Page 50 of A Violet Obsession

We’re fucking screwed. You need to drive. You don’t want to? Then you’ll earn on your fucking knees. I’ve protected you all these years. You don’t do this for me, you can pay me back doing that.

I open my eyes. Finn hasn’t moved. Hasn’t breathed, from the look of him.

“So, I did.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “But the same food poisoning that got Keith also got the guard they’d paid off.” I pause, frowning. “Huh. I never thought about that before. I bet he gave him the money over a meal.”

“Lily.”

“Right.” I pull myself back. “It was the wrong guard, and because of the time they lost trying to find a driver, they were too close to the shift change. More guards than they expected.” I stare at my hands. “I don’t know exactly what happened inside. Just what the police pieced together later. Someone started shooting. It turned into a gunfight.”

I take a deep breath and remind myself this is just a story. It’s over.

“I’d heard the shots from the car and was doing my best not to have a heart attack. I was about to leave—Fuck Scott.” I try to smile. “I thought, I’ll pack a bag and sleep under a bridge if I have to. But then all three of them came running. The other guards were chasing them. I wasn’t exactly an experienced getaway driver, and I had to turn around.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “The guards fired on the car.”

I bite my tongue hard to hold it together. A warm hand covers mine, and I realize I’m trembling.

“I remember feeling like someone had punched me. Really hard. I don’t think I even realized what happened.”

“Initial strike,” Finn confirms quietly. “Before the pain.”

I suck in a ragged breath. “Yeah. I must have blacked out, because the next thing I know I’m in a hospital, handcuffed to a bed.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.” I almost smile at how perfectly that one word captures it. “Long story short—Scott died in the car, Joey and Pete fled on foot, and the police still hadn’t caught them. Except the police didn’t know their names.” I meet his eyes. “That’s what they needed me for.”

“They wanted you to make a deal? You were just a kid.”

“I’d been eighteen for three days. Legally an adult. They made it very clear I didn’t have options. Give them the names of the rest of the crew and testify, or they’d pursue felony murder charges against me because Scott died. My lawyer told me later they were just trying to scare me, that the charges didn’t apply. But I was young and didn’t know.”

Finn’s chin drops to his chest. “Fuuuuck,” he says on a long, exhaled breath.

“Exactly.” I lift a shoulder. “I didn’t have options or money, and I was terrified and in pain.” I hold up a finger. “Turns out the guard actually shot me three times, but the other two were more grazes. Not worthy of tattoos.” My lips lift on one side.

Smile or cry.

But apparently, I’m also crying, because Finn’s thumb gently brushes away the tears I didn’t realize were falling.

“I’m okay, promise. PTSD response.” I tell him. “That’s what my therapist says, anyway.”

I turn to look at him and am struck by the emotion swirling in his eyes. It’s not pity. It’s something else, and my heart stutters for a second before I force myself to look away.

“I was actually lucky. A fancy defense lawyer was walking by. He’d been visiting a client on the same floor and heard them questioning me. He later told me he didn’t like their ‘tone’ and stopped. His good deed of the year, he claimed.”

“He brokered the deal, and after I got out of the hospital, the DA paid for me to stay in a hotel to recuperate and prepare for trial.” I pick at the edge of the sheet. “And then I testified. Keith wasn’t there, so he got off, but Pete and Joey both got twenty years. Needless to say, I lost my scholarship.” I make a face. “Unfortunately, it turns out having your name attached to a crime is a bad thing when you’re looking for jobs or applying to schools. I legally changed it a year later.”

“His name.” Finn’s voice is gruff.

“Also my mother’s,” I murmur.

Silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Is that what you were hiding?” Finn’s thumb is tracing slow circles on the back of my hand without seeming to realize he’s doing it, and despite the heaviness of what I’m sharing, the butterfly army inside me is thrilled.

I shake my head. “There’s more. Joey is out on parole and looking for revenge.”

The thumb stops for a second before resuming its course. “That’s why you said you’d stay away from Emma.” It’s not a question. “You were worried he’d hurt her.”

My throat tightens. “Yes.”