Page 65 of I Will Ruin You

She picked up her phone, opened an app that would take her to the place we always patronized, and with a couple of taps placed a repeat of a previous order. As she finished, my own cell rang. I took it out of my pocket and looked at the number. I didn’t recognize it.

I said, “This might be it.”

The phone rang a second time. A third.

Bonnie looked at me, said nothing. She didn’t have to. I knew what she wanted me to do. And she was hoping she’d given me the strength to do it.

Fourth ring. Fifth.

I picked up. “Hello?”

“Bring the money to—”

I said, “Fuck you. I’m not paying. Do what you’ve gotta do, asshole.”

As I ended the call and put the phone down on the table, Bonnie gave me a smile. She might even have looked proud of me.

“I’m going to go upstairs, check on Rach, and then I’m out of here,” Bonnie said, and slipped out of the kitchen.

I sat there, taking deep breaths to keep myself on an even keel. I muted my phone so that if that asshole called back, I wouldn’t have to listen to the ring. But a minute later, I saw the screen light up with a text.

You’ll be sorry.

I turned the phone facedown, tried to pretend I hadn’t even seen the message. Moments later, Bonnie reappeared long enough to grab her purse and keys. “Pizza’s on its way,” she said, kissed my forehead gently, and was gone.

It arrived ten minutes later. I got out two plates and placed a couple of slices on each.

“Rach!”

She came running into the kitchen. If she had been worried earlier about her dad being looked over by a pair of paramedics, she was over it now. There was great healing power in the aroma of cheese and pepperoni.

“Can we eat in front of the TV?” she asked. I had no objection.

Rachel went onto one of the streaming services and picked How to Train Your Dragon, a movie she’d watched at least ten times already. My mind was not on the screen. I couldn’t stop thinking about that last text I’d received.

My blackmailer was half-right. He’d said I was going to be sorry. I was already sorry. Sorry that I’d allowed him to manipulate me. Sorry that I hadn’t stood up to him. Sorry that I had allowed myself to become a victim.

No more.

Bonnie had led me to something of a breakthrough. I wasn’t going to take this shit any longer. I had to find a way to take control of my situation, on my own. Tonight. And if I failed, then I’d have to accede to Bonnie’s wishes and bring Marta into this in the morning.

But in the meantime, I felt I needed someone else—someone other than Bonnie, and not Marta—to hash this over with.

I wanted to talk to Trent, tell him the rest of the story, reveal my blackmailer’s identity. I wanted to know if he was aware Anson had taken his own life and whether he thought there was anything to be read into that. I needed to know he’d have my back if and when this all became public. And I had a hell of a favor to ask.

I slipped out of the family room and phoned Mrs. Tibaldi.

“Hi, Richard,” she said, obviously seeing my caller ID.

“Mrs. Tibaldi, hey, sorry to bother you. I know it’s after hours, but would you be able to take Rachel if I brought her over in a few minutes? Couple of hours or so. Just add it into what we pay you at the end of the month. Bonnie had to go out, and now there’s something I have to do.”

“Bring her over.”

I thanked her and went back into the family room to break the news to Rachel.

“Everything is crazy around here,” she said.

Once I’d dropped Rachel off, I texted Bonnie to let her know I’d gone out and that Rachel was at the sitter’s, just in case she returned home before I did and wondered where we were.