Obsidian Liquor (Lion Security #1)(32)
Author: Scarlett Dawn

“You’re supposed to be reporting the news, not starring in it,” my editor shouted.

My eyes snapped open, and I glared at the alarm clock seeing it was 6:04 in the morning. “How many articles are running about Chrissy and me?”

He continued yelling, “Every single fucking reporter who’s down there wrote about it. With photos.” He growled. “All but one reporter that is. Can you explain that to me?”

“It was personal,” I muttered. I did not want Chrissy and my history flashed all over the place. It was embarrassing enough just knowing that I had been deceived so badly before.

“Dammit, Elizabeth, we should have been the ones reporting it!” I heard him breathing hard over the line. “Do I need to pull you from there? Are you going to start breaking everyone’s noses?”

I snorted, still feeling satisfied. “No. No more fighting for me.”

He stated gruffly, “If you pull another stunt like that…first, you had better give me a damn article on it…and second, I’ll have to pull you from there. We write about blood, not cause the blood. Hear me, Elizabeth?”

“Yes. I hear you. It won’t happen again,” I muttered, but I was talking to a dead air because he had already hung up on me.

I dropped my phone next to me and rolled back over. I needed more sleep to deal with this shit today, and my parents were sure to call soon. Closing my eyes, I tried to ignore how badly my throat hurt, and fall back asleep.

My eyes opened when my phone started ringing again. I glared at the alarm clock when I saw that it was only 6:24. Dammit. My parents had always been early risers.

I grabbed my cell and put it to my ear, and since it had not been my dad’s ringtone, I immediately answered, “Yes, Mom. I know what you’re going to say. Fighting is the gateway to true chaos.” I yawned and stretched.

A masculine chuckle sounded in my ear, and I froze. Daniil purred over the line, “True chaos is made by the weak.” He paused, and said darkly, “I’m not weak, Beth.”

I blinked, and asked, “How did you get this number?” It was a private cell number.

“Childs play, my sweet.” He chuckled when I huffed. “I called to let you know that if you want the breaking news about last evening, you need to be down in the Sands Restaurant by 7:00 for breakfast.”

“You’re going to tell me?” I asked, sitting up in bed wide-awake.

“I could. Or you could just happen to be in the restaurant before we all go down there, and hear it for yourself from them. What would you prefer? Hearsay or a first person angle?”

First person, of course. I paused. “Why are you doing this?”

He hummed. “Let’s just say this story is conducive to the plan.”

I paused, thinking it through. “Are you using me?” He had better not be.

He chuckled. “No more than you’re using me. I told you last evening I would let you know, and I keep my word.” He paused. “I’ve got to go. See you at breakfast, Beth.”

“Okay,” I whispered, hanging up. I stared at my phone. A grin slowly lifted my lips.

It really just might work between him and me.

Epilogue

November 14, 2014—The last day of the charity event…

Standing inside Daniil’s posh hotel living room, I stared at the memory chip and tape recorder I held. Not moving, I thought hard about each and every time the Donovans had stopped me from printing an article, or making me write a retraction the next day. Painfully…and sadly…I realized each time it had been about protecting their son. None of the stories had ever been anything to cause them jail time or show them as some type of crook. Never. The stories had all been matters of the heart, something that would have only hurt them—and others—if the information had been known. My head started to spin, and I rubbed my temples, feeling the stitches that were going to need to come out soon.

Least Ugly peered down at me.

I sucked in a breath and asked, “Do you know the real reason why I came here?”

He answered, “No. I had wondered. This charity event is small potatoes for you.”

I nodded. “I asked specifically to come. I took another report’s place.” Licking my lips, I stated for the first time in my life, “I came to find a story on the Donovans that could hurt them deeply. Obtain justice for all the times they held me back from telling the truth.”

His head cocked. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

I stayed silent for a full minute, reviewing again in my head that this was the right decision. And again, I came up with yes. “I found it.” I wiggled the equipment in my hands. “I have it all here ready to write and send. It could be in the papers by the morning.”

“Is it criminal activity?”

I shook my head. “No, but it does involve their son Cole. Matters of the heart.” The news that I had gained in Sands Restaurant was nice. Ember had broken off her relationship with Brent and Cole. However, it had not been the golden story. What I held in my hands was. “It would hurt him; and with him, his parents in the process.”

We were both silent. I stared at the equipment while he watched me.

Finally, I asked quietly, “Do you have a lighter on you?” I now knew that he smoked.

A few ticks went by, and he asked dryly, “Need a cig?”

“No. I need to burn this information. It’s too tempting.”

He dug into his pocket, handing me a black lighter. “You’re going to burn the truth?”

“Yes. This doesn’t need to get out. He’s hurt enough.” I picked up a glass and set it on the coffee table. Tearing of a few sheets of stationery, I wadded up a piece and put it in the bottom of the cup, and pulled the tape from the recorder. I placed it and the memory card in the cup, and then another wadded sheet on top of that. Sucking in a deep breath, I lit it. “I shouldn’t have even seen it.”

Least Ugly stayed by my side, watching as the paper burned, taking a box of cigarettes out of his pocket and bending to light one by the flames. He inhaled; his eyes were on the melting memory card and tape. “It must have been some pretty deep shit for you to react this way.”

I chuckled. It did not sound nice. “Don’t even ask. I’m not telling.”

He shrugged, saying in a high voice, a definite lie, “I wasn’t going to ask.” Puffing on his cigarette, he muttered, “I have a feeling that was good reading though.”