Page 155 of The Secrets That Kill

But something told me to come here, anyway. Some sixth sense that made me think we’d find her here, although the scenario in my mind played out a whole lot differently.

I rub Ivy’s quivering back as she melts against me. Empty glasses, bottle. Ivy. I turn my head toward the wet bar.

Fuck me. She did it.

No one else would notice it, but I do. It’s small, but if you know what to look for… My poison.

I bring her in close. “Ivy, how much did you give them?”

“Half a vial each. But I was afraid it wouldn’t work, so I shot them, too.”

My gut clenches. This isn’t a funny moment at all. Ivy turns her eyes up to me. They’re full of heartbreak and pain, betrayal glittering in the depths of her green eyes. I did that. I lied to her, made her feel this way. It doesn’t matter what my reasons were. Betrayal is betrayal. Ask my mother. I betrayed her when I saved her and myself from that monster of a man.

But the fact Ivy gave them half the vial when a drop or two in each glass would have done the trick is fucking hilarious. I bet she missed the way to administer it without breaking the vial. I have them made specially for that reason.

With half a vial, she probably could have killed a roomful of those sadistic assholes.

I could fall in love with her for this.

Then the reality of what she’s done hits me in the chest like a sledgehammer.

If this destroys her life, I’ll never forgive myself.

“Ivy, we need to get out of here, now. This place is going under, and we can’t be here when it does.” I look over at Orion. “Clean up the top of the wet bar. Get rid of everything.”

“What you’re looking for is in that leather writing case,” she murmurs.

My eyes drop to the case she points to on the desk next to Henderson. Two thumb drives stick out of the computer. I grab everything, my heart thrashing because our window for escaping this mess is about to slam shut.

“Ivy,” Jaxson says. “They were bad guys and they hurt a lot of people. This isn’t on you. You did a good thing.”

She stares him dead in the eye. “Save it, dick.”

“Ivy, let’s go.” I don’t give her time to respond, to argue. I just button the jacket, stuff her clothes into her bag, and lead her out of the room with the leather case under my arm.

If I left anything else behind, Orion will get it. But this case, I need it, and I’m not leaving a single bit of the documentation for someone else to find. I made a deal with Smith and Jones when I realized that what was promised to me was never going to be delivered. But I still needed to erase all the red in my ledger. So I struck a deal. They get all of the information—minus anything on Orion, me, or Malone, and anything with images of Ivy.

I got what no one else could, and in return, I get Ivy’s life and the promise to shut down and destroy all the enterprises and the evil bastards involved with Broken Angel.

Not the regular rich idiots who invest in businesses they don’t understand, or even the low-lives who kidnap the girls. I’m talking about the evil ones who keep actual slaves, the ones who perpetuate the sex slave trade, drug, kill, rape, and sell the footage. The ones who, before now, have gotten away with their depravity.

I’m coming for them all.

For Ruby. For Cara. For the nameless.

And for Ivy.

In my opinion, the trade-off is fair.

When we get home, she lets me wrap her in a large blanket. She hasn’t spoken a single word since we left Broken Angel. Her eyes are vacant, her body deflated.

I did this.

I grit my teeth and carry her into the bathroom upstairs. When I reach by her to turn on the shower spray, she hits me. I let her. But when she does it one too many times, I take her by the wrists.

“Ivy.”

“Let me go.”

---