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Ollie hadn’t commented on the wedding, not verbally, at least. And his face and rolling eyes had grilled me only once.
I guess he thought I had enough going on, with all the articles in every newspaper and the extra lines around my eyes caused by fucking exhaustion and stress.
I was tired, more than usual. I hadn’t slept since the wedding because I didn’t enjoy closing my eyes to images of my new wife, covered in mud and blood.
Instead, I’d sit at my desk with fuck knows how many coffees, still searching for Rothbart, who had fallen off the fucking earth, again.
I deleted every trace of my search each morning and started again each night.
The internet was something I shouldn’t be near, constantly plastered in wedding photos. Deluded fangirls, who thought they were better than my girl, questioning why her body wasn’t even.
It made me fucking furious, and I had to bite my fucking tongue so hard, I was surprised it was still attached.
“Ollie says to put on the news. Immediately.” Dec, now over at the arm of the sofa, where the remote often stayed glued, flicked the channel from the movie playing soundlessly to the six o’clock news.
And there I was.
“Turn it up.”
Dec didn’t have time to do as I asked because the reporter on the screen wouldn’t have been heard anyway, not as a pounding attacked the front door, scaring every cat as they lay scattered around the living room.
Bang, bang, bang.
Jolie stiffened as she and Woodrow turned to the door. “Who would be knocking like that?” she asked, showing more fear than usual.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, and she sank into him.
I glanced at the TV reporter, watching her thin red lips move and sounding out the words for all to hear.
“The body of a hanging teenager was found close to the venue where Remington Cole will perform this weekend. She was naked but wore a single pink sock, known to be his favorite color. A note was found inside, reading that she was taken from a prior show and sold into human trafficking.”
Dec’s face would haunt me, pale like a fucking ghost. “This isn’t good.”
“It’s a fucking setup, isn’t it? The whole fucking show.” The door banged again. “That’s gotta be the police.”
I moved to the door; my suspicions confirmed by a cop with a husky tone. My family shadowed behind me as I pulled it open.
“Remington Cole?”
“Yes.”
A cop stepped into my home, not giving a fuck that he stepped on my toes and left a dirty print on the black sock I wore. Another followed, one dragging me around with aggressive hands while the other cuffed me.
“You’re being arrested on suspicion of human trafficking. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you.
“Officers, there has to be some kind of mistake.”
The officers ignored Woodrow, dragging me outside, a flurry of other cops scattered around our grounds like worms.
The five-foot-seven creep—and I knew that for a fact because he leveled up to Cat’s height against my body—held me, stretching to put his hand on my head and force me into the back seat of his car.
I let him do it.
“Keep an eye on Cat!” I called as the door slammed shut, almost slamming into my nose.
“Keep an eye on Cat,” Dec repeated to the others, grabbing the van keys and shouting over to me, “I’ll meet you at the station. I got you!”
Despite the little digs and jealousy I felt over him being close to Cat, he always did have me. He was a great brother, having had my back since Ollie first brought me into their lives.
