41. Hope
CHAPTER 41
Hope
I t’s midnight. And after finally finishing my piece, I made my way to the diner for pancakes and coffee. I don’t know how long I’ve sat re-reading the same line in my book over and over again because my mind keeps trying to make sense of today’s events.
It’s strange how much changed today. A weight that I’ve been carrying since noticing these curious thoughts and impulsive demands has finally been lifted. The stress had grown over the years, to the point of maddening, as I’ve kept it to myself. The only sense of release was when I started sharing my glass statues with Braxton. Perhaps, as Anya said, I have an ego. I didn’t think I’d get caught, and I liked the idea of playing with him.
I felt invincible but also drawn to show someone—anyone—the real me.
No, not anyone. I wanted Braxton to see me for what I really am.
I’m not even sure how this snowballed so much. I thought I’d never tell a soul, but it quickly became a part of me that so desperately wanted to be seen. Acknowledged. To know how bad I’d truly become.
I thought the first life I took was by accident, but in hindsight, it was the beginning of my darkest desires and impulses. I was twenty, out drinking with a few friends from college. The guy began groping me, and I told him to stop. Even after having five drinks, I knew I didn’t want him touching me. But he chose not to hear my voice when I told him no. Instead, he decided my body was his to do whatever he wanted with it. Something dark twisted in my stomach as I considered letting him have his way, just so I could get out of there sooner. He was twice my size, after all. But another part of me beckoned, telling me it would protect me, and other women like me, from men like him.
When he pushed me behind a building and held a pocket knife to my throat, I felt a sense of irony instead of fear. My father taught me from an early age how to disarm someone. Knives were my father’s specialty, and I watched him use them. I studied him. He might’ve not killed in front of me often, but I saw the way he cut the skin off my apples, and I realized that human flesh and other items weren’t so different.
Before I knew what I was doing, I’d disarmed the guy and held the knife to his throat. He immediately put his hands up, feigning surrender as he began to laugh, treating me like a joke. My emotions were high, and adrenaline was rushing through me so fast I couldn’t think clearly. But I recalled everything my mother and aunt embodied in me about being a powerful woman. Controlling my own destiny and not allowing any man ever to take what was not meant for him.
His laughing became hysterical, and he took two steps back, bending over with wild amusement as if the shift in power was so hilarious. Maybe he was on drugs. Maybe he was drunk. But it didn’t make it okay. And I certainly wasn’t to be made fun of when he tried to force himself on me.
By the time he managed to get his laughing under control, his expression had twisted viciously, and he stepped forward to take the knife from me as if I were a child acting out. My hand moved of its own accord so fast that before I could stop it, it sliced across his throat in one swift movement. His eyes grew wide in shock, hands flying to his neck. I guess to stop the bleeding. The thing is, when you cut someone’s throat and neck, blood kind of goes everywhere. It splattered across my clothes, and I stepped back, inconvenienced by how messy his life spilled out of him. I pocketed the knife and watched, mesmerized, as he grappled with the realization that there was no coming back from this. That I was his undoing. His Grim Reaper.
He dropped to his knees, one hand stretching out to me, silently begging for mercy. But there was a power and thrill in seeing a man on his knees like that. Being the justice and silencer of vermin who would never touch a woman again. I just stood there, watching him, not making a move to help him.
I found it all very fascinating. The way his blood poured out of his neck and down his white shirt and eventually made its way onto the dirty cement. I wondered if that was the reason why my family was so bad. I wondered if they got the same high.
A pool of blood gathered at my feet, and when he finally dropped his hand from his throat, his body went limp, his eyes still wide in disbelief. What was I supposed to do? It’s not like I could save him; he was already dead. There was literally no point in me even trying. But most importantly, I didn’t want to.
The music from the club was loud, and I could hear people yelling and cheering over it while I stood there looking down at my first kill.
Nothing is ever as satisfying as the first.
That was one of my favorite nights.
It was a year before I did it again. And the fun fact about it is I used the same pocket knife on the next man. After that, I was intrigued by other methods.
I get that I’m all types of fucked-up. I understand that. And I also know how to present myself as a decent person to the rest of the world. They think I’m innocent, and it helps me fly under the radar. If Braxton knew half the stuff I’ve done, he wouldn’t look at me the same way he does now. Or maybe I’m wrong about that. After all, the sex we have is primitive in a way that I know is not normal for most lovers.
The door to the diner opens, and I glance up, my gaze connecting with crystal-blue eyes. He’s out of his mind coming here so soon after we were caught by my father and aunt, though I expected to see him here, which is precisely why I came.
This diner has somehow become our place.
He takes his usual seat across from me. I offer him my fork to finish the last pancake, but for the first time ever, he shakes his head, refusing the meal. Though he still picks up my mug of black coffee and takes a sip.
I try not to smirk.
Asshole .
“What are we?” he asks. I suck in a sharp breath. Oh boy, we’re really finishing this conversation.
“That’s a loaded question.” I should close the book and focus on him, but I can’t; it’s like a shield. Ironic since I can handle myself when killing someone, but when it comes to social connection or matters of the heart, I am very much a coward.
He rubs his face, tired. I don’t know what’s happened in the twelve hours since I saw him last, but he looks even more exhausted. I suppose it’s a good thing he actually survived these twelve hours, considering my family is aware there’s something happening between us.
“Why is it a loaded question? You like me, and I know you like the way I fuck you. We both know there’s more to this.”
My heart begins racing. I want to deny it, want to fight it. I’m still not entirely sure what the right decision is. I want to think with my head, but my heart is screaming at me that this might be my chance. But my chance for what? To be girlfriend and boyfriend and skip down the road in public? There are so many things tied into this. It’s a complicated mess.
“So because I like the way you fuck me, we have to label it?” I ask, giving my best impression of a wall, even though I’m still scared he’ll see between the cracks. He massages his temple and sighs heavily.
“Fighting until the very end. I don’t know why I expected anything less. You know that’s not what I meant,” he says.
I peek over the top of my book. Those crystal-blue eyes stare at me, making me uncomfortable. What would a future with Braxton look like if we could walk down that path? I know I’d never be able to leave him alone. He would be the first person I would want to see every time I get off the plane after a show. I’d be consumed by our sex. But that’s a fairy tale. That’s not all we are or could ever be.
“We”—I wave a finger between us— “would never work. You know that, and I know that. My family would never accept you.”
He slams his hands on the table, and everyone looks in our direction. “Stop thinking about what everyone else wants and just focus on us for a second.”
I snap the book shut, surprised by his outburst. He’s really on edge. A small part of me appreciates being the one who put him into this maddening haze, even though I’m trying to push him away for our own good. It is for our own good, isn’t it?
“I care about what my family thinks. I understand that’s a foreign concept to you, but it matters to me,” I say coldly.
His smirk is evil. “Don’t try to push me away by digging into old wounds. That won’t work on me, Shortcake.”
“Seems to work plenty. Look how riled you are right now,” I bite back.
“Because you’re making me fucking crazy,” He seethes. We stare at one another across the table. I want him more than I’ve wanted anything else, but there are things I can never share with him. Secrets that will jeopardize not only me but my family. Yet he’s the one person I want to run to.
“Just let me in,” he pleads. My eyebrows dip because I wonder if he truly understands what he’s asking for. I doubt there’s anything of equal significance that he can offer me.
“The fact that I’ve let you live this long shows I care, doesn’t it?” I say quietly, picking up the coffee and taking a small sip just so I can focus on something else.
“It’s not enough. You’re buried so deeply under my skin now that I need it all, Shortcake. I need all of you. Not just a taste or a moment. You’re mine.”
I want to laugh at him and publicly humiliate him so he’ll never blurt such absurdities again. But my heart races, pounding hard, as I realize I’m on the edge of having something I never thought was possible.
Why is love the most dangerous thing I’ve encountered? I want to trust him, but how could I be stupid enough to give my heart and secrets to my family’s enemy? Yet, I haven’t shot him down.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say in an even quieter tone. “We’re not meant for each other.”
“You don’t believe that. You know damn well you’re the perfect fit for me. I’m the only man who indulges your fantasies, plays your games, and actually survives them. You’re the only woman for me. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same.”
“I think you’ve lost your mind,” I whisper, trying my hardest to flick away his honesty. But what if it’s a trick? It doesn’t feel like a trick, though. I’m falling further and further into uncharted territory, and I have a choice to remain in my comfort zone or fall— even if it’s my undoing.
“Come home with me,” he says, standing and tossing some cash on the table.
“No.”
“It wasn’t a request. Come home with me,” he repeats, offering me his hand. “There’s something I have to show you.”
I’m conflicted. I can either reach out and take his hand or leave without looking back. I want to go with him, and I’m doing everything in my power not to. I don’t know who or what to trust anymore. For self-preservation sake, I should walk away. I’ve done so many reckless things in my life, but I know Braxton Hero is the one thing that will utterly devastate and ruin me.
It’s precisely why I take his hand. Because no matter what, I have to see where this will end. Even when I’m certain I already know the outcome—him in a body bag.
He asked me what we were, and I had no answer for him. Because, in truth, I don’t know what we are. I’m not sure I’ll ever know. I don’t want to kill him, but I don’t want anyone else to kill him, either. I like the way he looks at me and the way he touches me. Braxton is not a man I ever thought I’d be attracted to in this way. I mean, I want him by my side permanently. I’d never even thought about permanency with someone until he reentered my life.
I make a quick detour to my car to tell the driver to leave. As usual, he’s reluctant, but this time, I take a chapter out of my father’s book. The most effective ways to motivate someone are by threatening them or bribing them. So I throw a thousand dollars in his lap and tell him to enjoy his evening.
Then I allow Braxton to lead me to his car. It’s stupid, really. Every step by his side is leading to the inevitable. But I can’t stay away. I don’t want to stay away. And I want answers just as much as he does.
We sit in silence as he drives us to his apartment. His callused hand holds mine, and I stare down at it, thinking about all the possibilities if we could have a future together. I don’t care about his financial situation; I can afford anything I want in this world. But the one thing I need more than I ever realized is to be understood. I need Braxton to see the real me, but it’s a gamble. It’s torture to love this man. My secret is right on the edge of my tongue, even when I’ve surrounded myself with so many lies.
I want Braxton to know I’m a killer, not just someone who finds inspiration in photos of dead bodies, but who actually craves the high and thrill of sending someone to the land of the dead.
Would he still hold my hand like this, or would he immediately put me behind bars?
When we pull up at his apartment building, Braxton’s gaze narrows, and I follow where he’s looking. His partner is standing out front, smoking a cigarette. It’s almost one in the morning, and visits around this time—unless from a lover—aren’t usually a good thing.
“Stay in the car,” Braxton grits as he undoes his seat belt.
“Am I a dog?” I reply indignantly. I might’ve come here willingly, but I won’t be told what to do.
“What?”
“Don’t tell me where to stay.”
“Fucking hell,” he mutters as he gets out. If I know one thing about Braxton, it’s that he lives for the bite. I’m not sure why he expected me to stay in the car because that’s not going to happen. Sometimes, I despise when people think they need to protect me. I’m not helpless.
I don’t need protection. It’s actually other people who need protection from me.
On top of that, if he so boldly claims he wants more from me, then I will not be a secret in his world. I don’t exactly know how it would work, but he needs to prove to me he doesn’t expect me to hide in the shadows.
Because fuck all if I’m scared of a cop, especially one like Lucas.
The moment Lucas spots Braxton, he stomps out the cigarette and heads toward him. That is, of course, until Braxton opens the passenger door and offers me his hand to help me out. Lucas is stunned, frozen in place, as Braxton leads me over by the hand, a clear statement made.
“Are— Are you fucking kidding me?” Lucas fumbles for words.
“You shouldn’t litter,” I say matter-of-factly as I point to the cigarette he left behind on the ground.
“Who the fuck?—?”
Braxton stops in front of me, sizing up his partner. “Don’t speak to her like that.”
Lucas’s eyes widen. “Oh my God. You’re in love with her.”
Braxton doesn’t deny nor confirm it. My heart flutters as I realize he’s taking a stand. For me. With me. Against one of his most loyal colleagues.
“It’s late. Why don’t you come upstairs so we can quickly discuss this?” Braxton replies. “I know how this looks, but I’ll explain.”
Lucas’s mouth opens and closes, a flurry of rage rolling through him. I almost expect him to deny the offer, but then he splutters, “I-I’m not letting her come between us. There’s s-something you should know. I-I think she should leave.”
“She’s not leaving,” Braxton states.
Lucas swallows. “Okay, then let’s go upstairs. But I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say.”
The walk up the stairs is awkward. Braxton places his hand on my lower back, guiding me to the second floor. It’s always so quiet in this building, and when I’m acutely aware of his partner glaring at my back, it makes me feel… a little stabby.
“I thought it was going to be just us when you asked me to come over,” Lucas growls, irritated. My eyebrows furrow in confusion. Braxton set this up? I go on high alert as Braxton comes to a stop at his door and unlocks it.
Fuck. What if this is an ambush? I offer a tight smile as Braxton pushes me into the room, and his partner follows. A low twist in my stomach stirs as I get the feeling that something is off.
His partner leans into him, and I can just hear as he asks if they can talk in private as he looks over his shoulder at me. Something isn’t right. Braxton is watching me carefully, and I’m certain he already knows I’m ready to run out the fucking door. But he’s blocking the way. If I leave now, it’ll only seem more suspicious. But he organized for Lucas and me to both come here. Did I fall for a trap?
“I’ll go to the bathroom and give you a few minutes to speak,” I say with a tight smile.
Braxton grabs my elbow and slides his hand down to mine as I walk past him. I look over my shoulder at him, and he mouths, “Trust me.”
Then, my gaze flicks to Lucas, who is still glaring at me. Trust him, my ass. I’m in a fucking trap.
The moment I’m in the bathroom, I call my father. He answers on the second ring. “I think I’ve fucked up. Can you come and get me?” I whisper quietly and then hang up. I don’t wait for my father’s reply; I simply send him my location as I lock the bathroom door behind me and scan the space for a weapon.
Fucking minimalist asshole. At best, I have a pair of trimming scissors. I scoop them up and sit at the edge of the bathtub, and my ears strain to hear what they’re saying. I think Lucas is attempting to whisper, but Braxton’s apartment echoes. Braxton must know this, but he speaks clearly and precisely. Everything feels off. Why did he invite Lucas here when he had every intention of bringing me here, too? I’m literally trapped in a bathroom with no fucking window or other way of escape.
“You need to get away from her immediately,” Lucas whispers. “I thought you were smarter than getting involved with the enemy.”
“I know who her family is, and it doesn’t bother me,” Braxton tells him.
“It should.” Lucas lets out a groan, and I can imagine him throwing his hands in the air. “I can’t believe you fell under her spell. Sure, she’s easy on the eyes?—”
“Don’t speak about my woman like that,” Braxton growls. “Or this conversation will change very quickly. I’m telling you now, you need to back off.”
“Have you taken money from her? Is that how you’re able to own this apartment building?” Lucas asks in disbelief. My nose scrunches up. Braxton owns this place? And not just his apartment, but the whole building? How did I not know that? Maybe he’s sneakier than I initially thought.
Braxton is quiet for a moment, and I wonder if that wasn’t common knowledge. “Have you been digging up information on me, Lucas?” he asks, his tone becoming more noticeably clipped.
“No, I just… I knew something about this case was making you act differently, and it didn’t make sense.”
“You told me you had evidence against her, which is why I invited you here. But if you’re wrong, Lucas…”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck . I’m definitely in a trap.
I look down at my phone. I know my father will be here in a matter of minutes.
My heart breaks as I realize I’m as gullible as Aunt Anya accused me of being. She was right. I was foolish to think he genuinely cared for me more than his job. He’s literally set me up.
A wild rage fuels my blood, and an insatiable urge to kill him takes over. I do everything in my power to stay where I am. My gift is being able to take men by surprise, but right now, there’s no way I’ll be able to overpower two men with a tiny pair of scissors. I text my father.
Me: Don’t kill him. His death is mine.
Fuck it. I have no loyalties to this man. My parents were right.
I was right .
This was only ever going to end one way.
“I can prove she’s the serial killer,” Lucas whispers, and my blood runs cold.
All my lies are about to catch up to me. And I grit my teeth, ready to fight. For myself. For my freedom. For my heart that’s bleeding all over the bathroom tiles of a man I thought I loved.
He tricked me. And as a single tear slides down my cheek, I applaud his gameplay as much as I’m ready to fucking ruin his life.
Braxton Hero will die tonight.
By my hand.
He will be the ultimate prize.
Yet, I’m not fueled by the usual rush and adrenaline. Instead, I want to cry.
Stupid, stupid girl.