“What does that mean?” With a sigh, he tears his attention away from his phone and looks at me. “The Dip brothers have this hotline. Anyone can dial it and confess their secrets. Max probably called it. Snakes like him usually have a guilty conscience.” No. No, no, no. “A hotline?” I croak. “Yeah, you’ve probably seen the cards around.” Please god, no. “It’s called Sinners Anonymous.” Not for the first time today, my world goes black.
