Chapter 83
Samantha's POV
The alarm woke me at 7:45 AM. I dressed carefully—jeans, a simple sweater, minimal makeup. The concerned step-sister look. Grabbed my purse and the duplicate key to room 14, then drove back to the Night Rest Inn.
8:14 AM. Right on schedule.
I could hear raised voices as I approached the door. Crystal's, high-pitched and panicked. Jack's, confused and horrified. The recording device was getting everything.
Perfect.
I knocked firmly. "Jack? It's Samantha. Open up."
Silence. Then scrambling sounds. The door opened a crack, and Jack's face appeared—pale, sweaty, terrified. "Samantha? What are you—how did you—"
"Your location sharing was on," I lied smoothly. "Saw you were at this motel, thought that was weird, so I came to check on you." I pushed past him into the room. "What's going on?"
Crystal was huddled on the bed, wrapped in the sheet, mascara running down her face. She'd changed clothes at some point—now wearing a torn dress that looked like it had been... well, torn. Her performance was flawless.
"Who's she?" I demanded, looking between them.
"I don't—I don't know," Jack stammered. His hands were shaking. "I don't remember. Last night at the bar, and then I woke up here, and she was screaming about—about—"
"He raped me," Crystal sobbed, right on cue. "I said no, I said stop, but he wouldn't—he kept—" She dissolved into tears.
I watched Jack's face crumble. Watched him look at his unbuttoned shirt, his undone belt, the woman crying on the bed. Watched him try to remember and find only blackness.
"Oh my god," he whispered. "Oh my god, I didn't—I wouldn't—"
"She's calling the cops," I said sharply. "Said she already talked to them, they're on their way."
"No!" Jack grabbed my arm desperately. "Samantha, please, I didn't—I don't remember doing anything, I swear—"
"You don't remember?" I pulled away from him. "Jack, that doesn't mean it didn't happen!"
"Please." He was crying now, actual tears streaming down his face. "Please, you have to believe me. I wouldn't—I've never—"
I let the silence stretch. Let him break a little more. Then I turned to Crystal. "How much?"
She blinked, perfectly confused. "What?"
"How much to make this go away?" I crossed my arms. "I'm not saying what he did was okay. I'm saying that going through the police, the trial, the media attention—it'll destroy you too. So how much?"
Crystal pretended to consider. "Ten thousand dollars."
Jack made a choked sound. "I don't have—I can't—"
"I can," I said quietly. "I have access to that kind of money. If she agrees to not press charges, to sign something saying this is settled, I can get it by this afternoon."
"You'd do that?" Jack stared at me. "Why?"
"Because you're family," I said simply. "And because I don't want to watch you go to prison for something you..." I paused meaningfully. "Something you don't even remember doing."
The implication hung heavy in the air. Maybe you did it. Maybe you didn't. But you'll never know for sure.
Crystal wiped her eyes, playing her part perfectly. "You promise? Ten thousand, and you never contact me again?"
"I promise," I said. "I'll draw up papers this afternoon. You sign them, get your money, and we all move on with our lives."
She nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay." She gathered her torn dress around her, grabbed her purse. "I'll come back at three PM. Room 14. You better have that money."
"I will," I assured her. Then, softer: "I'm sorry this happened to you."
Crystal's look was brief but knowing. Then she left, door slamming behind her.
Jack collapsed onto the bed, head in his hands. "I don't understand. I don't remember anything. How could I—"
"Sometimes people black out when they drink," I said carefully. "Do things they wouldn't normally do."
"But I've never—I've gotten drunk before, but I've never—" His voice broke. "Jesus, Samantha. Did I really—"
"I don't know." I sat down next to him, keeping my voice gentle. "But she seemed pretty convinced. And you don't remember anything to contradict her story."
He looked at me with devastated eyes. "Why are you helping me?"
"Because." I put a hand on his shoulder, felt him flinch. "Because maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe we both deserved a second chance." I paused. "And because I need you to understand something, Jack."
"What?"
I leaned in close, let him see the calculation behind my concerned expression. "I'm saving you today. Paying for your mistake. Keeping you out of prison. That's ten thousand dollars of debt you owe me." My voice dropped. "And someday—maybe soon, maybe not—I'm going to ask you to return the favor."
Jack's face went pale. "What kind of favor?"
"I don't know yet." I smiled, patted his shoulder. "But when I need something—when I need someone who's good with their hands, someone who knows how to be intimidating, someone who owes me their freedom—I'll call. And you'll help me. Won't you?"
He stared at me for a long moment. I could see the gears turning—the realization that I'd trapped him, that refusing would mean I could just as easily turn over that recording to the police, that he'd spend the rest of his life registered as a sex offender.
"Yes," he finally whispered. "I'll help you."
"Good." I stood up, smoothed my jeans. "Now get cleaned up. Go home. Don't talk to anyone about this. I'll handle the money and the paperwork." I headed for the door, then paused. "Oh, and Jack? You should probably stop drinking. For your own safety."
I left him there, broken and terrified and completely under my control.
In my car, I retrieved the recording device I'd planted. Listened to the whole thing—Crystal's perfect accusation, Jack's horrified denials, my own performance as the merciful savior. It was all there. All documented.
Insurance, in case Jack ever got brave enough to defy me.
That evening, I sat in my rental house with Lucas's memory box spread out before me. Added a new item: a flash drive containing today's recording. Not for Lucas to see—god, no. But for me to remember. To know that I could do this. That I could manipulate and scheme and destroy when necessary.
That I was strong enough to keep what was mine.
My phone buzzed. Lucas: "Dinner tomorrow?"
I smiled, typed back: "Can't wait. I love you."
And I did love him. That was the truth underneath all the lies, all the careful manipulations. I loved Lucas Miller with a desperate, consuming intensity that made me capable of anything.
Even this.
Especially this.