Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

I narrowed my eyes, the papers crinkling in my fist.

“I’m not going to take your advice,” he said, throwing the pic on the table and sliding his hands into his pockets. “They’ll be charged, but the DA will suggest a plea bargain.”

“Fuck you!” I gritted out. “They won’t plea shit. They’ll always win.”

“I almost think you want them to.”

Against him? Hell, yes. Whatever they did beyond that was none of my concern. I was leaving town tonight.

I wouldn’t be able to keep Grand-Mère at Asprey Lodge, but I’d work hard enough to afford something decent in San Francisco. All that mattered was that we were free.

Martin approached me, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping a few buttons.

Then he handed it over, but I didn’t take it as I looked down and watched someone in a white mask with a red stripe—Will—rear his arm back and launch a bottle of liquor affixed with a burning rag at my gazebo.

The camera shook, but I heard the glass break and then flames burst everywhere, the zoom coming back out to take in the whole scene as my work was consumed in fire.

I turned my eyes away, looking at Will through the glass.

“It’s over,” Martin said. “The end of an era. They’ll plea. They won’t fight the charges. And you’re going to help me make sure they don’t.”

I shook my head. That would never happen.

“They’ll go away for a couple years,” he continued. “Just long enough for me and my associates to get a hold on this town, and then they can come home.”

“And what makes you think they won’t fight this?” I pressed, turning my gaze back on him. “You’re fucking insane.”

“Because if they do,’ he told me, inching in, “I’ll be forced to air a much darker scandal. They victimized women in high school. Assaulted them. Beat on them. Forced them into the catacombs to satisfy their deviant desires. They’re not boys. They’re devils.”

I laughed under my breath. He was insane. I’d be the first to admit they abused their power, but after helping one of them hide a body, I knew now that people were more complicated than that.

Everything used to be black and white until I realized that was just my perspective. I judged, because thinking was too hard.

They weren’t evil.

“Not all the girls will come forward, but we have one on record.” He walked to the table and spread out my selfies as if it were evidence. “And I’m confident more will follow.”

I watched as he pushed a paper across the table and laid a pen on top of it.

I picked it up, reading it.

“She’ll sign that paper, attesting to the validity of her claims,” he instructed, and I stopped breathing, starting to understand. “Even if there are no findings, the accusations will be enough to ruin their lives.”

I skimmed the statement, detailing how the guys “roughed me up” and forced me into the catacombs at St. Killian’s and…

And hey, here were pictures to prove their abuse.

Oh, my God. He was going to pass my pictures off as evidence against them.

“I wish you would die,” I said, tears filling my eyes.

“But I can make all this go away, Mr. Mori,” he went on. “And Mr. Torrance and Mr. Grayson. They fucked up. They’re young. They’ll serve some time, get out, and move on with their lives. It will be as if it never happened. The girl will be satisfied. I can keep her quiet. Perhaps with a small monetary donation to sweeten the deal?”

I forced down the lump in my throat. No. He could try it, but it would never happen. I’d never let him use me like this.

“I mean, this is actually a blessing,” he continued. “If she’s allowed to speak out, it could get so much worse for your sons.”

“Fuck you.”