9. Hope
CHAPTER 9
Hope
H e’s back again. It’s been almost two weeks since our last run-in, and I honestly thought he’d gained some common sense about snooping around a killer’s daughter. Alas, here we are. Braxton takes the exact same seat he took the last time he invited himself to join me at the café.
This time, I have an entire pancake left over, and he immediately picks up the fork and starts eating it. I don’t bother telling him to stop because I don’t think he’d listen. I simply purse my lips and stick to the tactic I’ve been using since he re-entered my life—I try my best to ignore him. Even though he’s quiet while scarfing back the last of my breakfast, his presence is loud, screaming at me for attention. I fucking refuse to engage with him.
I scan over to the next page. “Hey!” I yell as he snatches my book from my hands. I’m too slow as he angles himself across from me and begins to read. One of his eyebrows raises curiously, and he glances up at me.
“Thought it would be about glass sculptures,” he says as he lowers the book.
“What?” I quickly snatch it from his grasp.
“Are we playing dumb?” He tsks at me. “Didn’t take you for a dumb person.”
“Thank you?” I roll my eyes. “I can see why you’re so popular with the ladies now.” He smirks and clasps his hands together on top of the table, studying me in a way that pisses me off.
“Did you miss me?” he asks.
“No.” Not to say that I didn’t expect him to show up at any moment. A part of me was relieved when he never did, while the other part was wondering when he would. Because one thing I’m coming to learn about Braxton Hero is that he’s equally as beautiful and persistent as he is stupid and arrogant.
“I would really like to know how you got into my apartment,” he says.
I sigh, frustrated. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
We sit here in a stare-off, and I shake my head in disbelief.
“Whether you want to believe it or not, Detective Hero, you’re the only one of the two of us who is fixated on the other. I don’t have the time or mental space to devote to you. It comes with the territory of running a successful career,” I jab. “I’m certain there are plenty of criminals out there who want to break into your apartment. You aren’t exactly the type to make friends.”
“I seemed friendly enough to entice you into my bed once upon a time,” he says. Heat flushes my cheeks, but I don’t look away, holding my ground.
“To be frank, it was more your appearance that enticed me. And you didn’t talk much that night. You speaking is what ruins it all for me now.”
He smirks, leaning in to study me closer. “You think you’re untouchable, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sure you’re Daddy’s little girl, and you think no one can touch you.”
I scoff. “Are you done? You’re really grasping at straws if all you can do is antagonize a woman minding her own business, reading a book in a diner, wouldn’t you say?”
“Where were you before this?” he questions.
“Is this an interrogation?” I bite back.
“Just a simple question.”
I don’t want to answer the asshole. And, technically, I don’t have to. But it’s not hard for anyone to piece together my whereabouts at these hours. “I was in my studio, working on that sculpture you broke. Should I be sending a bill to your supervisor and mentioning how you invaded my space unwarranted?”
He should know better than to underestimate someone, especially in his profession.
I’m more than happy to play his game. In fact, I hope when I actually kill him, the experience will be humbling for him. Killing him. It’s not as unsettling as I thought it might be, especially even when sitting across from him. If anything, it makes me feel powerful, almost superior, as if I’m in it for the long game, stalking my prey. Is this how my father and cousins feel when they choose a victim? Or do they just do it without a care for who the person even is?
“Does everyone see this side of you?” he asks. “Or am I the only lucky one?”
I sigh, realizing any type of enjoyment is long forgotten, as I stand and grab my book, tucking it into my bag.
“I have places to be,” I tell him, throwing a twenty on the table.
He stands and blocks my path. I release a furious sigh.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
I glare up at him. Why is this fucker so tall? I seriously need to start wearing heels more often. But unless it’s for an event, I just couldn’t be bothered.
“Is that a police question?” I ask, resting my hand on my hip.
“No, just a general one,” he replies casually but makes no move to clear out of my path.
Fine. If he wants to play, we’ll play.
“I have a meeting with my cousin, actually. He’s teaching me how to shoot a gun,” I inform him with a sweet smile, letting my eyes scream how much I can’t wait to fucking kill him. He’s like a pesky bug that won’t go away. I can’t help but grin at the idea of it and how offended he might be if he could see the same visual.
He seems to pick up on some of the tension. “I’m surprised your father hasn’t already taught you. Since he’s a murderer and all.”
“Those are some very damning accusations.” I tsk.
“Why don’t I show you how to shoot? You know, as I’m an upstanding citizen and all, wouldn’t your parents approve of someone as skilled as me to teach their daughter how to handle a weapon?”
“Often, when a man guarantees me about their skills, I later discover they’re lying. So, no, thank you.”
I go to step past him, but he blocks my path.
“Come on, it could be fun. I can teach you.”
How funny it is that the person I want to kill is offering to train me to take him out?
If only he knew I had every intention of killing him. And I was right to assume I will have to take him out because I was certain Braxton will only escalate his appearances, and he’s doing exactly that. It’ll only get worse over time, of that much I’m certain. The longer I let him sniff around, the more likely my father will find out, which I absolutely cannot let happen—not before I’ve dealt with the situation myself. My freedom hangs on the line here.
I offer another sickly-sweet smile. “No, thank you.”
I can’t wait to turn the tables on him.
“Why not?” he asks. I don’t have to answer, so this time, I manage to step around him and head toward the door.
“Oh, I just thought I should make a point that it’s not only my father who’s protective of me. So if I were you, I’d leave me alone.”
“Is that a threat?” he all but growls.
With a wink, I simply say, “Goodnight, detective,” before calling my driver.
I’m still not entirely sure what Braxton wants with me, but the more time I spend with him, the more I want to fuck him as much as I want to kill him. Because, damn, he has no right looking like that when he’s a fucking cop.