Page 119 of Riot's Thorn
“Why? You can trust me.”
“Not with this.”
He looks me over. “Okay, well, if you change your mind, you know I’m always here.”
“Thank you for bringing this all the way out here. I appreciate it.”
Now would be the time when he says, “You’re welcome,” and leaves, but that’s not what happens. Instead, he rests his forearms on his thighs and weaves his fingers together, at least the ones not covered in plaster, and looks contemplative. It’s as though he has something to say but is hesitant to say it. Because I’m curious, I give him time to formulate his words.
“Does what happened to you have anything to do with Mr. Banks?” he asks, and a shiver runs up my spine. There is no way anyone would make that connection without knowing about the parties and the trafficking. That’s the only tie I have to Bart.
“Why would you ask that?”
He looks at the ceiling, still choosing his words carefully. “What if what you think you know was so much bigger than you originally thought?”
“Listen, I’m hurting, I’m tired, and I don’t have time for riddles. Let’s talk about this some other time.” I need him out of my house. I don’t feel comfortable with where this conversation is heading.
“I don’t think so. What I have to say needs to be said now, before your boyfriend gets back.”
“Why? This has nothing to do with him.”
“See, I think it does.” He leans back, throwing an arm over the back of the couch, looking relaxed. Meanwhile, I’m wound tight. “I think he killed Bart and his wife. In fact, I can prove it.”
I was concerned about this very situation, and even though Riot assured me there was no evidence, I still went over different scenarios with him, seeking reassurance. He had a response for every question I posed, so I let it go. “That would be hard, since he didn’t do it.”
He shrugs. “If you’re certain it wasn’t him, neither of you has anything to worry about, right?”
I chew on my fingernail, wondering what the right play is. If he really does have evidence and takes it to the authorities, Riot will go to prison. The courts won’t care that they were awful people; they’ll just see that Riot is a murderer.
“I know you didn’t come to warn me, so just tell me why you’re here,” I say.
“If I take what I know to the cops, you can guess what would happen. But since I respect you, I thought I’d give you the opportunity to save him from a life sentence.”
“How?”
“Just attend one of our parties.”
My stomach drops like a ton of bricks. “What?”
“Don’t play coy. If I know your boyfriend killed Mr. and Mrs. Banks, then obviously I know about the parties,” he says, as if we’re casually talking about the weather.
“No.” With my mind spinning, it’s the only word I can get out.
“No problem. I can’t say I blame you; those parties can get a littleintense,and you only just met Riot. You can’t be expected to sacrifice yourself.”
My brows furrow. “Who the hell are you?”
“Oh, right. You don’t know. Mr. Banks—Bart—he was just a buyer at the auctions. A middleman, if you will. This whole operation is so much bigger than you gave us credit for.”
“Us?” Dread washes over me like a wave, suffocating and chilling me to the bone.
“My grandfather is the one who started this side hustle, but the demand was so high, he shifted his focus. He kept his company as a front to launder money, but it was his illegal business that grew at an exponential rate. Now, it’s me and my father who run things, and we’ve taken it to an even higher level by not bothering to collect street trash. We find the most desirable products. Now, our pockets are so deep, we’re practically lawless, untouchable.”
“How could you?” I ask, knowing where this is headed.
“It’s just business. Kind of like how your boyfriend made murder his day job. I hardly think you’re in a place to get all high and mighty on me.”
“You’re talking about selling people. Sons, brothers, sisters, daughters, friends. They’re human, not commodities.”
