Page 92 of Beautifully Scarred

Fear thickens my blood until it’s like sludge pushing through my veins.

No, no, no.

If someone is poking around in our past, they might find out about that night.

My breathing becomes shorter and faster. I don’t think he knows—how could he? But if he continues to dig around, he will.

I attempt to keep a lightness in my voice. “There’s nothing to find there except people who have no idea there’s a world outside of theirs and some cheap moonshine.”

He pounds his fist on the table. “Stop acting like I’m an idiot!”

I slide as far back as I can in the seat, gritting my teeth. “What do you want?”

I’m not here to help him protect Jimmy. I know a shakedown when I see one.

“How about a drink?” His anger dissipates, and he walks over to his small bar.

“I don’t drink.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re really convincing the press. It’s funny, what with the whole fake relationship I had James and Adelaide put on, but maybe it’s your happily ever after that will sell my movie. I forgot how much the world loves a happily ever after.” He pours a hefty amount of scotch into his glass, looking back at me while he drops in an ice cube. “Then again, the press does love heartbreak just as much.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, my body falling to its old habit of fear. I stand from my chair, tightening my purse over my shoulder, preparing to leave. “Just tell me what you want.”

“Who says I want anything?” He wanders over to his leather couch and sits down, patting the spot next to him.

“You’re delusional.”

“Am I?”

I’m on the other side of the room, our eyes locked in a showdown until a hollow laugh falls from him.

“James—or Jimmy, right?”

I say nothing.

“He’s done a lot over the years to help you. I’d say he could have already hit it big if not for you. He’s sacrificed everything. You know what’s funny about small towns?”

My stomach gurgles and I grip the edge of the desk to hold myself up. I say nothing.

“Money is king. It wouldn’t cost a lot for my PI to find out everything there is to know about Lilah Robbie and James—or excuse me, Jimmy—Crawford. I can see the headline now.” His hands are in the air. “‘The Regulator sold drugs…’”

He pats the seat next to him.

I shake my head.

“You’re really on that whole staying clean and not letting every shithead-fuck-you-in-the-bathroom thing, huh? Good for you. How long do you think it’ll last? If I were a betting man—which I am,” he laughs again, “I’d say you wish you could score right now. Well, top drawer on the left.” His eyes shift to the drawer.

My eyes follow his.

“Come on, Lilah, grab the blow and let’s party.” He pats the leather seat again. “Oh, on second thought.” He opens a drawer in the table next to him, pulls out a baggie and tosses it on the circular table in front of him.

“No. Just tell me what you want. Money? I’ll get you some.”

His head falls back onto the edge of the couch. “Money? I’m the richest guy in this town.”

I could argue he’s not, but this isn’t the time.

He opens up the baggie, plucks a business card out of a holder on the table and divides it into six lines. My eyes don’t stray from the powder that would allow me to disappear from what’s happening in this room.

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