Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Rouge purses her lips. “Nevertheless, it has. And I’m afraid you’ll have to leave town.”
I stand, pace the room. “You don’t understand. This is my livelihood. My entire career. I was going to expand into a larger theater, build a greater network. I’ve been chatting with Bimboni. I could be the next David Copperfield. How am I supposed to pay the bills?”
Rouge cracks a wry smile. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“I don’t?”
“Of course not.” Rouge stands, closes the distance between us until her breasts are grazing my body. “A second-in-command spot has opened up at one of the clubs I run in Chicago. I know now I can trust you.” She traces a finger around my jaw. “Do you have any non-illusory skills?”
I blink. “I mean, I work events on the side. Mostly DJ gigs.”
“Perfect. You’ll be working in an administrative capacity, but your music skills will also be useful.” She extends a hand. “Let me tell you about the Jade Sanctum.”
29
THEA
I snap my fingers in Aus’s face. “Hey. You there?”
He blinks a few times. “Sorry. I was thinking about…something else.”
“What could be more important than what’s going on right now?”
He shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m just… It’s all been a lot to digest. Our next move is to figure out how to prove your innocence. The fact that you were drugged carries some weight. It establishes your actions that evening weren’t your own, and that someone may have been conspiring against you.”
“It’s my alibi that’s the problem,” I say. “I have no way of proving I was at Wick’s house that night. I slept in the other room, and I could have easily sneaked out in the middle of the night.”
He widens his eyes. “That’s it. We figure out a way to prove your alibi.”
“How?”
“Doorbell cameras. Security footage. There must be someone on the street with something we can use. If there’s footage of two people coming into the house and then you not leaving until the next morning, that’s something.”
I sigh, rub at my forehead. “Why is it on me to prove my innocence? They have nothing solid to prove me guilty.”
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” Aus’s gaze darkens. “But when more powerful forces are at work, people tend to bend.”
“What do you mean?”
He grits his jaw. “I’m just saying. Let’s go.”
I grab my coat and head to the car, unable to suppress the chill slithering down my spine.
The look on Aus’s face when he was talking about powerful forces… It was haunting.
He wasn’t just saying that.
He’s lived something.
Something awful.
We’ve spent the last hour walking up and down Wick’s street knocking on doors. About half the people have answered, and a few had cameras. Nothing helpful so far, though.
Finally we arrive at a house positioned at an awkward angle. It’s rundown with sickly yellow paint peeling and crooked shutters. I don’t give the house a second thought until Aus points out a camera on the roof pointed directly at Wick’s front stoop.
We knock on the door. Once, twice, three times…
No answer.
This is our last chance. I knock louder. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
The muffled sound of glass breaking, furniture groaning. The door opens and we’re faced with a large-bellied man wearing a stained wifebeater and greenish tortilla chip crumbs—Doritos, possibly?—littering his long salt-and-pepper beard.
“What?” he grunts.
“Excuse me, sir,” I say. “My name is Thea Storm, and I—”
“You’re the chick from the news,” he says flatly.
“Yes, I am.”
He scratches his stomach. “You’re hotter in person.”
I draw in a long breath. “Thank you. Anyway—”
Aus cuts in front of me. “Listen. We saw you have a security camera on your roof. Is it functional?”
The green-bearded man cocks his head. “What’s it to you?”
“It’s positioned toward the porch of a…friend of ours. We’d like to see it.”
He crosses his arms. “You cops?”
“No,” I say.
He smirks. “Yeah. Camera works. What’s it worth to you?”
Aus rolls his eyes, reaches into his pocket. “How’s fifty bucks?”
“How’s a hundred?” He leers at me lecherously. “And the weathergirl shows me her tits.”
Aus grabs the guy by the scruff of his shirt. “How’s fifty and I don’t pound your ass into next week?”
Greenbeard backs out of Aus’s grasp. “Fine, fine. Can’t blame a guy for trying. Would you like to come in?”
I peer inside. The place is strewn with beer bottles and stacks of old newspapers. “We’d rather stay outside, thanks. Can you pull the footage up on your phone?”
Greenbeard sucks in a breath and then holds up a finger. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an outdated smartphone, swiping a few times. “What do you want to see?”
“Thursday night. Starting around midnight,” I say.
He nods and scrolls on his phone. He looks up. “The money first.”
“Fine.” Aus pulls out a fifty and throws it at him.
Greenbeard holds it up to the light—as if he could tell it’s real or not—and nods, handing the phone to us. “Don’t think about trying to run off with it.”