“Yes,” Rick said.
Allen’s breath hitched, his eyes growing wide. He took a step back, then another, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch. He just stood there, staring at Rick.
“How?” Allen whispered. “Why?”
Rick watched him shake. He watched the confusion and fear pass across his face. “You want the truth?” Rick asked.
Allen let out a short, brittle laugh, then slapped his hand across his mouth before nodding. “What do you think?”
Rick nodded. “Okay.”
He moved closer again. Allen stayed where he was, eyes fixed on him. “They took things from me,” Rick told him. “For years.”
Allen’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
Rick didn’t answer immediately. Allen didn’t need all the names and what they’d done. “People used me,” Rick murmured. “They used my name. My work and the attention Igained. I was a product, and everyone wanted a piece. Wanted what they could get.”
Allen stared at him, his grip tightening on the burner. “What?”
“Cass wasn’t innocent. She was running her mouth. She wanted money and leverage. She wanted to sell a story with my name on it and push her own career doing so. Get a better band and singer.”
Allen’s face tightened. “She’s dead.”
“Yes, because she wouldn’t stop. Nothing was good enough for her.”
Allen shook his head. “You don’t get to decide that. People have the right to pursue their own careers.”
“Someone always decides, Allen. It’s just usually not the person being threatened.” Allen flinched at the word. Rick softened his tone a fraction because he wanted Allen to stay with him. “You think I did it because I wanted to?”
Allen’s eyes flickered away as he licked his lips. He shook his head again and slowly closed his eyes, and for a second Rick was concerned Allen would throw up.
Rick leaned in slightly, his voice low. “I did it because I had to. Because I wasn’t going to let them take what was left.”
Allen swallowed again. His gaze darted toward the door. Rick saw it and angled his body to intercept Allen if he decided to make a run for it.
“Graham?” Allen asked. “What about him? He’s—”
“Graham knew what he was doing,” Rick interrupted. “He made his money off people like me. He didn’t care what it cost. He didn’t care who he hurt or who got used up and thrown away like trash.”
Allen’s eyes were wet now. “And Elliot,” Allen said. His voice cracked on the name. “That was Friday. That was—”
Rick didn’t look away. “Elliot said my name on camera like he owned it. He acted as if he could pick at me and walk away.”
Allen went still, his eyes locked on Rick’s. “So you killed him.”
Rick held his gaze. “Yes.”
Allen let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh but wasn’t quite a sob either. He put his hand over his mouth and shook his head. Allen lowered his hand. “You murdered three people. You’re saying it like it’s nothing.”
Rick’s voice stayed level. “I’m saying it like it’s done.”
Allen’s shoulders shook. He looked down at the phone, his fingers tightening on the plastic. He shook his head again and glanced around the room, then back at Rick. “Shit.”
Rick took another step and reached out slowly, lifting his hand up. “Give it to me.”
Allen jerked back, holding the phone to his chest. “No.”
Rick stopped. “Okay.”
