The fluorescent lights of the CVS aisle were blinding. Bronwyn stood in line, clutching the small box of emergency contraception like it was a grenade. She wore oversized sunglasses she found in the bottom of her purse to hide her red-rimmed eyes.
The woman in front of her was arguing about a coupon for fabric softener. Bronwyn tapped her foot, her anxiety spiking with every second.
When she finally reached the counter, the clerk scanned the box. Fifty dollars.
Bronwyn swiped her debit card.
Declined.
She felt the heat rise up her neck. "Try it again," she whispered.
Declined.
"Insufficient funds, honey," the clerk said loudly.
Bronwyn dug through her wallet, finding a credit card she kept for emergencies. It went through. She grabbed the bag and practically ran out of the store.
On the sidewalk, she ripped the box open. She didn't have water. She popped the pill into her mouth and swallowed it dry, the chalky taste sticking in her throat.
Her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out. Unknown number.
Save your fifty dollars. I don't have a fetish for vomit.
Bronwyn froze. The box slipped from her fingers and hit the concrete.
A second text followed immediately.
Your clothes were changed by a female police matron. Also, the bill for the rug cleaning at my club will be mailed to you.
Shame, hot and intense, flooded her system. He hadn't touched her. He had let her panic, let her run out to buy a pill she didn't need, just to teach her a lesson. He had watched her, or had her watched. The detail about her phone's data being copied slammed back into her mind. He knew everything.
But beneath the shame was a massive, overwhelming wave of relief. Nothing had happened.
She bent down, picked up the empty box, and tossed it into a trash can. She exhaled, a long, shaky breath.
Okay. Crisis averted. Now she just had to deal with her life.
She dialed her brother, Leo. He should be out of his morning classes by now.
It rang. And rang. And rang.
Voicemail.
"Leo, call me back. I'm worried."
She hung up. Leo never ignored her calls. Even when he was mad, he'd text.
She called the landline at their apartment. Nothing.
She called Chloe, their neighbor.
Chloe picked up on the first ring. She was crying.
"Bronwyn! Oh my god, where are you? The police... they took Leo!"
Bronwyn's world stopped spinning. The noise of the street faded out.
"What? Why?"
"They said he assaulted Jennings Bowen," Chloe sobbed. "Bronwyn, they said it's a felony charge."
Jennings.
Bronwyn felt the blood drain from her face.
"I'm coming," she said.
She hailed a cab, ignoring the cost. "The 19th Precinct. Drive fast."
In the back of the cab, she Googled "Felony Assault New York sentencing." The results made her nauseous. Up to seven years.
When the cab pulled up to the precinct, there was a crowd. Cameras. Microphones. Jennings had called the press. Of course he had.
Bronwyn pushed through the mob. A flash went off in her face, blinding her.
"Miss Brewer! Is it true your brother attacked Mr. Bowen over your broken engagement?" a reporter shouted, shoving a microphone into her cheek.
Bronwyn kept her head down, using her shoulder to shove past a cameraman. She burst into the precinct lobby.
It was chaos. But in the corner, sitting on a wooden bench like a king on a throne, was Jennings.
He had a bandage across his nose. His eye was slightly swollen. But he was smiling.
He saw her and stood up.
Bronwyn marched over to him. "Drop the charges. You know Leo is just a kid."
Jennings smoothed the lapel of his jacket. "He's nineteen, Bronwyn. He's an adult in the eyes of the law. And he broke my nose."
"He was defending me!" Bronwyn hissed. "He saw what you posted."
Jennings stepped closer. He smelled of expensive cologne and malice.
"He has a temper. Just like his sister." Jennings leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper so the officers nearby couldn't hear.
"You want to save him?" Jennings smiled. "Sign the NDA. Disappear. And beg me."
