Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Hope moans into my mouth, and I eat it, the realization hitting me that I might’ve not had a chance to taste her again. Not in this life, anyway. I lean into her and wince as sharp pain explodes in my stomach.
“Fuck, that hurts,” I growl.
“Crybaby,” she teases, but I can tell she’s concerned.
There’s one thing that’s been on my mind this whole time, though. “You pretended to be bad with a gun?”
“No, I am bad with a gun,” she admits. “But I wanted you to see that; to throw you off so I could catch you off guard with one. I’m curious about murdering in other ways.” I suppose that makes sense because she was never consistent in her method of killing, only her targets.
“Why did you have the photos sent from the precinct instead of taking them yourself? How did you even do that?” I question.
She bites her bottom lip, and I’m certain she doesn’t want to reveal all of her secrets, but then she answers, “I didn’t want evidence on my phone. And, besides, this way, you couldn’t prove it was me, and I figured it would rattle you more to know you had a leak in your security.”
Security that I paid handsomely to filter what went out, on top of their cybersecurity. “Who did that for you?” Whoever it is, they’re impressive. Not many people could bypass the security.
She averts her gaze, and this time, I know she won’t tell me because it’s not just her secret.
She takes a shaky breath. “Why did you continue to see me if it was just a game at the start?” It’s not often I see my beautiful girl lacking in confidence. Where she might fool others into thinking she’s shy, she actually isn’t. Socially awkward, yes, but never lacking in confidence. So, if she feels this in any way because of me, I will correct it.
I pinch a lock of her red hair that doesn’t look like it’s been washed in days—it’s got what looks like clay and blood in it—I rub it between my fingers and then tuck it behind her ears.
“Even evil needs to be loved,” I say with a smirk.
Her expression twists in shock, disbelief, and humor. “Are you saying I’m evil?” she whispers.
“The worst,” I reply. “But what does that say about me because I love you?”
“That you’re an idiot,” she replies quickly.
“Then we’re idiots together. But I prefer if we settle for just being crazy about one another. No more killing women if they touch me, though, okay?” I say as I try to bring her in for another kiss.
She leans back and stares at me. “You fucking loved it when I killed her.”
I try to hide the smile. “You’re such a jealous little thing.”
“Don’t make me jealous, then,” she bites back.
“Then don’t give me a reason to look away from you.”
“Braxton!” she snaps, and I laugh as I pull her in to join me on the bed.
“I was kidding, Shortcake. When I close my eyes, it’s only you I see. It’s torture fucking you, hating you, wanting to be with you. It’s torture to love you. You’re my personal hell, and I don’t want to be anywhere else. Know that I have my own ways, too. If a man looks at you with lust or desire, I’ll have him imprisoned and disposed of. You’ll never hear or see from him again.”
She bites her bottom lip.
“You like that, do you?” I ask with a smile as I crush my lips to hers again, taking and consuming the only bundle of evil I’m willing to gamble my life with and for.
CHAPTER 46
Braxton
I stay in their house for a few nights. The first night after waking, the doctor left me some pills to help with the pain and another for sleep, and I contently fell asleep staring at Hope after I told her I loved her. I don’t care that she’s a little fucked up in the head. In fact, it’s precisely why I love her.
I think I fell for her that night in the park when I saw her again, and she sat there giving us attitude. It was clearly the alcohol speaking, considering the facatextde she hides behind in her everyday interactions. But I knew the moment I saw her spitefully looking up at me through those thick glasses that I could stare into those blue eyes all day, every day, with the added bonus of her scathing tongue.
When I wake up on the third day, my side is fucking killing me, and she’s nowhere to be seen. Managing to sit up, I look around for a shirt but can’t find one. The whole room smells of her. I walk to her closet and pull it open, and what I see inside makes me smile. There’s an array of beautiful dresses and overalls, but it’s the glass statue that she’s been hiding from me that has snagged my attention.