Since time was of the essence for these women, Sky turned over the key evidence—photos and video she’d taken of the Browns’ afterhours activities—to the authorities, and she immediately published her first two articles on her independent news site, telling how she’d busted the case wide open. The story got national coverage.
Where Sky went wrong was pulling the trigger too fast. The Browns read her article and skipped town.
But why had the police waited four entire days to issue a warrant after saying they’d rescue the women right away? Quote: “We’ll be there within the hour.”
Didn’t feel right.
Luckily Skymayhave gotten a hold of some records whilemaybebreaking into the Browns’ home before the story broke and they ran off, and shemayhave stolen documents confirming that the Browns’ investor was Vincente Newbery. As in, the governor of California’s brother.
That little bombshell would be the focus of her next article, after she did a little more digging into the man.
Sky went home to Ohio to do just that, but then the threatening emails started, and strange cars started following her everywhere. Thus the reason her sister suggested she lie low and go camping for a few weeks together once the third article dropped. Of course, that plan led to bathing suit shopping, a fairy attack, and Miguel getting beaten up.
So here we were.
Now Sky was pissed and planned to immediately release the third article exposing Vincente Newbery, who she believed was behind the assault on Miguel. Once the evidence was out, she prayed going public would put a stop to him.
I wish I were so convinced.In Damien’s experience, people like that eventually got their revenge, even if it was from behind bars. Still, the article was set to go live on her website tonight. Damien had been unable to convince Sky to abort her plans.
Stubborn woman!
He left Sky there in the hospital room with her nephew, promising if the Newberys were involved in her nephew’s attack, they would pay.
On the way to his car, Damien took out his cell and called the only person he trusted to help: Boris. Because fighting thugs required bigger thugs.
“Izz diss you, Greystone?” Boris answered with his thick Russian accent.
“Hello, old friend.”
“Do not ‘old friend’ me, Greystone,” Boris growled with his deep voice. “Last time we spoke, you take my money.”
“Won. Not took,” Damien corrected. Boris was one of his human clients who loved to socialize when he came to LA. That meant going to a shady hotel and attending Boris’s poker parties complete with hookers, cocaine, and shady friends. Damien generally showed up to be cordial and made sure to lose his money quickly in order to get out of there, but the last time, his darkness took over. Darkness won Boris’s money.
“How would you like a chance to earn that money back? Tenfold?” Damien offered.
“You have intrigued zi Boris. What does diss entail?”
“I need to hire protection. For a customer.”
“But you are tailor.”
“Yes, I am aware,” Damien replied, treading carefully. He didn’t want to give too many details. Details led to questions. Questions he could not answer, such as why he was involved with Sky and her family. Damien had no desire to explain that to a mobster who was completely ignorant of the supernatural world.
“This client is important,” Damien said. “Not as important as you, of course, but they buy many suits. And, unfortunately, they’ve run into some trouble.”
“Hire a security guard. Or callzipolice.”
“We both know I would not be calling you if I felt those were viable options. I need someone discreet who can stay completely out of sight—the client would feel embarrassed if they knew I was doing this for them. A matter of pride. Also, I need someone who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty should these particular men show up and attempt another attack.”
See. I have got this. I am thugging without actually getting involved.Perhaps there was hope for Damien yet. After working so hard to pull himself out of that dark, violent place filled with death, he didn’t want to go back. Hecouldn’tgo back.
He enjoyed his quiet life of therapeutic sewing. Sometimes on the weekends, just for fun, he made tiny blankets for kittens and donated them to the animal shelter. He also enjoyed the simplicity of sewing reproductions of Victorian-era ballgowns. His secret guilty pleasure. He just didn’t know what to do with the garments afterwards. He had boxes of dresses in his stockroom, and it wasn’t as if he was going to wear them himself. Cross-dressing wasn’t his thing. He enjoyed suits, nice ones that separated him from the riffraff.
“Dah. I will help you, Greystone. But I do not want your money.”
Odd.“Then?”
“Myseester, Natasha, she get married. You make groom tuxedo, dah? And his bestie man, too.”