Page 83 of Claim

My mind whirled with too many scenarios imaginable, and the plausibility of Damon going after Keith for what he’d done to me wasn’t far-fetched. But then again, not a single source I tagged in the fashion world said anything about Keith being dead.

One day, I wouldn’t be such a fun topic for tabloid entertainment.

Now it left me believing either this whole thing with Damon was the cops’ way of jerking us around, or Keith’s family wanted his death kept under wraps.

He more than likely overdosed, and his daddy hoped to pin it on someone to save face.

I released a deep breath.

What would it be like to have parents who believed your word over everyone else’s even when they knew you were a fucking liar? I couldn’t even speak the truth and have even one of mine side with me.

At least there was one person I could count on to have my back in any situation.

Lucian.

When I’d called him, I’d barely uttered the words police and Damon when he informed me the Morelli family attorney would be waiting for Damon at the station.

I understood the rules. The less said over the phone, the better.

To my surprise, Mr. Sharpton had already started the paperwork and the process of representation before Damon had stepped through the precinct doors.

Lucian, on the other hand, had yet to arrive.

Where was he?

I gripped the back of my neck and continued to pace.

All of a sudden, I paused as a thought crossed my mind.

What if one of those asshole reporters who constantly followed me called my parents or reported this to one of the tabloid outlets?

One of them had to have seen the cops come into Damon’s building. And that meant they saw us all leave to go to the station.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The last thing I needed or wanted was the Morelli crew descending in here like avenging angels and spending the next ten hours arguing with each other on how to handle the situation without listening to a single one of my opinions.

Lucian provided enough Morelli energy to demolish a building, then adding my father and Leo into the mix would send this place nuclear.

Plus, by the end of the day, I’d more than likely do or say something to cause more drama in an already powder keg environment.

I was giving myself a headache with all this waiting and pondering crazy scenarios.

On top of everything, my stomach felt like it would eat itself. My last meal was the less-than-stellar dinner at last night’s event that I picked at.

Scanning the area, I searched for a vending machine. I could grab a granola bar or some snack to tie me over for a few hours. At least it was something to keep me occupied for a few minutes instead of this endless waiting.

Feeling my phone vibrate in my jeans pocket, I pulled it out and read the text message.

LUCIAN: Here. See you in a minute.

ME: About damn time you got here. Do the parents know?

LUCIAN: Not yet, but it’s bound to come out.

ME: How many vultures are circling?

LUCIAN: Only two for the moment. One of the fuckers asked me if I knew you were inside.

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