It scooted right into Bryce.

Ritt looked up, saw that Bryce wasn’t moving, and groaned. “Oh no.”

I held the knife in front of me and looked at it. It was so small, so sleek, but so lethal at the same time. It was perfect. I murmured, “You know, Ritt, these guys grabbed you to ask a few questions.” I looked up and met his gaze over the knife’s blade. “But I have a feeling you’re not inclined to answer them.” I brandished the knife, waving it back and forth. It was almost pretty as the light reflected off it. “So I’m going to give you an incentive.”

“W-w-what are you talking about?” He swallowed again. “What kind of incentive?”

I grinned at him.

He sucked in his breath, knowing his question had been the wrong question to ask.

I said, “I’m glad you asked.”

Then I flipped the knife in the air, flicked my hand around, caught the handle, and slammed it into his leg.

He went lax for a second, then he let loose with a scream, tipping his head back.

I murmured softly while he kept screaming, “How about every time you don’t answer a question, I’ll start slicing?”

Michael wasn’t listening. He kept screaming, trying to scoot his chair away from us, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t go anywhere. I still had a firm grasp on that knife, and it was still embedded in his thigh.

I was holding him anchored in one place.

Then I looked up and met Bryce’s gaze. He was startled, and he ran a hand over his face. He wasn’t the angry and commanding one anymore. He was hesitant, but that didn’t bother me. What bothered me was the new look he was giving me.

He was looking at me like I was stranger.

I drew upright, yanking the knife out as I did.

This brought on another burst of screams, but I dulled them out. I continued to stare at Bryce. Then I asked, quietly, “Isn’t this why you brought him here?”

He cursed under his breath. “Sheldon.”

I didn’t look at Corrigan. Somehow I knew that he wasn’t looking at me the same way. Somehow I knew he was right there with me. He understood.

I was tired. I was tired of being stalked. I was tired of being hunted. I was tired of losing friends. I was tired of it all so now it was my turn. I was done with being nice.

I shook my head at Bryce. If he couldn’t handle it, he needed to go. He understood the message and moved back a step, but his hands went into his pockets, and he stayed there. Fine. He wasn’t leaving, but he wasn’t joining in. I got it. So I looked up at Corrigan now, and I’d been right.

There was no hesitation, no shock, no questioning. He was ready, so I told him, “Ask your next question.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Corrigan only had to ask a few. I did a couple more jabs, but I went for shallow cuts. I hadn’t completely checked out. I was still sane. Really hurting him wouldn’t help us get any information, but he needed to think I would do it. So I let a part of myself out that would’ve hurt him, the old me. I had hurt people when I was younger. I’d been dumb, but it happened. That Sheldon got locked up after Marcus. I’d been scared of letting her out, but as I did just now, it felt good. It felt right.

Enough of her had to come out so that it was real. Michael had to sense it, that the threat was real, and a part of it was.

Michael denied stalking me. He denied killing Grace. He denied framing me, but when Corrigan demanded to know why he had those photos of me, Michael perked up. He was exhausted as he said, “That’s what this is about? Those photographs?”

Bryce made an exasperated sound behind him. “Are you kidding me?”

“Yeah.” Corrigan shook his head. “We already told you that.”

Michael frowned, looking from Corrigan to me. “For real? It’s just about those pictures?”

“What else do they have on you?”

“Uh . . .”

I started forward with the knife, my hand raised.

He cried out, “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you everything. I swear. Just—stop with the knife. Stop it.”

I lowered it, but raised my eyebrows. “We’re waiting.”

“Okay. Yes. I’m trying not to pee my pants, anymore.” He let out a deep breath, blinking his eyes a few times, and took a second breath to calm his nerves. “All right. This is what I thought you guys had on me, but I couldn’t figure out why you were so mad.” He looked from Corrigan to me and tried to turn around to see Bryce, but couldn’t. He ended up staring upward at Corrigan, a defeated expression already on his face before he started. Then he began, “You know that I wanted to sell study enhancers to college students, right?”

Corrigan nodded, his eyes lidded. “Yeah.”

“Well, I know it’s stupid. A business owner shouldn’t partake in what they’re selling, but that’s why I wanted to sell it. Because I wanted it. I have a prescription pill problem. I’ll take almost anything you give me, but I like Xanax and Ambien the most.”

“What?”

He looked to me. “I’m a pill popper. That’s my secret.”

“You’re a what whatter?” I scratched at my ear.

“I’m addicted to pills, and I’m running out. I’ve been trying to figure out ways to make money so that was why I’ve been pushing the house to get into the drug business.”

Corrigan walked away from me, scratching his head, too. “What?”

Ditto. A pill popper had set me up?

Michael skirted back and forth between us. Every now and then, he’d try to look at Bryce, but he couldn’t so he went back to shifting between the two of us. He must’ve noticed my confusion because he paled, “Oh no. No, no, no. I’m telling you I was taking those pictures. I’m not your stalker. Well, I guess I kinda am, but not in the way you think.”

Corrigan’s hand dropped back to his side with a thud. He strode forward, his jaw clenched. He growled, “You better start making sense or I swear I’m taking that knife from Sheldon, and I’m not a hundred percent certain what I’m going to do with it. Start explaining everything.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Listen,” he implored us. “Yes, I took those photographs of Sheldon, but I was just like the paparazzi. That’s why they’re in the tabloids.”

He waited, glancing at us.