Page 84 of Black Jack (Advantage Play 5)

It was all a lie.

“Careful how harshly you judge her, Jack,” Kingston warns me. “We’re all capable of inexcusable acts when desperate enough.”

Staring blankly out the windshield, I shake my head back and forth. “You can’t be serious right now.”

“Says the man who betrayed his own country by making a deal with the Dark King––”

“To bring in multiple human traffickers? Yeah. I did.”

“And married an absolute stranger to keep himself out of jail,” Kingston continues.

“I did what I had to do––”

“And so did she,” he growls. “Listen, I didn’t call to be your therapist. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about Dominic’s death.”

“Which is just the cherry on top of a shit-tastic day. Thanks for that.”

“Happy to help,” he returns, his amusement seeping into his voice.

“Any suggestions on how I can dig myself out of this?”

“I might have a few ideas. But for now, be patient and don’t do anything stupid. We’ll be in touch.”

“Hey, King?” I say before he has a chance to hang up.

Another sigh. “Yeah?”

“I think you should know that because of my connection to Bianca, my future in the FBI is bleak at best.”

I’m not even sure I want it anymore. After everything that’s happened, my job doesn’t matter like it used to.

There’s a long pause of silence before Kingston’s voice filters through the phone. “We’ll be in touch.”

Then the call disconnects. I drop my arm to my side and stare out the windshield before another sharp pain spreads across my chest. The winding path that leads to Matteo’s estate, to the place Bianca and I said our wedding vows, is a hundred yards away.

She must be devastated right now, especially after all the shit she went through to protect her older brother. And now, he’s gone. Murdered. Because of me.

I promised I’d keep him safe, but I didn’t. And now she’s all alone.

Does she know yet?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I turn the car around, then grab the cell phone registered in my name and dial Bianca’s number. It goes straight to voicemail. Nostrils flaring, I hit her name again. Over and over again, the call is forwarded to her voicemail as my lead foot eats up the distance toward our apartment.

“Pick up, Bianca,” I mutter under my breath. “Pick up.”

“Hello?” a soft feminine voice answers after the thirtieth call.

“Bianca?” I reply in surprise. “Hey.”

She sniffles. “What do you want, Jack?”

“I heard about Dominic….”

“Yeah,” she chokes out. The sound cripples me.

“Are you okay?”

With a pathetic laugh that sounds more like a whimper, she replies, “Just dandy, thanks for asking.”

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