Page 85 of Free to Judge
But now I have to focus. I have to shove the sharp pain aside. I have to shove her aside. I have to shove everything aside other than this final push to ensure Sal hasn’t figured out who I am.
Because knowing they’re coming for Kalie makes this mission even more critical than it was before.
Now, I’m not just tying up my past. I’m trying to save my future.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The VIP roomof Velvet Vice reeks of sweat, expensive whiskey, and something I can’t quite pinpoint. The moment I sat down, a glass of whiskey in my hand before I could order it. That alone tells me I’ve spent way too much time here.
Dim red lighting pulses against the mirrored walls while the bass from the main floor throbs louder than normal—or so it seemsto me. What shocks me as I step through the curtains is Jack Marshall—legs spread wide apart, coat open, the tip of his cane resting on the floor between his shoes—holding court with the strippers around him like a king.
Sid lounges beside him, already two drinks in and absolutely playing the part of the court jester. If this is supposed to be a normal business meeting, he’s making a mockery of it with his shirt unbuttoned halfway to his navel. He meets Jack’s gaze before laughing too loud at what appears to be nothing.
All it makes me wish is the whiskey I’m holding could be arsenic and I could pin one or both of the men and pour it down their throats. Affecting a bored tone, I yell, “Can someone tell me what the fuck I’m doing here?
“Loyalty, boys,” Jack swirls the dark liquid in his glass. “It’s the only real currency we’ve got left. Money fades. Influence wanes. But loyalty—that’s priceless.”
“Tell that to your dead wife,” Sid cackles before bursting into another wheezing laugh.
Jack only smiles.
Nerissa moves past us—clearly shaken. Her heels shuffle across the floor. Her left arm is clutched tight to her stomach, as if hiding something broken.
Chrissi isn’t as discreet. “Listen, Dec,” she says, voice sharp, mouth slick with gloss. “Nerissa’s milking it. It was barely a shove?—”
Jack doesn’t even blink.
He stands. Lumbers slowly over to Chrissi and pulls a blade from the inside of his jacket.
“No,” I protest. But my warning comes too late.
Jack already has his arm wrapped around her neck—fast and sudden. The redhead’s scream is cut short as the blade slices across her throat. A spray of red hits the mirrored wall. She drops, body still twitching. Tammy stumbles backward, appalled her partner in crime is dead before she hit the carpet.
Nerissa shrieks, unable to hide her fear.
Sid’s enjoyment is a nightmare unto itself. “Bloody hell, Jack. That’s better than the damn floor show!”
I force myself to breathe. To not react. I can’t blow my cover, not now. Not when I have to report a fucking murder. The line I wasn’t supposed to cross—the one Holder warned me about? It’s now in my rearview due to Jack Marshall. That and the knowledge that I can’t have Kalie end up like this are the only coherent thoughts running through my head.
Kalie.
Christ. I sit up straighter. Now, I’m more grateful than ever I pulled back. I can’t have her be in this maniac’s line of fire.
“Clean that up,” Jack bellows to no one in particular, wiping the bloody blade against Chrissi’s hair before sliding it back into its sheath. “Mouthing off in front of gentlemen? Trash.”
Nerissa trembles, her mascara already running.
Jack glances at her, then back to me. “I thought I wanted her, but she’s too skittish for what I need. Use her for the next half hour. Try not to break her. She still belongs to the club.”
Everything inside of me screams this is wrong, but I can’t back down now. I swallow the bile threatening to rise as Nerissa’s pleading eyes meet mine. “Thanks.”
Jack and Sid meander toward the bar in the back, laughing, but I know they have a sharp eye on the two of us despite giving the illusion they’re moving on.
Nerissa turns to me with wide eyes and a face too pale under the lights. “Help me,” she whispers.
I think quickly before ordering her, “Just act normal.”
She moves behind me, stumbling. Her arm drapes across my shoulder. I murmur, “How much pain are you in?”
