Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Must be having an allergic reaction to the mimosas.
My guard dog finger-banged me like a fucking champ. I’m high on life but also feeling murderous.
“Hey, what took—?”
“I think I’m allergic to the bathroom.”
Fay looks up at me. “What?”
Get it together. “Nothing. I said I think I had too many mimosas.” I slide into the booth, noticing Tate isn’t back yet. “Where’s Tate?” Probably beating one out in the men’s room. No one walks away from me unfazed—
“He’s on a call.” Or not. “Police department. They may have something.” My attention snaps to Theo.
Tate appears then, not looking pleased.
“What happened?”
“They have Chad in custody.”
“Holy shit, it was him?” That weasel.
“Questioning. Let’s go.”
I’m already out of my seat. “Where? Do I get to question him?”
Fay snickers, and I turn back. “Wouldn’t that be cool? Where were you on the night of—?”
“Let’s go.”
“Yeah, yeah. Raincheck on the tacos.” I wave to Fay and Theo as I try to step in line with Tate— which isn’t the easiest since he’s walking so fast. “Slow down.”
He doesn’t.
He tucks me into his SUV. “Wait. How did your SUV get here?”
“Had it dropped off.” He shuts the door, climbs in on his side, and pulls into traffic. I steer clear of the bathroom debacle and focus on the matter at hand. “So, what happens now? Do they think it’s him? They brought him in. Seems enough reason to think they think it’s him.”
Tate shrugs. “Not sure.”
“Not sure what? That he’s guilty? Stop being a stubborn ass and tell me some—”
“They went to pay him a visit and asked him to come in for questioning. He refused at first, then agreed when they started throwing out words like ‘rape’ and ‘jail.’ As far as I know, he hasn’t admitted to anything, but the initial interaction doesn’t scream innocent.”
His phone rings, and he answers it, going into military mumbo-jumbo mode. I lean back and stare out the window. All this time, I worked with him, let him touch me…I clench my eyes shut, needing the imagery of his hands on me to go away. The assailant from that night was comparable in build and height. The sick notes… how similar they were to things he’s said to me on set…how did I not put this together sooner?
We walk into the station, and Tate greets a man who escorts us into a room. It’s dim with a large window. On the other side, Chad is seated at a table.
“Miss Parks,” Detective Rochel greets. “As you know, we brought Mr. Russo in on suspicion that he may have been the one to assault you.” I nod, wondering if they can hear the drumming of my heartbeat. “This is just routine questioning. Unless he gives up substantial proof, he’ll walk out of here after this.”
“But what if he’s guilty?” What if he walks out and comes after me again?
“We’re going to do our best to figure that out. We ask that you listen. If there’s anything that rings a bell, any sound, mannerism, anything that links him to that night, speak up. It may be hard to watch. You can walk out at any time.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Okay.” I look up at Tate. His face remains blank, but he rests his hand on my lower back and guides me closer to the window. A minute later, the detective enters the room.
“Mr. Russo, we have some questions for you. Answer honestly, and you’re free to go.”
“I didn’t do shit. Do I need a lawyer?”
“Only if you think you do.”
“Fuck that. Ask away.” He leans back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest.
“Where were you five nights ago at approximately two in the morning?”
“At the studio. Just got done working. It was a great night, too. Lots of heavy petting.” His smug smile churns my stomach.
“Can you confirm who you were working with that night?”
“Oh, yeah. Mindy Parks. She’s frisky. Always wanting more. Had to tell her to chill.”
“That’s a lie,” I blurt out.
“What did you do after you were done filming?”
Chad licks his lips. “I showered off her sweet scent, grabbed some food at the diner across the street from the studio, then went home and crashed.”
“Is there anyone who can corroborate your whereabouts?”
“Yeah, the diner. Check the fucking camera footage leaving the studio.”
“The cameras were off that night.”
“What?” I turn to Tate. “How come you never told me that?”
“You didn’t need to know.”
“Why is that?” I snap.
He doesn’t answer, his eyes trained on the mirror.
“Listen,” Chad starts, “I heard what happened to Mindy. That bitch thinks her shit doesn’t stink and has had a stick up her ass since she started, but newsflash, I don’t want her bad enough to try to fucking rape her.”
“So, you admit you want her?”
“Fuck, I’d let her suck my dick, yeah. But I don’t need pussy that bad.”