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)
Visiting a detective’s sister’s funeral is one of the things that might get you on a shit list.
Hope is staring at the grave vacantly, and I wonder yet again what’s going on in her brilliant mind. I casually stand beside her, and she doesn’t look up at me as she says, “I don’t have the energy for games today.”
“Didn’t have a good enough look last time you saw her when you strangled her to death?” I accuse.
“Excuse me?” she seethes, looking up at me now, that lethal edge to her gaze.
“This little act of yours is starting to wear thin. You can only hide your true nature for so long.”
She scoffs, almost crazed with disbelief. “Are you actually fucking serious right now? You want to accuse me of murder? Here? We might have had our differences, but I had no reason to kill Kylie. You’re out of your fucking mind,” she grits angrily as she looks back at the grave.
“You didn’t look too happy when you saw us together at the event.”
“You’re so self-absorbed that it’s beyond comprehension. Go hit on some widower who might find your personality refreshing,” she bites back, turning to leave. But I grab her wrist to stop her escape.
“Remove your hand before I have something done about it,” she growls, her glance in Hawke’s direction emphasizing the threat.
I smirk. “We both know you’re not going to do that here, in front of a mountain of cops. Your cousin wouldn’t so easily get out of that one.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “You’d be surprised by how protective my cousin gets when a man is touching me without my consent.”
I don’t lose my lethal smirk. “I know for a fact I’m the only man you consent to touching you. This murder was too close,” I warn her.
“Is that a threat?” she asks, pulling free from my hold and stepping into my space. She might only be five foot three, okay five foot five with her heels, but I tower over her. “And here I thought you were clever. Did you ever think that maybe someone is trying to set my family up? All these bodies conveniently appearing that you supposedly think we have some association with. Come on now, surely you’re not that desperate. If you are, let me offer a word of warning—pick a tamer family to target. Because mine will fucking eat you alive.” Unfiltered hatred laces her tone.
“You’re the only one I want taking a bite out of me,” I reply.
She shakes her head. “That doesn’t work on me anymore. We’re done,” she says as she walks away.
“You and I will never be done, Shortcake,” I say to her retreating form, then scan the area to see who might’ve seen us talking for so long.
“If my family were to kill, I imagine it’s not without reason,” she says over her shoulder. “But if it were any of my family, you wouldn’t find a body. Clean up your own mess.”
I watch her as she leaves. She’s not wrong about them not leaving bodies behind. They were so quick to clean up the last one, and I purposely didn’t mention that I knew about that either. It could’ve been any one of them.
I look back at Kylie’s grave, and a sinking feeling pulls at my stomach.
It just gets deeper and deeper, this murky water I’m drowning in.
I know all of my damnation begins and ends with Hope. I’m in too deep now. I look down at my badge, thinking about all the highs and lows of my career. All the secrets I’ve exposed and the lies I’ve covered for.
Hope reacts in all the ways I think she will, but sometimes she surprises me. She’s not a sweet little doll, but maybe I’m not as good of a detective as I thought.
What’s fucking worse is she never falls for my bluff.
CHAPTER 35
Hope
I avoid Braxton for two weeks after the funeral. Candice has canceled most of my shows and appearances, which, despite the circumstances, I’m grateful for. She’s waiting for the media coverage from Kylie’s murder to die down. Apparently, more police have been brought into the investigation. At least, that’s what the press says anyway.
Every time Braxton’s face appears on the TV, I want to throw the remote at it. I don’t. Especially if my mother is watching for my reaction. But every time I see him, he looks more tired and gaunt. The fucker is going to wither into nothing before I get to kill him myself.
After the funeral, Hawke warned me away from Braxton. Despite his best efforts at teaching me creative ways to kill someone, even though I still insist on shooting Braxton, he specifically told me now is not the time to get involved with the detective. There’s too much buzz around him now. I’m certain Hawke wouldn’t hesitate on a kill, no matter who it is. But I know he doesn’t think my first kill will go smoothly or without evidence being left behind.