“Yep. I won’t be long. Is he restrained?”
“No,” Aiden informs me. I look for myself and see the room differently now that I know he can traverse it easily. If I piss him off—and I’ve no doubt what I say will piss him off—I’ll need to be ready to fight or flee.
The table faces the door I’ll enter through. Trainor sits behind it, giving me a table’s width of protection, enough time to get myself out before he makes it around or across that space and plenty of time for someone to come in if I’m unable to escape for any reason. If things go to shit, I won’t be alone for long. Strangely, that seems to be all the reassurance I need to continue.
Am I brave or stupid? I guess I’ll find out.
I square my shoulders and roll my lips. “Okay. Give me five minutes.”
“You’re not going in alone,” Dax argues as soon as he realises my intentions.
“You can see me right here. If he looks at all threatening, you can come right on in and get me out. No argument from me,” I offer, but it is the only concession I’ll make on this.
Dax seems to realise it too because he grimaces and concedes faster than expected. “Fine, but if he touches you…”
“You can punish me with lectures andI told you soall night. Okay?” I tease. Dax’s eyes darken as he shakes his head, but he doesn’t change my mind. I exit the observation room and head to the interview room. With my hand on the handle, I take a deep breath, hold it for five and blow it out as I open the door.
“Good morning, Mr Trainor,” I greet, sauntering in and sitting down. I’m a powerhouse of false confidence and fake calm. I’m also a lie detector and a trouble magnet, so my anxiety levels are through the freaking roof.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he fires at me. I watch him for a second or two, wondering where he thinks he is, where he expects me to be, and why seeing me here has thrown him into a panic. Hmm…things to ask or things to think about later? I choose later. I have enough questions to ask him right now and very little time before one of the guys relents and tears me out of here.
“This is where I belong, Mr Trainor.”
“And where exactly is this?” he asks, but my only response is a tight smile. If the others haven’t told him, then you can bet I’m not about to.
“Why?” I ask him instead, keeping my voice devoid of emotion, though I’m a riot of fear and anger and belligerent pride.
“Because I deserve to know where —”
I cut him off and elaborate. “Nooo.” I draw the word out as though I’m talking to a naughty child and not the grown adult in front of me. “We’ll get to what you deserve later, Mr Trainor. I’m asking why you tried to hand me over to men that want to hurt me.”
He pales. His lips goldfish until he screws up the courage to answer. “They said…they said they just wanted to talk to you.” A deflection. A rejection of guilt. A coward’s response.
“Do you really think that’s all they wanted? You know who they are, right?”
“Yes,” he whispers, pulling at his shirt cuffs. He rubs the faint line of red ink that remains, then glances back up at me guiltily.
As soon as he makes eye contact, I continue. “So, you know how dangerous they are and the methods by which they’ve earned that reputation?” He nods. “Then you also know that talking to me is the least they would do.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” Another deflection.
“You did, Mr Trainor. Youchoseyourself over a student. Over me. I get it. I can’t blame you for that. We are all inherently selfish, but that makes me wonderwhy? Why get involved at all? Do you have something against me?”
“What? No! I’ve barely spoken to you before.”
I nod. “Okay. Do you hate women?”
“No…this is ludicrous!” he shouts loudly toward the only obvious camera, in the corner behind me, as if hoping someone will put an end to my questions.
Something about that—the dismissal of me as a person or threat—annoys me. Does he expect the men in the other room to remove me? Silence me? Am I just a stupid little girl not even worth talking to—despite being the person withso much worthhe’d beenpaidto hand me over? From the moment he walked intoDeja Brew,he’d intended to reduce me to nothing. False grades, false reports, false characterisation, and finally trying to hand me over; he fought so hard to turn me into a nobody to ease his own conscience. Doesn’t he see me as a person? As a fucking human being? I have the right to ask questions!
I fight to keep my cool. His outburst pisses me off, but it also shows I’m pissing him off too. Well, good.
“I’m just trying to figure out why you would hand me over to be beaten, raped, drugged, sold, and then killed? Why, if you have nothing against me personally, didn’t you give me a heads up and the chance to run, rather than drag me out the back door?”
He barely even flinches when I outline my inevitable fate at the hands of Barry Franz. Not even a twitch of discomfort. Fuck this old goat.
“They would have killed me if I…” he scrambles, panic and fear finally making an appearance, but only for himself.
