Page 125 of Ruin

“Well, Rich knows, but—”

“Deputy Dick? You talked to that prick about us?”

“He’s my friend.”

“Who you used to fuck.”

“Zeus…” I warn. “I trust Rich, and I know he wouldn’t do something like talk to the press. I mean, come on. He’s in law enforcement, for God’s sake.”

“And that means what?”

“That he knows not to talk to the press.”

The derogatory laugh he lets out has me grinding my teeth and feeling surprised that Aunt Elle hasn’t said anything.

“I can’t believe you’re defending that prick,” he growls at me.

“I’m not!” I throw my hands up, frustrated. “I just know he wouldn’t do that. What about Marcel? He just loves to talk to the press.”

That asshole loves the sound of his own voice.

“Why would he?”

“Why wouldn’t he? He kept your daughter’s existence from you. Why not smear my reputation while he’s at it?”

“Marcel doesn’t know that I know about Gigi.”

“You haven’t confronted him about it yet? Why the hell not? Are you afraid of him?”

His eyes lift upward, and he lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, that’s it, Cam. I’m afraid to talk to Marcel. I could kill the guy with one punch, but yeah, I’m terrified of him.”

“So, why not say something to him?”

“Because I’m trying to be smart about it for once. It’s not that I’m not doing anything because I am. Behind the scenes, I’m doing things, going for the guy where it’s going to really hurt him, but it’ll take time. But I know, if I go see Marcel anytime soon, I’ll be spending the next twenty-five to fifty in a state penitentiary for murder. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m contracted to the bastard for my next fight. So, right now, dodging prison and keeping my income are my top priorities now that I have you and Gigi to provide for!”

“I don’t need your money!”

“And I don’t give a fuck! It’s yours anyway!”

“Okay, back to your corners, children.” Aunt Elle stands between us, arms spread out. “I’m pretty sure the whole street just heard that. That means—”

“Mommy?” Gigi’s tiny voice comes from the doorway, and my heart dies in my chest.

I whirl around to her, and the worried look on her face makes me want to find a time machine, go back in time, and tell myself to shut the fuck up.

“Hey, Gigi girl.” I go over and scoop her up into my arms.

“Are you and Daddy fighting?”

“No,” I lie. “We’re just disagreeing. You know, like when you and April Sinclair have a falling-out at pre-K.”

April is Gigi’s best friend, and they argue like sisters would.

“You means, when Apwil takes the toys I’m pwaying with, and it makes me angry.”

“Yeah, kinda like that, baby.”

“So, did Daddy takes something of yours?”