Page 63 of Wicked Brutal

Ally almost smiles. Then it disappears. “I won’t leave without him.”

Arthur looks at her. “Nobody is asking you to.”

“I need you to understand that.”

“I do.”

“If Dad told me tomorrow that I had to pack my things and go with Tremblay, I still wouldn’t leave Tobias there.”

My chest tightens. Arthur nods slowly. “Then we build this around both of you.”

“How?”

“We keep digging.”

Dad closes the laptop. “Financial records. Communications. Anything connecting Roman’s arrangement with Tremblay to money, political benefit, business interests.”

Arthur nods. “And we keep looking at Tremblay’s history. We need facts, not assumptions about what he may do to Ally.”

“Two dead wives feel pretty factual.”

“They are. Proving he caused those deaths is another matter.”

I stare at the floor. More. After months of this shit. More.

Ally’s thumb moves over the side of my hand. I look at her. She already knows.

We need more evidence, so that’s what I’ll get.

Ally walks toward us Wednesday morning.

Kaiden is talking. Danny is laughing about something Iz said. Xander has one shoulder against the lockers. Then Ally looks directly at me, and my stomach drops. She doesn’t do that. Not here. Not when we’re surrounded by half the senior class.

She keeps walking.

Fuck.

Iz notices first, his eyes flicking to mine. Then Kaiden sees her. Nobody changes position. Nobody stops talking. They’re good — we’ve had years of practice being assholes together.

Ally stops a few feet away. “Harrington.”

I look at her like hearing my name from her mouth is already irritating me. “O’Toole.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Your mom watched Tobias Monday.”

“Congratulations.” I see the smallest flash in her eyes. She expected cold. She didn’t expect that. Good. Neither does anyone else.

“My mom wanted me to thank her.”

I shrug. “Then tell your mom to thank her.”

A couple of people nearby are listening now. Of course they fucking are. Edgewood students can smell blood.

Ally shifts her books against her chest. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

There it is. Wrong question. Too personal. Too direct. And something about the way she’s looking at me tells me this isn’t about my mother. Something happened. Every instinct I have screams to get her somewhere private.

I do the opposite. I laugh. Not because anything is funny. Because Ryan Harrington doesn’t take Alison O’Toole aside when she asks.