“That’s right. It was me. All me. You think I can’t fuck someone up on my own?” Vic asked menacingly. Wishard didn’t bat an eye. Becca admired how well Wishard held her own. She looked over at Christian, who was still watching Wishard intently. He clearly felt the same.

“Do I believe you’re capable of committing these crimes on your own? Of course. Do I think that’s what happened here? No, I do not.”

“Too bad, because I did it. I killed Leslie and Eli.”

“What about Ash?”

“What about her?” Vic said.

“You didn’t hurt her? You weren’t one of the people our witness saw beating her until she was half-dead?”

“Yeah, so what if I was. She was a nosy little bitch who got what she deserved,” Vic said.

Becca swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat. The thought of this massive man kicking and punching Ash, no possible way to defend herself, left Becca sick to her stomach. Christian must have sensed she was struggling, listening to all of this. He reached out and squeezed her hand. Becca was relieved when he didn’t let go.

“Would you care to elaborate? Why you felt the need to assault Ash?” Wishard asked.

Vic gazed back at her sullenly. “Okay,” Wishard said, shifting in her seat, ready to try a different tactic. “Let’s get back to Mo.”

“I told you she’s got nothing to do with any of this.”

“I know that’s what you said. I am actually curious; how much do you know about Mo?”

For the first time, Becca saw a glimmer of uneasiness. He shifted in his seat. “What do you mean?” he said. She saw his eyes narrowing, looking back and forth nervously as though he sensed something bad was coming.

“Where she’s from? What was her life like before she wound up on the streets?”

“She said something about growing up near New York. Had a bad marriage and needed to get out.”

“So she never told you her net worth is close to eleven million dollars? Did she mention she walked away from her trust fund and multimillion-dollar Malibu home to live on the streets?”

Vic’s eyes widened. Becca’s did too. She glanced at Christian. “Is that true?”

“Family money. A ton of family money it seems,” Christian said.

Vic was still processing this news. He shook his head emphatically. “You’re full of shit,” he finally said.

Wishard leaned back in her chair, her hands clasped together. “I can understand this might be upsetting, but this is the truth. She had a child as well. An eleven-year-old boy she left behind,” Wishard said.

Becca saw Vic’s mask drop again, saw the damaged little boy trapped inside this man-sized frame, a little boy that never knew love, that was passed from home to home, used and abused, who wanted nothing more than someone to care for him.