Chapter 82
Samantha's POV
"That's him." I glanced around. The bar was crowded enough that no one was paying attention to three people in a dark corner booth. "Give it about five more minutes. He'll be completely out."
Crystal leaned in close to Jack, running a hand down his chest. "Hey there, handsome. You having fun?"
Jack mumbled something incoherent. His eyes were glazed, unfocused. He tried to push her hand away, but his movements were sluggish, uncoordinated.
"He'll black out soon," Crystal said clinically. "Then what?"
"Then we move to phase two." I pulled out my phone, checking the time. 9:43 PM. "There's a motel two blocks from here. The Night Rest Inn. I've already paid for room 14—the owner doesn't ask questions and doesn't check security footage."
"And you want me to...?" Crystal raised an eyebrow.
"Take him there. Get him on the bed. Take some photos—clothes disheveled, you next to him, whatever looks convincing." I met her eyes steadily. "Tomorrow morning, when he wakes up with no memory of tonight, I need you to be hysterical. Tell him he forced himself on you. That you said no but he wouldn't stop."
Crystal's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind her eyes. "That's a serious accusation."
"I know." I pulled out an envelope, thick with cash. "That's why this is another three thousand. Plus, I've got a recording device that you'll plant in the room. I need audio of you making the accusation. Him panicking. All of it."
"And then?"
"Then I show up. Play the hero. Calm you down, convince you not to call the cops, offer you 'hush money' to make the problem go away." I smiled. "You take the money, leave, and I have Jack exactly where I want him—convinced he did something horrible, grateful I covered for him, and completely under my control."
Crystal studied me for a long moment. "You're cold. I'll give you that."
"I'm practical." I handed her the envelope. "Can you do it?"
She counted the bills, then nodded. "Yeah. I can do it." She glanced at Jack, who was now fully unconscious, head tilted back, mouth slightly open. "He's out. Help me get him to my car?"
---
I followed Crystal's beat-up Honda to the Night Rest Inn, watching as she half-dragged, half-carried Jack's unconscious form from the passenger seat. The motel was exactly as advertised—seedy, poorly lit, with a parking lot full of cars that had seen better days.
Perfect for this kind of thing.
Room 14 was on the ground floor, easy access. Crystal propped Jack up against the door while I unlocked it with the key I'd picked up earlier. Inside, the room smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener. A double bed dominated the small space, covered in a faded floral comforter.
"Help me get him on the bed," Crystal grunted, and together we maneuvered Jack's dead weight onto the mattress. He flopped onto his back, completely unresponsive.
"He's really out," Crystal observed, checking his pulse. "Whatever you gave him was strong."
"It'll wear off in about six hours." I pulled out the small recording device I'd bought from an electronics store, the kind advertised for "home security." Placed it carefully on the nightstand, angled toward the bed, covered partially by a lamp. "Remember—tomorrow morning, eight AM. That's when he'll start coming to. Be hysterical but not too loud. The owner doesn't care about noise, but we don't want other guests getting involved."
"Got it." Crystal was already positioning herself next to Jack, mussing her hair, smudging her makeup. "Disheveled victim, totally distraught."
"Exactly." I pulled out my phone, took several photos from different angles. Jack unconscious on the bed. Crystal next to him, top artfully askew. The kind of photos that told a very specific story.
"You've done this before," Crystal said. It wasn't a question.
"No. But I'm a quick learner." I checked the photos, satisfied. "I'll be back at 8:15 AM. That gives you fifteen minutes to do your thing, get him properly panicked. Then I'll knock, you'll answer sobbing, and I'll play the concerned sister who just wants to help."
"And the recording device?"
"Leave it running until I retrieve it. I need everything—your accusation, his reaction, my 'negotiation' with you." I met her eyes. "This works if he believes it completely. If he thinks he actually hurt you. Can you sell that?"
Crystal's smile was sharp. "Honey, I've been selling convincing lies since I was sixteen. This'll be easy."
I sat in my car in the motel parking lot for another hour, making sure everything was in place. Watched Crystal through the thin curtains as she staged the scene further—Jack's shirt unbuttoned, his belt undone, her dress hiked up just enough to suggest violence without actually showing anything.
She was good. Professional. Worth every penny.
At 11 PM, she finally left the room, locking the door behind her. Caught my eye in the parking lot and nodded once. Done.
I drove back to my rental house, the memory box sitting on my passenger seat. When I got home, I spread its contents across my coffee table. Looked at the photos of Lucas and me—young, happy, together.
"This is for us," I whispered to his picture. "All of this. Every choice I make."
Because that was the truth, wasn't it? Everything I did—the small cruelties, the careful manipulations, the escalating schemes—it was all to protect what was mine. To keep Lucas from drifting back to Ellie, from choosing his past over our future.
I thought about Jack, unconscious in that motel room, about to wake up tomorrow believing he'd committed a horrible crime. Thought about how easily he'd trust me when I "saved" him. How grateful he'd be. How useful he could be.
One more piece on the board. One more tool in my arsenal.
I pulled out my phone, set an alarm for 7:45 AM. Then I opened my laptop, queued up the next episode of House of Cards, and watched Claire destroy another enemy with nothing but intelligence and cold determination.
"That's how it's done," I murmured, taking notes.
By the time I fell asleep, I had a plan. Not just for Jack—for everything. For Ellie. For Lucas. For the future I deserved.