The video starts off with a blank screen, but what appears in the next few seconds has all the color draining from my face and my blood running cold.
Someone recorded us having sex on my private jet.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
maddox
The video isn’t justa short clip where the quality is so bad you can’t see who the people are. It’s several minutes long and you can see our faces, clear as day. It starts off with Annalise going down on me, and continues with us having sex.
Another text comes through from the unknown number.
Unknown
Throw Friday’s game against the Houston Phoenixes or the whole world will see this video.
Who the fuck is this?
I try to respond but receive a notification saying the text message can’t be delivered.
“Fuck! Fuck!Fuck!” I yell, slamming my phone down onto the seat.
“Oh, God, this can’t be happening.” Annalise leans forward, shaking her head.
I thought our relationship being exposedcaused enough chaos, but if this sex tape gets released, it would be an apocalypse.
Annalise and I have worked so hard to get where we are in our careers. She’s one step closer to fulfilling her dream of opening her own shop. And for me, winning a championship is so close I can almost taste it.
Everything we’ve built would be destroyed if this gets out.
I didn’t take Annalise seriously when she speculated that someone was trying to ruin my career. But this threat further proves that someone has been plotting my downfall. Who knows what else they’re capable of?
I hate that Annalise has been dragged into all of this. One thing I feared was that all of this might be too much for her, and she would leave me.
We’re happier than ever, and the thought of it being stripped away kills me.
“I need to reach out to my cabin crew and find out who the fuck installed a hidden camera. I’m probably going to have to fire all of them.” I rake my hand through my hair. “Talk about the fucking timing. This is such a catastrophe.”
Annalise gnaws on her fingernails. “Do you think you can offer them a large sum of money to not release this?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think this is about money. I’m sure they paid someone from my crew a fuck-ton of money for that video.”
“We should go to the police station tomorrow morning,” she says. “Maybe they can find out who this sick fuck is.”
We head back inside, where Elijah, Andrés, and Santiago are singing “Bye! Bye! Bye!” by NSYNC at the top of their lungs.
“Hey, we’re gonna head home. I’m not feeling too good. Think I might be getting sick,” I tell them. Which isn’t a total lie, because I do indeed feel sick.
Elijah frowns and pauses the music. “What? But we didn’teven get to sing together. Come on, at least finish this song with us.”
“Another time,” I say, managing a weak smile.
“So when can I expect to hear back?” I ask, handing the police officer behind the desk the report I just filled out.
She rolls her eyes, annoyed that I’ve interrupted her endless scrolling through social media. “A month or two, give or take.”
“Two months? Are you kidding me?” My eyes widen in disbelief. “I need you to start working on this now!”
Setting her phone down, she narrows her eyes at me. “Just because you’re a famous basketball player, doesn’t mean you get special privileges. We have thousands of cases that take priority over yours. You think you’re more important than murder cases and kidnappings?”
