“Would a confession work? To refute the false alibi.”
“Miss Hargrave—Harlow.” When he switches to my first name, I already know I’m not going to like what he’s going to say. I’m regretting ever calling him. “If you know something, you need to come in and tell the police. And if you don’t know something, don’t do something stupid to find out. Please.” It’s an earnest plea, but he’s talking slowly and calmly like he thinks I might have lost my mind. And I’m not sure he’s wrong.
“Just tell me, Leo. Would a confession be enough?”
“You need to let us do our job. Whatever you’re thinking, there’s no good way this ends. These are dangerous people, Harlow.” I grind my teeth, holding back my retort. I gave them Cash on a silver platter and they didn’t dojackshit. I’m the only person who’s seen the killer and lived, and I can identify Cash as that killer.
“A confession. Would it be enough?”
“Theoretically yes, but—” That’s all I need to hear. I cancel the call and shove my phone in my pocket, crossing the street with a new fire and purpose ready to ignite.
When I walk in, all four Fox brothers are in the corner booth—theirbooth. The coldness that clings to them when they’re by themselves vanishes when they get together. It’s the strangest thing. They laugh, jeer, and talk animatedly like any other set of brothers. I can only describe the scene in front of me, as one slides his leftover burger to another in exchange for the rest of his fries, asjovial.
And it pisses me the fuck off.
When Cash spots me, he freezes, but only momentarily. Then he’s reclining back into the booth, spreading his arms over the back and trailing his wicked gaze down the length of my body. No better than Beer Guy. His brothers stop talking to see what’s suddenly got Cash’s attention. All their eyes are on me—it's a weight I can feel physically bearing down on me—and I think I might snap in two.
It takes all the strength I have to roll my shoulders back and stand taller under their scrutiny. I know what he wants. He wants me to blush and cower. He wants to see me firmly squashed below his heel, his dick hardening while thinking that he’s bested me, broken me.
Feeling a spark of indignation, I sashay over to the table, letting my hips sway a little more than normal. “Boys.” I make a point to look each one of them in the eyes. Everyone but Cash. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Amanda…” I pretend I don’t hear him. He doesn’t even know my real name, at least I can keep something for myself.
“Dessert, beer?” They all shake their heads, grinning. I don’t know what Cash has told them about me or even what they know about him. But by the smug look on their faces, when Cash says my name again and I ignore him, they’re enjoying seeing Cash toyed with just as much as I’m enjoying doing it.
“You know, I may have some room left. What’s your favorite?” the young, blond one asks, flashing a quickwhatcha going to do about itglance to Cash.
“Hmm, I really love anything with whipped cream and strawberries.” I play it up and flutter my eyelashes. One of the brothers stifles a laugh. I can feel the tension radiating off Cash like steam. It thickens the air, forming beads of sweat in the dip of my back. “So I’d recommend the fruit tart.”
“I’m more of a salty versus sweet guy myself,” another brother says, a playful gleam in his eyes. “What kind of girl are you?”
“I’d say she’s pretty fucking sour,” Cash grumbles.
“Oh, I also like the sundae with the caramel when it’s hot, sweet, anddripping.You can’t help butlickit up.”
“That’senough,”Cash growls, jumping out of the booth and dragging me away by the arm.
My heart is pounding, but I do my best to laugh it off and call back to the boys, “I’ll put in one order of the fruit tart then.” Cash’s grip is bruising around my bicep, and I get such a rush finally getting under his skin.
It’s only when he yanks me into his office and slams the door behind us that I realize I may haveroyallyfucked up.
He cages me up against the wall. His hand reaches for my throat but stops short, his fingers flexing, then tightly clenching into a fist. “Fuck,” he roars, and slams his fist into the wall next to my head. “Why do you insist on provoking me?”
I’m too stunned to speak, pressing myself farther back into the wall, not knowing if that punch was intended for me. He pushes off the wall. My breathing is shallow as I watch him pace the office, shoving his fingers into his hair and pulling at the roots.
“I’m going to go back out there now,” I whisper slowly, creeping backward toward the door, as if speaking to a wild beast.Because that’s what he is, isn’t he?
He looks at me then, his rich, green eyes like wide pools of a sort of melancholy I can’t quite describe, his brows fretted together. “I think that’s a good idea,” he grinds out through gritted teeth.
Cash
I’m not a kind person.
I’m not a gentle person.
I never have been, and I never want to be.
So, it confuses the hell out of me when I’m lying awake in bed with the same thought on repeat in my head:Did I go too far?