Take My Dare (Stark International Trilogy 4)

"Thouest?"

She rolls her eyes, and I realize I'm actually grinning. A little.

But at least I have a plan, and I can't deny that feels good.

"Of course I'm taking him," I say.

But then Cass goes and crushes my moment of levity. "If he loses his temper, it's not going to be good. He dodged a bullet once. Remind him that he may not be able to dodge it again."

And that, I think, is very good advice.

Hopefully, Jackson will heed it.

Chapter 11

++

"This is it," Jackson says, as he slides his Porsche into a slot in front of Mila's apartment in Silver Lake. It's dark now, and the two nearest streetlights are burned out. But even so, I can make out his face when he turns to look at me. And though his expression is both protective and supportive, I can see the fury boiling beneath the surface.

I'd called him from Totally Tattoo and while he'd held it together--barely--when he'd read the note and seen the car, I almost wish he'd lost it on the street. Because I know it's all building up inside him. And somehow, someway, it's all going to explode.

"Ready?" he asks, and my stomach twists with nerves.

I want to tell him that he's the one who needs to be ready. That he has to keep it together. But he already knows that, and I trust him.

Dear god, I hope I'm not wrong to trust him...

"Syl?"

"Yes," I say stoutly. "I'm ready."

He opens the door, and the overhead light comes on so that I can see him clearly when he pauses to look back at me. "It's going to be fine," he says, and I nod in agreement. But whether he's reassuring me about the photos or his temper, I really don't know.

I reach for my door handle, then hesitate. "When we see her, let me do the talking, okay?"

"Afraid I'll lose my temper?" he asks with a grin, because of course he knows that's worrying me even though I haven't said a word since we left Venice Beach.

"It's my life she's stomping all over," I say, dodging the question. "My pain she's treating so cavalierly. And that means this is something I have to do."

"I know, baby," he says, then squeezes my hand. "I won't say a word. But I'm coming in with you." He brushes his fingertips over my jaw. "And not just because you need me there, but because I need to be there, too."

"I do need you," I say, feeling some of the tension drain out of me. "You're what makes me strong."

His smile is both gentle and encouraging. "No," he says. "You've always been strong. I'm just the man who helped you realize it."

Mila's apartment is on the first floor near the back, and we walk past the empty laundry room and a small pool before we reach it.

We stand in the circle of anorexic light cast by her porch light, and Jackson keeps a supportive hand on my back as I rap hard on the door. For a moment, there is simply silence, and I fear that she's not home. But then I hear footsteps, the jangle of someone pulling aside a chain, and then the click of a deadbolt unlocking.

A second later, the door opens, revealing Mila standing there in a skin-tight tank top and ass-revealing cut-offs, her expression hard and calculating. And I don't care what Wyatt says; it's not a feline face at all. That would be an insult to cats.

"Oh," she says, her eyes hard on me. "It's you. Come to fire me again?"

"I would if I could, believe me. But no. I'm here to talk. Can we come in?"

She crosses her arms over her chest, sighs, then steps aside. "Whatever."

I glance at Jackson, who takes my hand and gives it a little squeeze for support. Then we step into her lair.

"So, why are you here? Come to apologize?"

I cock my head to the side and force my temper down. She's either completely innocent or she's a pathological, practiced liar. My money's on the second.

"Well?" she demands when I don't respond immediately.

"No apology," I say. "Just a warning."

"Yeah? About what?"

"About not trying to cut corners, Mila. Blackmail's a nasty way to make a living. It really never works out."

Her lips thin so much they almost disappear. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says icily.

"I'm pretty sure you do," I say. "But since I'm not one-hundred percent sure about your intelligence, I'll run it down for you anyway."

She looks like she's going to snarl, but I just keep talking.

"You were at Wyatt's house. You found the photos. You decided you'd get revenge on me for firing you and score a little cash at the same time. Well, guess what, Mila, it won't work. You're not getting paid. And if you release those photos, your ass is going to end up behind bars. You know who I'm married to," I say, glancing at Jackson. "You know who my brother-in-law is. And you know what they can do."

"Don't you threaten me," she snaps, but while she sounds angry, her eyes look scared. "Someone's blackmailing you because of some photos?"

"Yeah," I snap. "And that someone is you."

"Sorry, chica, but you're all kinds of fucked in the head."

I squeeze Jackson's hand. Because right now, I'm tempted to lash out and smack her across the face myself.

Mila cocks her head. "And as for finding some bullshit pictures at Wyatt's studio, in case you weren't clued in, that boy has a revolving door policy. You visiting every one of those girls personally?"

"No. Just the ones I fired. Just the ones who want revenge."

"Bitch. I didn't do anything to you. And you know what else? I don't like you. Or your asshole of a bodyguard either," she adds, with a nod toward Jackson. "But just because I don't like you doesn't mean I'm out to get you. You can't prove shit. And if you keep on harassing me, then whoever really is blackmailing you is going to be pissed off and release the damn photos when they don't get their money."

The problem of course is that she's right. Not that she's not the blackmailer, but about how it could all play out.

I can pay, and hope she keeps her word.

I can walk away with the threat hanging over Mila, and hope that she believes that there's a jail cell in her future.

But if she thinks she can hide behind the other women in Wyatt's life--or if she's not the blackmailer at all--the pictures might still be released.

All of that runs through my head.

And then the most remarkable thing happens. I realize that I don't care.

Well, I care. But not enough to pay off some bitch who's blackmailing me.

Not enough to turn my life and my emotions inside out.

Because the truth is, I'm okay. It's amazing. It's unexpected. But it's absolutely true, and it's been nagging at me since my father was released. The simple, inescapable fact that I didn't do anything wrong.

I've always known it. But now I feel it.

My father was in the wrong.

Reed sure as hell was.

But I was completely innocent.

Do I want those pictures out there? No, I don't. But if they are released, all they show is a girl who'd been taken advantage of. Whatever guilt I thought the world would see doesn't exist.

I don't want them released because I don't want the attention. Because they're private. Not because of guilt or of shame. I have nothing to be ashamed of, after all. Of all the people who brought those photos to light, I'm the only one who's guilt free.

"Are we done?" Mila's been staring at me warily as I gathered my thoughts. "You wanna get the fuck out of my apartment?"

"Actually, yes," I say. "I want to get as far away from you as I can." I conjure a broad, friendly smile. "But just so you're up to speed, I'm not paying you shit. And if the photos are released, then I'm okay with that. Because I can stand a little embarrassment if that's the price to see the shit storm that will rain down upon you when I tell the cops all that I know."

Her eyes go wide. "I told you! I didn't do it. I'm not the one who threatened you. And if you don't pay and those photos get released, don't you be blaming me."

"Shut up, Mila. We both kno

w it's you, even if you don't want to say it. Trust me. Don't release the photos. It'll be much better for you if you don't. Oh, and Mila," I add sweetly as we pause at the door, "you might want to consider moving. You've read about Jackson's temper, right?"

She swallows, and I shrug. "It's just that you really do have a pretty face," I say. "It would be a shame to mess it up."