I snorted, half sarcastically and half laughing. Corey, change? There was a better chance of Canada beating America in a war.
“I’m serious, Melissa.”
OK…seriously?
I sighed.
Corey, at his best, was great. He had a fiercely protective personality, he did whatever I needed of him, the sex was great, and though his boys could be a bit much, he knew how to act around me compared to how to act around his friends. But that was only at his best, and anyone at their best would look like Prince Charming.
At his worst, even before we broke up, he could have wild emotional swings, cuss up a storm, make me feel like shit, and leave me wondering what would come next. The only thing I could say for him was he never hit me and he never raped me…but he certainly hit the walls of my apartment and broke a beer bottle more than once. In theory, I had no evidence to suggest he’d physically harm me; in practice, even today, I was terrified that a situation to push him to that point just hadn’t happened yet.
But it certainly could.
“I don’t know why it’s worth contemplating.”
Hailey grimaced.
“What, do you know them now or something?”
“Well, I did have to report on them for WPTV.”
Something started clicking in my head.
“Was this the big report thing?” I said, and I knew it was true before she even said a word. “You got upset over something with the Devil’s Patriots?”
“Yeah.”
“The hell, Hailey?”
This was some sort of mess. I didn’t even want to know how far into their clutches the Devil’s Patriots had Hailey. This felt like the beginning of one of those tragic episodes on a crime show, where a woman falls in love with a dangerous man and winds up the victim of a murder-suicide or a vengeful hit over a broken heart.
“OK,” she said with a sigh. “I figured this would come up at some point. I have two reels of about ten minutes each I want you to watch—one is the version WPTV ran, and one is the version is mine.”
Hailey handed me her laptop after opening up the files and pressed play. As soon as she did, she leaned back and pulled out her phone, furiously texting someone. Probably her new man, whoever that was. God forbid if it was a Devil’s Patriot. Then she wouldn’t be in their clutches so much as she’d basically be one ofthem.
If that was the case, I would probably just drive back to Odessa without a word. She’d be beyond saving at that point.
“Which one am I watching first?”
“The WPTV version.”
I nodded and watched. I saw a big, beefy man, probably in his mid-to-late thirties, a dude who looked like he’d seen his fair share of rough times, make a move on my sister that she ducked. The report talked about the crassness and trouble that the club caused.
And thenheshowed up on the screen.
My ex, Corey, tagged with his club name, “Spawn.”
What a fucking stupid name. Who the hell called themselves Spawn?
The sight was repulsive, although he did actually look in better shape than when we’d dated. He was never a slob or a fat pig, but no one was ever going to mistake his stomach for a six-pack. But his jaw line looked more pronounced, and his cheeks more hollowed out. Maybe he was making changes for the better.
Well, at least physically. There was no way he was making changes to become a better man. Not Corey Dennison.
The ten minutes that aired reflected exactly what I thought of the Devil’s Patriots. I did have one question, though.
“You said this is your report?”
“Yeah.”
