7. Hope
CHAPTER 7
Hope
I spend all day and night reworking the sculpture. By the time I finally walk out of my workshop the sun is starting to rise on a new day, and hardly anyone is on the streets. It’s true that New York is the city that never sleeps, but it’s times like this that I like it the most.
I don’t have to worry about my overbearing father trying to enforce security anymore, either. I always felt guilty staying here at ungodly hours and keeping bodyguards by my side because of it. But that all changed last year when I turned twenty-one, and I’ve adopted new habits that offer me a sense of freedom and normality from the bright shine of stardom and recognition I’ve been under since I was sixteen. It was bad enough that I’m Lena Love’s daughter, not that I begrudge my mother for being incredible—if anything, she’s inspiring—but there was always an expectation as to how I should act in public. Not that she applied that personally. I just felt socially awkward by society’s expectations. And then when I started getting recognized for my own work, everything blew up.
I went from a teenager to a woman overnight, being bombarded with compliments but being spoken about behind my back and, at times, not so discreetly in articles and critics’ reviews. So it’s nice to be at a place in my career now where I can be by myself and enjoy my own company—which is how I prefer it.
I walk five blocks down to a twenty-four-hour diner that I frequent often, especially in the early hours. I’m still wide awake, and as I walk, I think back to how Braxton intruded on my space. Hardly anyone visits me when I’m working, and it infuriates me that because of him, I’m behind on a project. He didn’t even apologize. Not that I would expect someone like him to do such a thing, but the fact he has a bullshit badge makes him think he can do whatever the fuck he pleases.
It grates on my nerves that he touched everything in my studio, his hands all over my things that aren’t his to touch. I have the distinct impression it won’t be the last time I see him either, so I start pondering on ideas as to how I should best deal with the situation. Having a cop snoop around my business isn’t ideal, and had it been anyone else, I might’ve actually let my father deal with them. But I want to manage this situation myself. Braxton has made it personal and I don’t like anyone sniffing around that might jeopardize me or my family. If it weren’t for my last name I wonder if he would have such persistent interest in the first place.
When I arrive at the diner, I order a stack of pancakes, then I sit back and read my book. I’ve been quite consumed by the thriller series and find it the easiest way to wind down after an intense creative session.
I absentmindedly pick at my pancakes, and after an hour of sipping on a cup of coffee, someone pulls out the chair across from me.
At first, I think it’s the waitress taking my plate away, but when I raise my head to check, I’m met with a crystal-blue gaze.
I swear my left fucking eye twitches.
Braxton.
“Are you lost?” I ask, pushing my glasses back up my nose and looking back to the book, which is far more interesting than the man who just intruded on my quiet time.
“Your friend returned the wallet this evening,” he says, starting another conversation I have no interest in.
“Mmhmm.” I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to say. Did he really have to come and track me down to tell me that he got the wallet back? I’m sure most detectives don’t go to these lengths to provide updates, so I’m unsure why he’s here.
“Charlotte admitted to it and explained that you just went along with her.” Still, I say nothing. It’s a week after the fact. Had they wanted to do something about it, they would’ve done it sooner, and frankly, I don’t give a shit. I pick up my coffee and take a sip.
“She’s being held at the station right now. Do you want to see her?”
My gaze snaps in his direction. “You arrested her after she returned it?”
“Yes. She committed a crime and then admitted to it. Charges will be brought against her.”
A cool, calculating calm spreads through my veins. Fuck this guy. Is he really trying to make an enemy of me? What is this? Him having some fun at our expense?
“But you got it back,” I say, doing everything I can not to be baited by his purposeful antagonizing. For all I know, he’s lying, and he’s just trying to get a rise out of me because… Because why?
“Yes,” he answers. “Any crimes you want to admit to?” Ah, because he’s clearly trying to pin me with something. So he’s investigating a crime that I was unlucky enough to be standing in the same room with the victim for, but he can’t pin me for anything, and he knows it, so why is he even wasting his resources? Why is he suddenly fixated on me when there were literally hundreds in attendance? The death happened after arresting me. I was literally with him. Surely, he’s not that hung up that I left him alone in his bed four years ago.
Then again, men can be petty once their fragile egos are broken.
I continue to ignore him as I flip to the next page in my book. I can feel his intensity as he watches me, and it fucking bothers me more than it should. He reaches out a hand, and I watch as he picks up the fork, begins digging into my leftover pancakes, and takes a giant bite.
I close my book, my calm facade finally snapping. “Are you lost? Do they not give you enough work at the station that you have to resort to harassing civilians?”
“Nope. Not lost,” he says, taking another bite. “I have plenty of work to do, but I always make time for things I prioritize. These are good pancakes; I can see why you come here often.”
My gaze narrows. How does he know I come here often? He smirks, and it’s answer enough that he’s clearly been following me. It makes my skin crawl. The waitress is looking over at us curiously. I usually don’t come here with anyone, and now I’m forced to sit in uncomfortable silence as he finishes my breakfast.
I’m not going to ask why I’m a priority when I think that’s what he’s hoping I’ll bite at. The more I jump into his provocations, the more he’s winning.
He smiles once he’s done. It’s a blinding, arrogant smirk that I’m sure makes him a lady killer.
Unfortunately, his charm doesn’t work on me. It might’ve once when I was looking for someone to lose my virginity to since I was absolutely forbidden by Aunt Anya to auction my virginity to the highest bidder in one of Dutton Taylor’s virginity auctions. And this guy was easy on the eyes and easy for the taking. Turns out it’s come back to haunt me four years later.
“I’ll be seeing you around, Hope. Thanks for the date,” he says, throwing a twenty on the table and then striding out without another word. My gaze practically bores a hole in his back as he leaves.
Fuck this. And fuck him.
What does he think he’s doing, tormenting me? It’s definitely making me uneasy, having him show up all the time. The fact that he’s very good-looking is beside the point.
Grabbing my bag with clear determination, I call my driver to take me to my cousin’s house. I know I’ll find at least one of them at this time of day, and if fate smiles down on me, they’ll both be there. Because I have a problem I think only they can assist me with—without my father finding out, of course.
Braxton Hero sniffing closely is a liability around my family. There are literally a million things they could pin on any of my family members, except my mother, of course, and I refuse to be the reason why my family name is receiving unwanted attention. I can handle this myself. I don’t want my father to think I need to run to him for help on something I’ve managed to get myself into, especially after pleading my independence for so many years.
I knock on the door several times. As I’m waiting, I notice a letter on the front porch, and I pick it up. It’s my cousin, Ford, who answers the door. I hand him the envelope as I push past him. The moment I get a whiff of bacon, I know Hawke is here too. It’s Ford’s house, but Hawke can’t often go even a few days without his twin.
The two of them work for the Italian mafia boss, Eli Monti, and were personally trained by my Aunt Anya, who is as ruthless as they come. If anyone can help me with this request, it’s them.
Technically, they aren’t my blood cousins. My auntie adopted them when they were teenagers. I know not to trust many men in this world, but I do trust both of my cousins. Because I know they’d do anything for me.
Ford seems surprised to see me but rolls with it. I follow the smell of bacon, noticing a black cat sleeping in the hallway. That’s definitely new, but I’m not going to ask questions about the peculiarities of what they get up to in their spare time or how they’ve started adopting strays.
Hawke smiles as I enter the kitchen, and he starts plating up food. I want to tell him that I’ve already eaten, but Hawke will serve it anyway. He always tells me if I eat more protein, I might get taller. The guy’s an asshole.
I politely accept the offered food, then just push it around on my plate.
“Is everything okay?” Ford asks.
I finally gather the courage to voice the reason I came here. “I want you to teach me how to kill someone,” I state.
They both look at me in the same predatory way. They’re both demons in their own right, feared for their bloodlust and gory ways of executing people.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Ford blurts.
“Oh, yes, little red, we totally can. As long as Uncle Alek won’t remove our balls because of it,” Hawke gushes, and it’s exactly the response I expected from him. He’s always up to no good, which is exactly why I came to them.
“I don’t want my father to find out,” I tell him with a smile.
“Not find out?” Ford asks me. “You know who your father is, right?”
I push my glasses up my nose and nod my head. “If we can keep it between us, that would be great,” I say.
“Okay, so who are we helping you kill?” Hawke asks. I swear he’s going to start bouncing excitedly.
“ I want to be the one to kill him. Just teach me how.” I need to do this myself.
“Who knew there was a little bit of devil in there,” Hawke jokes as Ford opens the envelope I give him. “Who pissed you off? And why do you want to kill him?”
“He’s a detective. And he lied to me about who he is.” That is somewhat true. I mean, he didn’t exactly announce who he was the first time we met years ago, neither did I but that’s not the point. But I don’t want my cousins asking further about my association with him so if I say I didn’t know who he was, it’s the truth. Now that I do, I realize he’s problematic.
They both stare at me.
“You want to kill a police officer?” Ford asks.
“Yep.” I nod. “Dead.”
Hawke whistles, seemingly impressed. He looks at his arms. “I actually have goosebumps because of how proud I am.”
We both look at Ford expectantly. He’s usually the one of calm guidance, but when I face him, he’s paled, his face stricken.
I go to ask if he’s okay, but he closes the envelope and is already leaving the room.
“Hey!” Hawke yells out after him. “We’re not done here. What the fuck was in that note?”
A cold dread fills my stomach, and I don’t know what’s happened, Ford leaving abruptly isn’t entirely new, but it just feels off…
“Nothing. Don’t follow me,” he yells back, a quiet calm, but that’s when he’s the deadliest.
“What the fuck?” Hawke curses at the entrance of the kitchen, looking out after him. I can tell he’s unsettled.
“Do you think everything’s okay?” I ask Hawke quietly.
His eyebrows furrow, and I can tell he’s concerned. He pulls out his phone, and I see the name Lover appear as he rapidly messages. He sends a message, and I only catch a glimpse of the words tracking Ford as he says. “So, how do you want to kill him? Because if it’s a crowbar you want to use, you’ll have to wait for the rude asshole who just abandoned us to get back since that’s his specialty,” Hawke says.
“Crowbar?” I’d heard stories about my cousins. I’ve never seen them in action, but rumors circulate very quickly. Especially when they come with a warning. Ford prefers to fight with two crowbars, while Hawke, the brute who eats way too many carbs and spends the majority of his time either lifting weights or fucking women, uses spiked gloves.
“How about guns?”
Hawke’s eyebrows perk up and he looks at me now after the text is sent. I can tell he’s unsettled by Ford leaving.
“You’re serious about wanting to kill this guy? Why? I know it’s in the family business, but you’re not a killer, Hope.” He says, but I can tell he’s only half listening.
I bite my bottom lip because although I’m surrounded by killers for family members, I’ve never come for help to anyone for something like this. Me asking this is as abnormal as me enjoying being in a roomful of people. But if Braxton has made it his fixation to sniff too closely to me for a murder he’s trying to pin on me, I know it’ll put my family in jeopardy. I know they can look after themselves, but I don’t want to bring this trouble to my doorstep. Or my mother, for that matter. I don’t want to lose my independence because if I can’t protect myself and my family. If that happens, then my father will no doubt revoke all the freedom I’ve acquired in the last year.
It’s just one detective, right? It can’t be that hard, and if I do fuck up, which I won’t, then at least I know I can depend on my cousins to help me.
Hawke receives a message, and his eyebrows furrow. Whatever business Ford has himself involved with it’s not good. Even if I did have an answer for Hawke, I don’t think he’d hear me right now.
“Go Hawke. Something’s wrong, right?” I say. My cousins are always involved in shenanigans. Not the good kind and often leaving a trail of bodies behind them, but one thing is for certain—they’re always together.
“We’re not done with this, little red. I’ll teach you how to shoot, okay?” he says, pulling his keys out of his pocket and racing down the hallway. I hear him call out from the door. “Close up when you leave!”
I pick at my plate of food. Looking down at the small cat, who stares up at me as if knowing.
I wonder if this was a mistake. Sure, I’m pissed at Braxton, but is killing a police officer the answer?
My gut tells me yes.
Always yes to protect myself and family.
But maybe I’m in over my head on this one.