A few people exchange confused whispers, but the room is weirdly quiet and focused on the screen. Stuart and my father exchange a glance. Confusion, panic.
On the screen, the four men enter the dimly lit bar and move through the seedy crowd to a back hallway.
The whispers in the crowd grow louder. Still low, but sharper. I stand frozen in place, my pulse hammering.
“What is this?” my father growls.
“You getting what you deserve,” Bolt says.
“What is the meaning of this?” Stuart looks from the screen to my father and then to me and Bolt.
The footage continues, following them down a staircase to another door. My father produces a card, swipes it over the keypad, and the door pops open. They move into the room, revealing at least ten pairs of weary eyes, shining in the dim light. Tom Hanson pulls the cord hanging from the ceiling of the small room, and the room alights with teenagers huddled together on the floor.
There are audible gasps from the audience, then a hush, then voices rising questioning and looking for answers.
My father continues to watch the screen, but the panic is gone from his eyes, and that scares me. Bolt shifts at my side, sensing it too.
My father’s lips are thin lines, and when he reaches for the microphone, I know.
“No, no, no,” I mumble.
“What is this video, Clark?” someone yells from the audience.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says smoothly, his voice calm and effortless. “Everything you see on this video is true.”
People turn to each other with loud murmurs.
“Myself and the other gentlemen in this video were at that reprehensible bar to save those girls.”
The whispering crowd stills.
“They were being held captive by the Royal Bastards, an outlaw gang of bikers.” My father turns to Bolt and points. “Of which he is a member.”
Bolt flinches, and I grab his arm and shake my head. My father sighs dramatically into the microphone, and my stomach drops, shifting his gaze to me. All eyes follow his, and suddenly I’m the center of attention.
“Nicoletta’s been struggling for some time. Her unstable mental health has led to her making poor choices and keeping dangerous company.” His gaze falls again on Bolt.
“She blames everyone for the consequences of her recklessness. Including the tragic death of her boyfriend, Bradley Remington.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see security entering the stage from both sides.
“That’s not true.” My voice is sharp and brittle. “None of this is true, and you know it.”
“I’ve tried to protect her.” He lowers his head. “God knows I’ve tried.”
His performance is flawless. It’s his sales voice. The same timbre as when trying to convince a customer they really do need that extra tennis court.
He nods to security. “Please escort my daughter somewhere more private so we can sort this all out.”
“No,” I shout. “This is all wrong.” I point to the screen. “This is your doing. It was the Royal Bastards who found you out, not the other way around.”
My father leans into the mic again. “You see what I mean? She’s completely delusional.”
“You’re wrong, and you know it.” I point to the other men. “And they know it too.”
Stuart looks away from me. Panic rips through me as security inches closer.
“I also have reason to believe,” my father nods at Bolt, “this thug and his gang were responsible for Brad’s death. Such a wonderful young man cut down in his prime.”
