he’s in trouble? I’m still four, whole months away from being legal. If Sloane married me, he’d be a little more insulated against prosecution. I think. The law confuses me, so I’m not one hundred percent certain.
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Nothing,” I respond as if I have a button set to automatic. Does this jackass expect me to announce my affair with Sloane?
The detective scowls at my reply. I squirm, trying to convince myself that I’m being silly and panicking for nothing.
“I need to know about him.”
“You think I have the answers to whatever questions you have?” My attempt to affect the tone Grandma would use, or even Mom, is a big, fat fail. Where’s Grandma? I need her to help me, and she isn’t here. Sloane isn’t here. I’m either getting rid of this man on my own or not. It’s on me, so I think fast and strive for ignorance. “He’s that lead singer of Phoenix Rising, isn’t he?”
His lips thin. He shouldn’t do that. With his nonexistent top lip, he looks frightening. “Don’t play games, young lady.”
Okay, so judging by his tone, frightening is the goal. The kindness I first heard from him is gone, turning into total douchebaggery.
“I’m here to discover the exact nature of the relationship the two of you had.” Again, he looks pointedly at my stomach. “Obviously, it was sexual, which is a felony because you’re a minor.”
Heat burns into me, sweeping up my neck and into my face. I release one of my imprisoned hands and fan myself to cool off my embarrassment. I’m sure I’m crimson at his stern condescension. Fucking asshole. My brain fumbles for another excuse and seizes upon one he provided to me. I’m a minor, huh? All right, dickhead .
“Shouldn’t my guardian be present?” I press, searching for an out. “I’m under eighteen.”
“Don’t pretend to know the law,” he chastises, his superiority undented by my revelation.
My heart sinks, but I’m determined not to show my ignorance. I don’t know the law, a fact I’m not about to admit. I swore never to betray Sloane. That won’t ever change. Slipping deeper into whatever mire the detective’s creating, I lift my phone. Grandma hasn’t answered my text, but she’ll talk to me if she isn’t in a meeting. “Let me call my grandmother.”
“No.” He nods to the thick folder. “This won’t take long.”
“What’s in there?” Suspicion momentarily suspends my unease. The sight of the voice recorder reminds me of its presence. I point to it. “That isn’t on, is it?”
His look is thoughtful, ping-ponging between me and the small, black device. “Should it be?”
Inwardly, I groan at my big mouth, covering it up by rolling my eyes and dropping the subject. “What’s in the folder?”
His grating smile annoys me. I never thought anyone would out-asshole Kiln, but Detective Jackson’s smug smirk shoots him to the top of my Biggest-Asshole-on-Earth list.
“I’ll get to the folder after you answer my questions,” he promises coolly.
Fuck, back to this living nightmare. Disturbing thoughts rise in my head. Perhaps, Sloane hasn’t called today because he can’t. Maybe, he’s in trouble, and they’re looking to me for answers to help a case along.
Kiln wanted revenge. No, wants. I can’t see the dickhole changing. Lost in my need for Sloane, I ignored my knowledge of his and Kiln’s history and blurted out I’m carrying Sloane’s daughter.
My womb squeezes and the baby moves, rippling my belly. Either her little hand or her foot travels from one side of me to the other. She’s dancing inside of me, just like Sloane moves across a stage. My hands press on my stomach, and the detective’s smugness increases, right along with my fear.
“It’s his, isn’t it?”
This asshole is relentless.
“No.” I’m determined to correct this. I love Sloane, and I don’t care if he doesn’t love me. Loving people who don’t love me back is the story of my
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Nothing,” I respond as if I have a button set to automatic. Does this jackass expect me to announce my affair with Sloane?
The detective scowls at my reply. I squirm, trying to convince myself that I’m being silly and panicking for nothing.
“I need to know about him.”
“You think I have the answers to whatever questions you have?” My attempt to affect the tone Grandma would use, or even Mom, is a big, fat fail. Where’s Grandma? I need her to help me, and she isn’t here. Sloane isn’t here. I’m either getting rid of this man on my own or not. It’s on me, so I think fast and strive for ignorance. “He’s that lead singer of Phoenix Rising, isn’t he?”
His lips thin. He shouldn’t do that. With his nonexistent top lip, he looks frightening. “Don’t play games, young lady.”
Okay, so judging by his tone, frightening is the goal. The kindness I first heard from him is gone, turning into total douchebaggery.
“I’m here to discover the exact nature of the relationship the two of you had.” Again, he looks pointedly at my stomach. “Obviously, it was sexual, which is a felony because you’re a minor.”
Heat burns into me, sweeping up my neck and into my face. I release one of my imprisoned hands and fan myself to cool off my embarrassment. I’m sure I’m crimson at his stern condescension. Fucking asshole. My brain fumbles for another excuse and seizes upon one he provided to me. I’m a minor, huh? All right, dickhead .
“Shouldn’t my guardian be present?” I press, searching for an out. “I’m under eighteen.”
“Don’t pretend to know the law,” he chastises, his superiority undented by my revelation.
My heart sinks, but I’m determined not to show my ignorance. I don’t know the law, a fact I’m not about to admit. I swore never to betray Sloane. That won’t ever change. Slipping deeper into whatever mire the detective’s creating, I lift my phone. Grandma hasn’t answered my text, but she’ll talk to me if she isn’t in a meeting. “Let me call my grandmother.”
“No.” He nods to the thick folder. “This won’t take long.”
“What’s in there?” Suspicion momentarily suspends my unease. The sight of the voice recorder reminds me of its presence. I point to it. “That isn’t on, is it?”
His look is thoughtful, ping-ponging between me and the small, black device. “Should it be?”
Inwardly, I groan at my big mouth, covering it up by rolling my eyes and dropping the subject. “What’s in the folder?”
His grating smile annoys me. I never thought anyone would out-asshole Kiln, but Detective Jackson’s smug smirk shoots him to the top of my Biggest-Asshole-on-Earth list.
“I’ll get to the folder after you answer my questions,” he promises coolly.
Fuck, back to this living nightmare. Disturbing thoughts rise in my head. Perhaps, Sloane hasn’t called today because he can’t. Maybe, he’s in trouble, and they’re looking to me for answers to help a case along.
Kiln wanted revenge. No, wants. I can’t see the dickhole changing. Lost in my need for Sloane, I ignored my knowledge of his and Kiln’s history and blurted out I’m carrying Sloane’s daughter.
My womb squeezes and the baby moves, rippling my belly. Either her little hand or her foot travels from one side of me to the other. She’s dancing inside of me, just like Sloane moves across a stage. My hands press on my stomach, and the detective’s smugness increases, right along with my fear.
“It’s his, isn’t it?”
This asshole is relentless.
“No.” I’m determined to correct this. I love Sloane, and I don’t care if he doesn’t love me. Loving people who don’t love me back is the story of my
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