23. Hope
CHAPTER 23
Hope
I ’ve been dreaming every fucking night about having his mouth on me, and I wake up with my hands between my legs. I hate that he can do this to me when all I want to do is strangle him—and his perfect cock.
Though, I think he’d actually like it if I strangled his cock.
Revisiting that night again and again like it’s on a maddening, repetitive loop has been distracting me from my work in the studio.
I’m currently at the diner, half expecting him to appear. This morning, I had another statue delivered to his apartment. Just like the others, it was packaged in a black box.
This latest piece was of the victim at the nightclub who’d had his neck broken. I really enjoyed focusing on his throat, making those twists in the glass work. Despite not having proof that it’s me sending the statues, Braxton’s adamant that it is. It’s flattering as much as it is annoying because there really is no connection between my normal art and the darker pieces. So I have no fucking idea how he knows. If he had proof, he would’ve called me down to the station already. Maybe I’m getting too daring and cocky. But I can’t seem to stop.
If this asshole intends to continue showing up wherever my family is, of course, I’m going to bite back a little. Maybe a lot. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I can’t stop imagining myself biting him .
Nothing’s guaranteed with Braxton Hero, but one thing I can rely on is his ability to appear when he’s not wanted. I just know he’s going to show up to see me eventually.
I spent fourteen hours in the studio today. I’d become so immersed in my recent piece that I lost track of time, like I often do. And now I’m sitting in my usual booth, lost in my book. Reading helps me unwind; it takes me away from focusing on my creative flow and refills my well. And depending on the book, I get plenty of creative ideas from reading especially when I read thrillers.
It’s the same when I’m creating art. I have the music up so loud that it’s almost deafening, but it drowns out everything else and helps me concentrate. I like to keep the real world at a distance. I find it distracting, and interacting with people is draining. My father shares a similar sentiment, and it’s my mother who always encourages us to get out of the house from time to time.
I bring the hot coffee to my lips as I flip to the next page. I’m at the part of the story where the main character finds her husband cheating on her. Suddenly, it’s ripped from my hands.
“Excuse yo—” The words die on my lips as I meet Braxton’s arrogant gaze.
“Hello, Shortcake.”
It’s not his dazzling beauty that has my breath hitching this time. It’s what he’s holding instead.
It’s the most recent statue I had delivered to his home. I conceal any open appreciation for the piece. In fact, I try to act repulsed. “What is that?” I ask, pointing to it.
“It’s a murder victim,” he says, twisting the glass replica of the body back and forth. The detail in the throat really catches the light. It truly is a magnificent piece. Selfishly, I’m so glad I can share it with someone. For so long, they’d gone unseen. “You’re still denying that you created these?”
I shake my head, still feigning ignorance. “I have no idea who made that. And I don’t know why you’re here, but maybe you’re not as good at your job as everyone thinks you are if you keep insisting on harassing me without cause. Can I please have my book back now? I was just getting to the part where I’m certain the wife is about to murder the husband, and I simply can’t wait,” I say with a sickly sweet smile.
At first, I thought it would be easy to lie, but now it’s grown into something far more sinister. I quite enjoy it.
It’s not that I enjoy lying. In fact, I’m often conflicted by lies. But tormenting him is everything. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I can stop any time soon. I’m not yet done with this detective. He might’ve been drawn to me first, but now I find myself circling and playing this dangerous game. One wrong move, and it’s over for both of us.
It’s riveting.
Delicious.
Forbidden.
I want it like my next breath.
“Do you like it?” he asks, raising a brow. “There’s so much detail in it. A lot of love must’ve gone into creating this. I wonder who might have such a twisted mind to express something so… unique and macabre.”
We’re starting to draw attention. One person’s lip actually pulls up in disgust, and I fucking hate the scorn my piece is receiving. There’s a reason why I haven’t shown this side of me to anyone. I know I’m an outcast, and although it doesn’t bother me, facing the judgment of others terrifies me. What if my parents look at me the same way?
“Stop it. Just fucking stop,” I grit out, not at all appreciating the attention. These people are nothing. Insignificant. But I can’t help feeling like the walls are closing in on me. This is my darkest secret. And I willingly chose to share it with him . It’s not meant for others. I try to push away all of the negativity. “You’re upsetting the customers.”
He suddenly glances around at our surroundings as if he never even noticed anyone but me. He smirks unapologetically as he takes a seat across from me and puts the piece in the center of the table. I shoot a brief glance in its direction, again pretending to be horrified. His arrogant smile doesn’t slip as he removes his jacket and sets it gently over the statue. A wave of relief washes over me at narrowly averting having this part of me exposed in the middle of what is one of my few safe spaces.
I’m furious by how quickly my play to toy with him backfired. I was enjoying taunting him, and yet he so easily flipped it on me.
Asshole.
“My partner and I stopped by my apartment this afternoon. And can you guess what was on my bed, wrapped up with a perfect little bow?”
“My underwear?” I reply with an eye roll.
“You didn’t wear any that night,” he points out, and I can’t entirely hide my smile. Thoughts of that night immediately come back to mind. This man—this beast—who coaxes out the vilest of my fantasies is sitting across from me as if this is the most normal of conversations. “It was another black box with a glass statue inside to join the collection. I even upped my security after the last delivery, and yet low and behold, there was a glitch for twenty minutes this morning. I wonder who has the ability, or perhaps the connections, to do that.”
I fix him with a bored look. “There are many mysteries to life. But if you don’t mind, your work is very boring to me, especially considering how poor of a job you seem to be doing. Didn’t I recently see the body count of this supposed serial killer is now up to nine? Do you really have time to be harassing me?”
His smile is anything but friendly. He sighs and removes his black glasses, and the dark circles under his eyes are obvious. He’s exhausted. And I know for a fact he’s been working these cases. He’s done multiple interviews asking anyone to come forward with any information they might have about any of the murders. I’ve watched every single one. To be honest, I find his work life quite interesting, but I’ll never admit it as much as I won’t admit to having Ivy tap into his security system. I pay her for it, as well as paying her to keep quiet about it. Ivy hasn’t asked any questions, but she most certainly knows there’s more to the detective and me than I’ve told her and has most likely tracked it back to Braxton without further asking for answers I’m not willing to offer. Whatever. I’m certainly not asking her father to do it since he and my father are so close.
“My book, please?” I nod to it, and he hands it over. As I grab it, my fingers brush his. It’s like an electric shock. I take in a sharp breath, then snatch the book from him because I don’t want him to see any signs of how he unsettles me. But, fuck me, do I want his hands all over my body again.
He’s studying me, that smirk creeping up again as he begins to eat the cold remains of my pancakes. He’s eating like a caveman, which most likely means he hasn’t eaten all day. “Would you like me to order you more?” I offer.
He raises a brow at me but doesn’t bother answering. He just continues to eat my leftovers. We sit in silence, and I can’t help when my gaze flicks to where his jacket is covering the ominous statue. I can’t believe he actually brought it with him. I never thought he’d do that. Perhaps I was too confident about my little secret.
He should be thankful that he gets to admire them, let alone hold them. Actually, I don’t think he realizes how lucky he is. He could never afford any of my sculptures, but in my opinion, these are the most priceless pieces I’ve made.
I focus on my book again and read another two pages before he speaks because Lord forbid when a woman remains silent and ignores a man to where he has to entertain himself.
“This needs to stop,” he warns, pointing the fork to his jacket.
“Okay…” I say, flicking to another page.
“I’m serious. I know it’s you, Hope. I may not have the proof, but it’s you. You’re digging yourself deeper and deeper, past a point where Mommy and Daddy won’t be able to get you out.”
I still don’t look up from my book. “If you say so. You’re starting to sound a lot like you care, Detective. It’s very unlike you.”
He’s watching me in that intense way that he does, setting my skin alight. It’s like a caress that demands my attention, and I know the moment I give in, I’m a goner. So I refuse to be put under his fucking spell.
I saw Hawke briefly since our last altercation. Although he’s promised to remain silent, anyone who knows him well enough knows he’s a liability when it comes to keeping secrets. But if he thinks I’m in danger, he’ll step in. He even questioned me as to how successful we might be at getting the detective to accept a bribe. That’s very fucking unlikely. And if we try, we’ll just be tipping our hand. And besides, I have no interest in playing that kind of game with him.
I don’t want anyone else playing with my toy, so I shut Hawke and the conversation down.
My prey. My game.
Even if my family might chastise me for it later, I know they love me. We protect one another.
I look up at him when he grabs my cup of coffee and takes a sip. I know he does it to test me, but I just put down my book and bring my hands together on top of the table.
“Do you have family?” I ask.
He seems surprised by the question, but he masks it within seconds. “Yes.”
“So why don’t you spend time with them?”
He raises a perfect brow. His tattooed hand comes to rest on the table as he leans toward me. I don’t like how little space he leaves between us, but I don’t move from my position either.
“And how would you know if I spend time with them or not, Shortcake?”
“Because you’re always trying to get into my pants when you aren’t working.” I bat my lashes at him.
Biting back a smile, he says, “Correction. I’ve tried getting in your dress once, and it worked.” He winks. “I remember those sweet moans that left your lips and all the barbaric things your body demanded I give you.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. I lift the book up again, trying to block him out so he doesn’t see how flustered he makes me. I adjust my glasses. “Yes, I guess you do.”
“When do you go back to London?” he asks, changing the subject. It’s an obvious indication that he’s following my schedule. He probably knows the answer before I give it to him, so I don’t see any point in hiding it.
“Tonight.”
He lifts his wrist and checks the time. “My car is outside. Do you need a lift?”
“No, I have a driver,” I tell him distractedly, trying to reread the same line in my book. I just can’t focus when this man is so fucking close. I can feel the heat of his breath. Suddenly, his foot nudges mine under the table, and I’m filled with a hot flush. Then his hand finds my knee.
“The drunk one?” he asks innocently.
I should shove his hand away. But I’m salivating at the idea of his callused hand running higher up my leg. My pussy throbs, begging for his touch.
“No,” I answer tightly and try not to focus on his hand running circles over my inner thigh. It turns out that my previous driver actually was drinking every time he drove me to my events. When I mentioned it to my father, he killed him without a second thought. When my father asked me how I knew, I didn’t dare tell him it was because of Braxton. I just mentioned that I could smell alcohol. I’m getting really good at this lying thing. So now I have one of my mother’s drivers. And this one knows not to drink at all while he’s driving me. He doesn’t want to end up like my last driver, that’s for sure.
“Good.” He lifts his other hand, his bicep flexing with the movement. I try my hardest not to notice his muscles but, fuck me, it’s impossible. And I know he’s doing it on purpose.
I’m not sure why he’s concerned if my driver is drinking or not, and I don’t really care to ask him. Yes, he is amazing in bed, and his mouth knows exactly what it’s doing, but that doesn’t mean I want a relationship with him. I have enough common sense to know it would never work between us.
“Why don’t you follow me to my car for a few minutes?” he says, his tone and the way his hand tightens on my thigh a lure. I look up into those provocative blue eyes. “So I can give you a proper send off.”
I swallow hard, my body fully understanding his intention and demanding I go with him. But I notice a child looking in our direction, and I slide his hand off my leg. “We’re not doing that again.”
“Come on, Shortcake, you love how I work your body. Don’t you miss my mouth?”
“Not while it’s yapping,” I grit, trying to override the heat rushing through my veins. Does this man have no shame? We’re in the middle of a restaurant, and anyone could see or hear us.
“What if I’m sucking on your clit and making you whimper my name?”
My pussy is pounding now, and I couldn’t dive back into my book even if I wanted to. My mind circles around all the things he can do to me. “I’m not fucking you” is all I can manage to say. It’s not the best defense, but it’s all I have.
That smile curves devilishly slow. “What if I make it about you? Worship you in the way I know you deserve?”
I scoff. “You think you know my body that well?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll prove it to you.”
“Five minutes of my time is expensive,” I reply, barely able to keep my voice steady.
“So are my fingers and mouth.” He grins. “Orgasms don’t come cheap. Especially when I know no other man has been able to make you come undone like I do.”
This fucking arrogant prick. I glance toward the car in the parking lot where my driver waits. Farther back is Braxton’s car.
I mean, if it’s only five minutes… What’s the harm, right?
I’m going to kill him soon, anyway, so I might as well make him useful before then.
Right?