Trust Me Read Free Page B

something like this happens to Bren? To Lily ?”
    â€œWe’ll stop them.”
    Our driver limps to my side, cell phone in one hand.
    Hart ignores him. “We know what you did when you got those recordings of your mother,” he tells me. “We know about Joe Bender and what you engineered.” The statements should sound accusatory—at least hateful—but Hart’s tone wobbles between guidance-counselor understanding and . . . just plain proud . “Do you regret what happened?”
    What happened was I had Joe Bender killed. Why can’t he just say it? Why can’t I?
    I did it to save my sister. Joe hurt her to get to me. Themurder should feel justified. It should be easy to confess.
    I meet Hart’s gaze. “I don’t regret it.”
    â€œGood.” There’s a faraway whine of sirens and we both tense. Hart watches the closest side street, index finger tapping against his knee. “There are terrible people in this world, Wicket. They make nothing but misery. What if you could help that?”
    My stomach sinks. “I’m not into playing God.”
    I’ve heard this line of reasoning before and it makes me nervous. The night Detective Carson escaped, he told me all about how he had wanted to make me a hero—that’s why he blackmailed me into working for him. He thought he was making me Good by siccing me on people he thought were Evil. And the thing is . . . they were evil. He was right. But he was also deciding whose sins were the worst, who deserved punishment, and who deserved a pass.
    â€œDon’t think of it as playing God,” Hart says, eyes still skittering over the side streets. Our driver returns to the ruined town car, holding his cell to one ear.
    â€œThen what is it?”
    He turns to me. “I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you for standing up. You did an ugly thing—the right thing is often ugly, and that’s what makes it so hard for most people to recognize it.”
    We stare at each other. I want to tell Hart that’s not really an answer to my question, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Call it ugly. Call it the truth. Call it whatever . I’m getting less and less impressed with labels. The only time they matteris when you’re figuring out the person who’s using them.
    â€œYou can’t tell anyone what a gift you gave to the world,” Hart continues, watching me. “But I’m bringing you somewhere you can tell people—because we understand.”
    â€œI thought you were bringing me somewhere to keep me safe, not egg me on.”
    Hart’s smile is thin, faint. Bitter. “Don’t kid yourself, Wick. These people saw you. They see you. You are now known. You looked into the dark and it looked back. I know you know this.”
    I do.
    â€œWhy do you want me?” I ask.
    â€œLooking Glass specializes in internet securities, virus removal—you’re good at that, aren’t you?”
    Slowly, I nod.
    â€œPlease trust that I can help you,” he says.
    â€œNo one ever says ‘please’ to me.” Not entirely true. Griff does. Or he did once upon a time when we were together and I was pretending to be someone I’m not. I look at Hart and tell myself I don’t care about how Griff is past tense, how Milo is probably long gone, and how my entire life as I knew it no longer exists.
    Too bad I’m not that good a liar.
    Hart sighs. “Yeah, I know. It hasn’t been easy for you, but things can be different if you let us help you.”
    I hesitate. Hart seems so . . . sincere. I don’t know what to do with that or the fact that I want to believe him. I pick gravel from my palms instead as the sirens grow closer.
    â€œBoss?” The driver appears at the side of our car. He’s holding his neck like it hurts and his eyes are wide. “Someone’s reported the accident. They’re maybe five minutes