Angela had both of her fists pressed to her mouth, tears sliding down her face. Her entire body was shaking. And then I went back to Cruz, who was still only watching me. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking?”
“He’ll get away with it.” I spared Angela another look. “They always get away with it.”
I looked back at Cruz, who frowned. “What are you thinking?”
“I have no idea.” But I was reaching for my phone, pulling it out of my pocket. I just knew that this would be covered up. He had three friends. Four to our two? I wasn’t counting Angela because who knew what headspace she was in.
“Mara.” Cruz moved toward me.
I moved back, switching to video, and I hit record.
A part of me hated myself, that I was doing this, but the other part–he couldn’t get away with it. He just couldn’t.
“Angela,” I spoke up, quietly.
Flynn was still screaming in the background.
“Wha–what?” She hiccupped, focusing on me.
I motioned to my phone. “Can I record you?”
She frowned, blanching. “Why?”
“So there’s proof.”
She held my gaze, thinking.
She knew what I said was true. She knew it, but I waited, holding my breath.
Her head jerked forward. “Yeah.”
I knelt beside her, and hit the light on so I could really see her. “Who did this to you tonight?”
The question burst a dam. Her tears tripled and she folded over.
I swung the camera around, spotlighting Flynn, who was still screaming before I moved it back to her. I sat down, crossed my legs. “You have to say it. Say it once.”
She was nodding, but she couldn’t talk. She was gasping around the sobbing.
“Mara, maybe–”
“No.” I seared him with a look, keeping my camera on Angela. He didn’t get it. He just didn’t. She was still in it. She wasn’t out of it. Right now. Her words were the most powerful right now. And maybe, just maybe, she could use this later.
Maybe.
“Angela–” I started to prompt her, but she cut me off.
She bent over, but her words came out. She told her story.
39
CRUZ
My hand was hurting, but it was worth it. We were at a local police station. Angela was talking to a detective. It hadn’t been what I’d initially thought. I was thinking the worst, but as Mara recorded, Angela told a story about how Flynn had been aggressive, though he stopped when she said no. He just hadn’t stopped soon enough. They’d been at a party at someone’s nearby house, another Alpha Mu brother, and she lost her phone. She went with Flynn because he’d been charming and she thought he was sweet, despite his reputation.
They were making out, and he got too rough. She said no, he pushed. She said no again, he pushed again. He hit her. That’s when she began screaming no, and then he yielded. After that, she didn’t know what to do and they met up with his friends. She thought she’d be safe since his friends were there, but instead of going back to Grant West, they went to the beach.
She said, “We were leaving, but he got a text from someone. Then he said we were going to the beach. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know this area.”
Mara heard that, and her whole face went flat. We were thinking the same thing. Carrington was told we were at the beach.
She came over to me now. “She called her roommate. She’s coming to pick her up.”
I settled more firmly against the wall behind me. “She hangs out at the house. Labrowski was best friends with her brother. And now this? I stopped myself, but Labrowski, he won’t.”
She moved closer to me, her hand resting on my chest, falling to my pants and her fingers tucked in. Holding on. It appeased me a bit. But the thought of what he did? And the worst part: “He’s going to get away with it.”
She moved, turning her back to the police station. It was just the two of us in our corner. I rested a hand on her hip, drawing her closer. I needed to touch her. My head folded down. Hers lifted, and she said softly, “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true, and you know it. His dad is a senator. He’s going to get special treatment, and he’ll have some fancy lawyer come in and then what?”
She held her phone up, her eyes looking almost dead. “Then I leak this.”
My hand tensed over her hip. “I thought the police wanted that.”
“They do. I’m supposed to send it to them, but I’m keeping a copy. I don’t care if it’s wrong.”
“That’s Angela’s recording more than yours.”
“I know.” Some of the dead look lifted, just slightly. Some humanity came back to her. “I won’t do anything without her blessing. I’m not like that, but Cruz, I did this for you too. He’s going to target us. You know that. You and me. He was screaming how he was going to end you. Him? I take that seriously.”
“Cops know that too. It’s documented, and we have proof.”
“Yeah.” She turned and leaned her whole side into me, both of us watching Angela. I moved my hand up, my arm curling around her shoulders and I held her tight.
Then we waited.
Her roommate showed up a little over an hour later. There wasn’t a lot of conversation after that. Mara went over. She talked a little with the roommate before they left.
The detective had come over earlier too, filling us in on what he could. It wasn’t our case, we couldn’t know everything. He did promise that they had already been speaking to Flynn. He sounded genuine so we’d see what the fallout would be, if there was any.
That’s when they questioned me, saying Flynn was claiming I attacked him on the beach. I gave them a full rendition, and they asked, “He threw a bottle at you first? Threatened you and raised his arm, coming at you?”
“He started for me first.”
That went a long way, and they said with the bottle, threat, and bodily movement coming at me, that he incited the violence first. Once I heard those words, a cement truck of stress lifted off me. Then I remembered Angela and it came right back down.
We were free to go after that. Once in my truck, I reached for my phone, bringing up Labrowski’s number.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m calling Labrowski. He needs to know.”
“No. That has to be her decision–”
“Mara.” The emotions about my sister, the phone call with my mom, being with Mara and not being able to touch her, and then Flynn, Angela… I sighed. “I get your loyalty is to her in this situation, but I’m telling Labrowski. I’m on his team. We live in the same house. He’s my boy. If it were you, I would never forgive the roommate and teammate who knew and didn’t tell me.”
She let out her own sigh. “Just–don’t tell him the specifics.”
“Trust me.” I didn’t wait. I hit the call button.
After three rings, he picked up, sounding groggy, “What the fuck, Styles? You better not be calling from jail. You know what time–”
“Shut up for a second.”
He went silent. Then, rustling sounds came over, and he asked, way less groggy now, “What is it? You okay?”