Page 163 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

I hit play.

Tinny sounds pour from the speaker, but I don’t let myself hear them, and I don’t look at the screen.

I keep my eyes on her. She keeps her eyes on me.

It’s silent on the other end of our earpieces, but Rue knows they’re listening. She also knows men outside of our trusted circle have done far more than listen.

I keep my eyes on her. She keeps her eyes on me.

Joe can’t believe he’s watching this in front of her. Joe’s enjoying her humiliation on this video. I will fucking kill the man chuckling behind me.

“Pretty hot, right?” Timms asks in a buddy-buddy voice.

I keep my eyes on her. She keeps her eyes on me.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “She is.” I turn to face him. “And you’re fucked.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Rue

I’ve never seen a man’s malicious glee curdle in real time more thoroughly than I do as the leer on Timms’s face freezes into a Joker grin that quickly slides into outrage.

“The fuck do you mean by that?” He storms up to Hugo and grabs him by the collar, his hand scrabbling over the zipper-pull mic and threatening to deafen those of us with receivers deep in our ears.

“Jesus,” Fi mutters over the amplified scrape and rustle of Hugo being manhandled.

“These females, they’ve got you!” Hugo’s Joe voice drips with frustration as Timms pulls him away from me. I miss the press of his body immediately. “They’ve got you by the throat, dude!”

“We can stop this. We can do… something,” Timms insists, his voice rising. He’s lost even more weight since the last time I saw him, his cheekbones sharp under his red-rimmed eyes.

“What’s there to do?” Hugo asks. “This ends with you disgraced, no matter what.”

Timms releases Hugo abruptly, but my man is strong and doesn’t budge.

“How do you figure?” Timms glowers and crosses his arms. He’s covered in the kinds of tattoos I’ve seen on too many guys like him: a Punisher logo on his calf, a Crusader cross on his triceps, a Spartan helmet on his thigh, all interspersed with a mess of Roman numerals and Latin letters I never want translated.

“You know they’ve got the courts on their side and too many of our brothers on the police force.” Hugo’s arms hang limply at his sides, the very picture of manhood under assault. “They’ve got a whole network of people out to keep us down. Us men who only want what’s best for our families and our communities. We’re up against it. You’ve always known that.”

“No.” Timms shakes his head. “If I kill this one tonight”—he grabs me by the arm, hauling me to my feet and forcing too much weight on my bad ankle—“then she can’t…”

His voice trails off because we’ve worked hard to convince him I can.

“If she’s telling the truth,” Hugo says somberly, “her version of events goes out whether she lives or dies.”

They both look at me as I project bravery through my fear.

“You know what I do for work, Officer Timms. My evidence is convincing.” I pull my lips into a smug smile. “The whole world’s going to see that you didn’t outsmart anyone. You had an itty-bitty temper tantrum, and you accidentally killed somebody, and then you did a shitty cover-up job. Bye-bye, reputation as some big tough man.”

Timms thrusts me at Hugo, snarling, “Shut this bitch up.”

“Be good,” Hugo says, a dark warning in his voice and a possessive hand at my throat. I… don’t hate it. But that’s something to explore later. The important thing is that Timms has assigned me to Hugo, which couldn’t fit more seamlessly into our plan. My role is to stay quiet unless Timms needs a little more goading. The rest of the job now belongs to Hugo.

“Maybe nobody will believe her,” Hugo says. “An unreliable female running her mouth. But…” He lifts his free arm helplessly. “You’ve seen what those guys on the forum are saying. They’re questioning you, brother, and it’s getting louder every day. I hate to see it. But with her telling stories, and then that lawyer talking about you…”

“Fucking hell!” Timms screams, pivoting sharply and driving his fist into the wall. “Fuck!” he screams again, shaking out his hand.

I peek around Hugo and see an indent in the drywall, but no hole. Oh, did the poor baby hit a stud? It’s really not his night.