Free Sweetest Taboo by J. Kenner Page A

there? In the cell with us?”
    “No! No, I went to London because Ortega told me I had to. He told me how to do it so that nobody would know. But I just stayed in a flat he’d rented for me.”
    “And the Woman?”
    “Who?”
    I hug myself, suddenly cold. “There was a woman. She—she was vile.”
    “No.” He shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “No, the whole team was made up of men. There wasn’t—”
    “Bullshit,”
I say as I push my chair back and stand. I yank out my phone and pull up the picture of me on the ground. I shove the picture in front of him, then point to my face, where the bruises still linger. “
She
did that to me. And she did worse—so much worse—when we were teens.”
    He’s shaking his head. “No, no. There was no woman. There wasn’t.”
    I turn around and head for the door.
    “Jane, wait! Don’t leave. Please don’t leave me.”
    I round on him in sudden fury. “Then tell me the truth, goddammit. For once in your life just tell me the fucking truth!”
    “I am! I swear! How can you believe I would do this? I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t know why you won’t believe me. I’ve told you I was involved. I was an idiot—it was stupid and horrible and you’re right to hate me. But, sweetheart, there’s nothing left to tell.”
    “There was a woman,” I insist. “Tell me about her or I walk out that door.”
    “Yes, yes, okay, yes, there was a woman. She was Ortega’s girlfriend, and I know she brought your food, but I barely knew her. She’s dead now. She’s been dead for over a decade.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “It’s true. It’s true.” Tears track a path down his face. “Jane, sweetheart, please. I love you. I love Dallas.”
    A wild fury rises inside me, culminating in the explosion of a single word—
“Don’t.”
I draw in a breath, forcing myself back to some level of calm. “Don’t say that. And don’t you dare say his name again. You gave up that privilege seventeen years ago.”
    “What are they going to do to me? What are you going to let them do to me?”
    “I don’t know,” I say, then deliberately turn my back on him and step toward the door. “Honestly, I really don’t care.”

“Don’t do it, man.”
    Dallas took his eyes off Jane long enough to glance sideways at Liam. “What are you talking about?”
    “Don’t put your fist through the glass. It’s a bitch to replace.”
    Dallas’s mouth quirked in an ironic smile. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as Jane paused in front of the door, listening as Colin said he loved her. That he loved Dallas.
    Fucker
.
    “She did well.” Quince leaned against the wall at the edge of the window.
    “You believe him?” Liam asked, the incredulity clear in his voice.
    “Not a word,” Quince said, then immediately corrected himself. “Well, one or two words. He did go to London, and he definitely knew Ortega. He may even genuinely love you and Jane,” he added, with an eye toward Dallas. “At least in his own twisted way. But the rest of it? Utter fabrication.”
    “Can you get him to admit it?”
    Quince lifted a shoulder. “Yesterday, I would have said absolutely. Today, I say probably.”
    “Why? I thought he was susceptible to the drugs.”
    “He is. Possibly a little too susceptible. The standard dose completely narced him up. Cross a line, and all you get is nonsense. Truth, fantasy, remembered bits of bad television shows. He talks, sure, but it’s like he’s dictating a wild dream after a long night of drinking tequila. Can’t put much stock in that, mate.”
    Dallas nodded. “All right. So you play with the dose. More time, but eventually you get there.”
    “That’s the plan,” Quince said. “And as for the bit about the Woman being dead, I’m going to hook him up to a polygraph, but I need to wait at least forty-eight hours for the drugs to fully clear his system. If he’s the lying asshole we think he is, that supports the theory that Jane’s