In fact, youcan'tprotect them. These men were dangerous, violent criminals who abused women. Did they hurt you, too? Did they threaten you? We can keep you safe, but only if you help us."

I wonder if he actually believes that. I haven't forgotten what Declan told me—that even he couldn't save me from the…what did this guy call them? The Red Hands? Hand? If Declan couldn't keep me safe, this guy certainly can't.

"I don't know anything," I say. "Just like I've told them about a hundred times now. I don't need protection from them—they're fuckingmusicians,and they were good to me." Tearing up, Ipoint to the officer by the door. "They're the murderers! They killed my friends. Are you going to do anything about that while you're here? They shot them forno fucking reason. Brady and Rhett didn't do anything! Brady didn't even like any of it. He just wanted to go live a quiet life. He wanted to have kids and send them to fucking private school."

"Your friends killed two police officers!" the officer by the door shouts.

"Those people were not our fucking friends!"

Agent Morris leans in, his tone softening as he tries a new tactic. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Teagan. Your friends never should have had to die like that. What happened was a tragedy."

"Theydidn'thave to!"

"And you're in pain—I can see that. I can tell you're lying about the nature of your relationship with them, too. Knowing when people are lying is my job, so let me help you. Brady Kim was manipulated by those men, just like you were. Declan De Rossi doesn't care about you; if he did, he wouldn't have risked your life only to slam that door in your face and leave you to deal with his mess. And Luca is dead."

I swallow hard. "You don't know that."

"I'm going to show you something," Agent Morris says, pulling an iPad from his bag. "This is footage from a police body cam of the event, and the man speaking is one of the world's top surgeons."

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