Straight Up

by Charity Ferrell

  It was different with Cassidy.

  Someone hurt her.

  She’s not committing crimes.

  I went to prison for protecting my father.

  I’d go to prison to protect her too.

  If she won’t tell me what is going on, I’ll figure it out myself.

  I know just the person to ask for help.

  It’s also the last person who’d ever want to help me.

  Louis Berban.

  Iowa’s district attorney.

  The main force behind putting my father and me in prison.

  Isla’s husband.

  No one was looking into my father until Louis found out I was sleeping with his wife.

  It was bullshit since I thought they were separated. When he found out, all hell broke loose. The first thing he did was tell my mother that I was sleeping with her friend, a woman her age, which broke her heart. He also made it a point to disclose that Isla wasn’t the first friend of my mother’s I’d spent time in bed with.

  Him going to my mother caused friction between us. It gave her more trust issues than she already had. I never went looking for older women. It’d just … happened.

  “I thought I’d never see your face again.”

  I stare at Louis from the doorway of his office. He sits behind his massive cherry-wood desk with built-in bookshelves behind him, shelves filled with law books and family photos.

  It was risky, barging into his office and asking his secretary to speak to him. I figured he’d send security out to escort me off the premises, but surprisingly, he told her to send me in.

  Pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose, he waits for me to speak.

  “Trust me,” I say, “I never wanted to see yours again.”

  “Why are you here?” He flicks his Montblanc pen in his hand before sliding it into the pocket of his suit jacket. “To beat me up now that you’re free? To keep sleeping with my wife? What?”

  Should I tell him his wife is still visiting me?

  Considering I need a favor from him, I keep that tidbit of information to myself. I’ll make it clear to Isla to leave me the fuck alone or her husband will be hearing from me. For once, I need the law on my side.

  I venture deeper into his office, stopping in front of his desk, and stand tall. “I need a favor.”

  He snorts. “Why would I do you any favors?”

  “Do me a favor, and I won’t fuck your wife again.” I step closer, leveling my eyes on him. “How’s that sound?”

  It’s an asshole move, but my attitude needs to match his.

  Berban can’t lock me up for dicking down his wife. Not that I would, but threats seem to work well. It’s what he did to me for months before locking me up.

  His dark brows knit together. “You walk into my office, talk about fucking my wife, and want a favor from me? Did they beat the sense out of you in prison or something?”

  “You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. Or rather, I’ll leave your wife alone.”

  Not that I’d touch Isla with a ten-foot pole, but she’s Louis’s weakness. Dude loves her more than he loves anything.

  He leans back in his leather chair, crossing his arms. “What can I help you with, Callahan?”

  “I have a friend who’s in trouble.”

  He keeps staring, not muttering a word.

  “And I need help figuring out how to get her out of trouble.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  I gesture to his computer. “Look up her record. There’s a guy who’s messing with her.”

  His back straightens. “Define messing with her.”

  “She’s bruised up.” I make a circling motion around my chest. “My guess is, from a guy she was arrested with. His name isn’t in the police report, but I’m hoping your report has additional information you can give me.”

  “What’s her name?” He pounds a finger onto the keyboard.

  “Cassidy Lane.”

  He freezes. “Lane … as in the daughter of the mayor of Blue Beech?”

  “I think so.”

  I knew Cassidy’s father was the mayor of their town, but she doesn’t talk about him much.

  Surprisingly, Louis types on his computer, moving his mouse as he reads the screen. “Hmm … she only has one charge. A drug misdemeanor. It appears she was pulled over, and there were drugs in the car. Not enough to consider distribution, but it was pretty damn close.”

  “What else?” That information is shit I could’ve easily googled or had Rex hack to find.

  “That’s about it. Police report said she was pulled over with her boyfriend. She denied the drugs being hers, but the boyfriend said they didn’t belong to him either. It was her car, so it became her charge. When they asked where she got them, she wouldn’t answer any questions. She was bailed out six hours later, put on probation since it was a first-time offense, and sentenced to community service.” He shrugs. “Not much there for you.”

  “The boyfriend.” I hastily point at the computer. “Does it give a name?”

  He squints at the screen. “A man by the name of Quinton …” He pauses, recognition dawning on him. “Landing. Quinton Landing.”

  “Well, fuck me,” I mutter.

  He nods. “That might be a problem for you, huh?”

  “Could be, but at this point, I don’t care.”

  In the Iowa investment industry, Landing Holdings was the biggest competitor to Callahan Holdings. As Callahan Holdings began to spiral, Landing rushed in to poach our clients, giving them the notion they could get in trouble by allowing criminals to work with their money. They painted us as people who couldn’t be trusted. That we stole money from our clients and would be spending the rest of our lives in jail. The Landing family is as conniving as they come.

  Now, I need to figure out if Quinton is the one who hurt Cassidy.

  Time to hunt him down.

  I attended private school with his older brother, so I can always start there.

  “Can you pull up his address for me?” I ask Louis.

  He looks at me as if I grew a horn out of my head. “No.”

  “Come on.”

  He shakes his head.

  “You put me in prison … give a man a little favor now.”

  “I’ve told you all I can.” Even after everything that’s happened, there’s a hint of remorse on his face.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Cassidy

  It took me forever to convince my family to leave.

  Correction: most of my family to leave.

  Sierra and Maliki have stayed, wanting to hang out for a while.

  Code word for: babysit me.

  While in my bedroom with my mom and the girls, I revealed my bruise but held my ground. I’m not telling them who did it or providing any details.

  It’s my story to tell.

  And I’ll tell it when I’m ready.

  If I’m ever ready.

  They tried and finally gave up—at least on getting a name. When I asked them to have Lincoln come into my bedroom and talk, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say.

  Betrayal had sunk its claws into my thoughts. None of this would have happened—my entire family wouldn’t have shown up like a circus—had he not told someone. A light of hope had begun to surface that day, positive thoughts of forgetting about Quinton approaching, and my future with Lincoln was all I was looking toward. And then Rex had barged through the door like a madman, dissipating all that confidence.

  Because of Lincoln, they know.

  Because of Lincoln, my family sees me as dishonest, as weak, as someone who needs to be watched.

  Johnna is covering my shift at Twisted Fox again tonight. Cohen was understanding when I texted and told him. It’s time for me to come up with a plan. As much as I love working at the bar and living in Anchor Ridge, what happens now?

  Now that people know what happened to me.

  I don’t want to be known as Cassidy Lane, the girl who was ab
used, needs saving, and couldn’t hold her own against some jerk.

  I’m in the living room, staring at the TV yet not processing anything happening on the show. Maliki and Sierra are in the kitchen, whispering and warming up frozen pizzas. My head rises, my gaze shooting toward the entry, when the front door opens.

  Grace appears, strutting into the house, wearing a wool jacket, pencil skirt, and kitten heels. She smiles at me, dimples popping out along her fair cheeks, and drops her computer bag to the floor before relaxing in the chair next to the couch.

  “Hey, babe,” she says. “You have the night off again?”

  I stare at her, blinking, struggling to get a read on her. “Do you know?”

  “Know what?” She genuinely looks confused, which confuses me because I was under the impression that the group told each other everything.

  Gripping the hem of my sweatshirt with my hands nearly trembling, I drag it up to reveal my bruise. It happens without thought, as if my brain told my body I could trust Grace.

  Or maybe I’m sick of hiding it.

  She gasps, her mouth falling open, her eyes wide. “Oh my God! Who did that to you?”

  “An ex.” My voice is fainter than a whisper as the truth releases from my lips for the first time, and I shove the sweatshirt back down.

  And just like that, Grace is the first person I’ve muttered those words to. I’m not going into specifics and telling her it was Quinton, but it’s more than what I’ve given anyone else. I’m not sure if it’s because there’s an ease, a comfortableness, with Grace or because I finally want to talk about it so I can stop thinking about it incessantly.

  All her attention is on me, her forehead creasing in concern. “Did you call the cops?” She jumps up from her seat. “Do you need anything? Ice? A drink?”

  I was worried about telling Grace this for two reasons: one being that she might think it’s unsafe to be my roommate and the other being that her father is a judge and she might ask him to step in.

  “I thought I could trust Lincoln, but he ran his mouth. So, my family knows.” I blow out a breath. “I’m surprised the news hasn’t hit you because I’m pretty sure Georgia knows.”

  Her face softens, and a genuine smile that’s meant to be helpful and comforting spreads along her lips. “It’s a personal matter. Yes, we’re a tight-knit group, but if one of us confides in another, that secret stays with that person. Georgia wouldn’t tell your story, wouldn’t disclose your secrets, unless she knew it was okay with you for her to do so. Just like I won’t mention this to anyone unless you’re comfortable with it.”

  “If only Lincoln had followed that same structure.”

  “I’m sure it sucked for him to break your trust.” She sighs. “But what happened to you is serious. Someone physically assaulted you … and it’s scary. Trust me, I know. But are you protected now? Will they come back and continue messing with you? Violence tends to lead to more violence.”

  “I know; I know.”

  “I’m sure Lincoln was trying to protect you because he cares about you.”

  We’re in the living room, munching on cauliflower pizza, when the front door opens again, and Lincoln stalks into the living room.

  He’s called and texted a few times, but I’ve ignored them. Uncertainty of where we’re at has stopped me every time. I trusted him, and he proved I’d been stupid in doing that. Maybe he didn’t plan on Archer telling my family, but he still went behind my back and told Archer. What I had shown Lincoln, told him, was supposed to stay between him and me.

  Not Lincoln, me, and my entire family.

  If the tables were turned, I’m not sure what I’d do either. If one of my friends or family were hurt, would I keep that secret or reach out to someone in concern?

  Everyone goes quiet, Sierra even pausing the show we’re watching, when Lincoln comes to a halt in front of me.

  “Is it Quinton?” he asks, staring down at me, not sparing a glance in anyone else’s direction. “Is he the one who hurt you?”

  A sudden coldness hits my core.

  How does he know Quinton?

  All attention plasters to me.

  “That’s none of your business,” I grit out, clenching my fists, my nails digging into the sensitive skin of my palms.

  “Quinton?” Sierra asks. “Quinton who?”

  “No one!” I shout. “Just some stupid guy I hung out with at school.”

  “Quinton Landing,” Lincoln says, his voice firm. “The guy you were with the night you were arrested. The guy who went free while you didn’t. Is he the one who put his hands on you?”

  Why would he do that?

  Say his name in front of everyone.

  In seconds, my sister and Grace will be looking up Quinton Landing. Sierra will examine every social profile of his before sending the information to my brothers.

  Lincoln won’t sit back and allow me to remain silent.

  I slap my hand onto the couch before standing. “Can we talk in private?”

  He nods.

  I walk around the coffee table, all eyes on me, and Lincoln follows me to my bedroom.

  Whipping around, I face him, a deep scowl on my face. “Why would you do that?”

  “Do what?” He raises a brow, and my outrage heightens that he’d ask do what, as if he didn’t just barge in here.

  “Go and say his name in front of everyone.” I shake my head, grimacing. “How’d you even find out about Quinton?”

  When I dated Quinton, I didn’t talk about him with my family. Sure, I briefly mentioned I went on a few dates with a guy, but I tended to be more private, knowing how they like to get involved. I was in college, living the life, and wanted to keep that life to myself for as long as I could.

  “Why wouldn’t I say his name?” Lincoln asks. “Is he the guy who did that to you?”

  I bite into my lower lip.

  “It was him, wasn’t it?”

  I’m not much of a liar.

  There’s a difference between lying and hiding information from someone.

  As Lincoln stares at me, his eyes filled with concern, I can’t lie to his face.

  I bow my head and nod, a flight of embarrassment soaring through me, though relief also treads behind it.

  “Please, Cass, please turn him in,” he begs, his voice nearly breaking.

  “Just …” I blow out an uneasy breath. “Give me a day to digest everything, okay? I hadn’t planned for this to happen today. I’m bruised up.” I move my gaze to him, narrowing my eyes. “I’m very upset with you, and I need to let my mind rest for a minute before I do anything.”

  His stare is pained in my direction. “I don’t want you staying here alone.”

  “Grace—”

  He keeps talking. “Grace won’t be able to do anything if Quinton comes back to mess with you.”

  I nod in agreement. Nor would I want to put Grace in that situation. I feel bad enough that Quinton came here, and all night, I’ve waited for her to ask if it’s safe to stay here. Grace doesn’t like being alone; she checks that the alarm is set numerous times before going to bed at night. There’s a history there that I haven’t felt comfortable enough to ask about yet.

  “Trust me, no one in my family will leave me alone right now. Even though I wish they would for a moment.” My shoulders slump. “Quinton hasn’t returned in days. He came over, we fought, and it happened. He freaked out as soon as he realized what he’d done.”

  “If no one can stay with you, you call me, okay?”

  As much as I want to tell him I’d prefer it was him staying at my side, I don’t.

  I don’t because I’m still so angry with him.

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  “Promise not to ignore me.”

  “I’m not making that promise,” I say. “I’m angry with you, Lincoln. Pissed off beyond belief that you went behind my back.”

  “Hate me if you want, but at least I’ll know you’re safe.” He takes my hand in his, careful at firs
t, waiting to see if I’ll pull away, and when I don’t, he uses it to pull me into his hold. “If it takes you hating me to keep you safe, then I guess the heartache and pain I’m experiencing is worth it because your safety is the most important thing to me. Not my heart, not my feelings. You.”

  I shake in his arms and choke back a sob.

  What do I do?

  I can’t forgive him. I trusted him, and he broke my heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lincoln

  “What did you do to make Georgia not hate you anymore?” I ask Archer, sipping on my coffee and narrowing my eyes at him. “I still can’t believe you said something to Cohen.”

  Sleep was like a blocked-off street to me last night. All I thought about was Cassidy.

  Is she safe?

  Will Quinton hurt her again?

  Will she ever forgive me?

  With our talk after I returned to her house, mentioning Quinton, I don’t think she hates me. I’m scared that she won’t trust me any longer, and if you can’t trust someone fully, can you be with them? I don’t want to have a half-assed relationship with someone who is on the fence on whether they can share their deepest secrets with me.

  I’d been tested, and I failed.

  I failed and told my brother what I’d said I wouldn’t.

  Somehow, someway, I need to earn her trust back while also fighting for her to go against Quinton.

  In the end, do I regret telling my brother? No.

  Because it might convince Cassidy to turn Quinton in.

  There’s a stronger pulling force alongside me now.

  Archer gapes at me. “Dude, don’t try it. You knew I’d tell him.”

  I scrub a hand over my face, not admitting that he’s right.

  “And as far as the Georgia hating me question, I’m not sure how she doesn’t hate me.” He chuckles. “My advice is to do everything in your power to make things right and earn her trust back.”

  “It’s hard to earn back her trust when all I can think about is that motherfucker hurting her.”

  “Don’t get yourself in trouble, brother. You’ve already gone to prison once.”