Page 148 of These White Lies

There is a quiet thud, and I suspect it’s Brady’s forehead against the door.

“Firefly—”

“I’ll see you downstairs.” My lip is trembling, and I worry he can hear the tremor in my words.

“I’ll wait for you.”

I sigh, not having the energy to argue, and look at the skirt suit I’ve hung on the door.

You can do this.

Getting dressed requires some painful contortions, and a one-handed battle with the zipper. When I shrug into the blazer, I have to bite the inside of my cheek at the pull in my shoulders. The idea of putting any makeup on my injuries makes me wantto cry, so I only slick on some mascara as if it will distract from the bruises and hollows under my eyes.

Best I can do.

I feel like a fraud.

The sound of the door has Brady’s eyes snapping up and then widening in surprise when he takes in what I’m wearing. His dark brows bunch, and he takes a step toward me, his hands hovering over my hips like he’s afraid to touch me.

The boulder on my chest grows heavier.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

“I can handle it for you,” he offers. “You don’t need—” His gaze hasn’t left my bruises, and the look on his face like I’m about to shatter into pieces gives me a surge of strength.

“I do.”

His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t argue. Brady stays close as I walk through the hallway to the conference room where the others are waiting.

The table is full. I recognize Luke and James Bloom, but there are five other men at the table I don’t. I force myself not to hesitate in the doorway, striding to one of the open chairs on the opposite side of the group.

Just another meeting.

An older man with a Department of Justice badge clipped to the front of his jacket winces when he looks at me. There is only one other man sitting at the table not wearing a tailored suit, so I assume he’s the FBI agent.

The three large men sitting at the far end are some of the most intimidating individuals I’ve ever seen. All three are extremely attractive but in a scary, darkly captivating kind of way. I’ve seen pictures of Declan Bloom, but it’s the other two who practically radiate danger. The tall, lean man with the piercing ice-blue eyes looks vaguely familiar, but the muscular man with black hair and dark eyes is a total stranger.

I don’t know who they are or why they’re here, but their expensive suits and watches send my anxiety into the stratosphere.

How do I know they aren’t Lapidarists?

Because you have a list, you idiot, the angry voice in my head hisses. Stop being pathetic. Do you think Brady would let a threat into the building?

I take a steadying breath as they go around the table making introductions. Alex and Liev Kovalyov—the men at the end—are the last to be introduced, and I jerk, recognizing the names. They’re Russian mafia. Bratva.

Then I remember. James Bloom’s wife’s best friend is married to Alex Kovalyov. My shoulders relax even as I wonder why Declan Bloom and the Kovalyovs are here.

“If you’re not up to talking to us, we’d all understand. Mr. Worthington can fill us in.”

I level a cool stare at the FBI agent and say in a tone that can’t possibly be misunderstood. “I’mfine.”

“Of course, you are,” Declan says matter-of-factly. “I would imagine it would take a lot more than a measly beating to take down a woman like you.”

I turn my hard stare on him, not sure if he’s mocking me. But he’s leaned back, his enormous frame relaxed in his chair. He seems sincere.

After that, no one else says a word about my face.

Luke begins. “We’ll keep this brief. We’ve got the overview, and we’ve been in touch with the former head of the task-force Brady worked for. These gentlemen…” He nods toward the two government agents. “Need your statement on the record. Mostly to fill in a few blanks.”