37. Ivy
Ivy
I ’m walking to the restaurant where I’m meeting Jared for, in his words, “our date.” The guy seems to move on quickly for someone in mourning over his ex-girlfriend.
My phone buzzes, and my heels stop clicking against the pavement as I freeze in place at the name on my screen. I answer Anya Ivanov’s call.
The only reason I have her number is because she called me once trying to find Hawke, who had later been found in a field after killing three men and lost his phone and car keys in the process.
It’s only because my father could track his car in the first place that they found him, and I heard about it all week as my father complained that he had to help the little shit at all.
I never understood why she called me then, and I sure as shit don’t understand why she’s calling me now. But I certainly know better than not to answer when Anya Ivanov calls.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hello, Ivy. I’m sending you details for a party River, and I will be hosting. We look forward to seeing you there.” And then she hangs up.
“Hello?” I say, looking down at the phone. Okay, that was fucking weird.
As promised, details come through for a party being thrown a few days from now. My mind goes blank. Okay, I’m not even focusing on whatever the fuck that was about until after this. I’m sure Billie has all the details and will be going as well, so it’ll be fine.
Except maybe it won’t. If everyone in our circle knows that Hawke and I are sleeping together, I’m sure it hasn’t taken long for his parents to hear about it.
Which I know will eventually get back to my parents, and I’m not really sure how they will handle that kind of news.
My mother loves Hawke. My father, however…
will probably hunt him down to the ends of the earth, promising him immediate death.
Whatever. I’m not dealing with those spiraling thoughts right now.
I walk into the restaurant and give my name to the hostess, who then takes me to where Jared is waiting. I try to put on a sympathetic smile, playing the part of the grieving friend who’s worried about his mourning, which is very fucking difficult when I know he’s the one who slit her throat.
I’d gathered enough information to confirm it was him. All I need is the name of who he’s working for but more importantly, why he did it.
He stands and gives me a hug, which I grudgingly return. “Sorry I couldn’t come back sooner; I had some business to deal with,” he says as he takes the seat across from me.
“No problem. I’m sure you’re dealing with a lot.” I lean across the table and lay my hand over his. His gaze dips straight to the contact, and his face softens as if falling into the role he’s supposed to play. Piece of shit .
“I knew you’d eventually come around,” he says, signaling to the waiter that he’s ready for the food that he’s pre-ordered for the table.
This man does not waste any time, and the waiter places two plates in front of us.
If this were a real date, I’d probably walk out the door at the fact that he ordered me a fucking salad. Asshole .
But I grit my teeth and smile as I ask, “What do you mean?”
He sighs as if he’s reluctant to tell me, but it’s all an act. For the first time, I can see the real Jared. I never had a reason to look deeper before. “I always liked you, you know that, right?”
A lump forms in my throat. Is this guy fucking serious? Then again, I’m pretty sure men who slit their girlfriends’ throats don’t exactly tread on the side of sanity. “I don’t know if it’s appropriate, what with Makayla’s death, you know. It’d be wrong to?—”
“We were never that serious,” he interrupts as he reaches across the table and takes my hand.
I resist the urge to pull my hand away from his.
This guy is out of his fucking mind, but if I can use that to my advantage, I will.
Whether he confesses or not, everything else is in motion.
I’m just the bait. But I want him to confess.
I need him to admit to me what he did was wrong and all kinds of fucked-up.
Makayla wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t deserve to be manipulated and murdered by this piece of shit.
I sigh contemplatively, playing the role I’ve given myself for this evening. “You’re not around very much. You seem to jump around from place to place.”
“You do, too.” He’s not wrong. “It doesn’t have to be anything serious.”
I shrug. “I’m starting to like Manhattan a little more lately. I’m taking more jobs here, so I think I’m after something stable.”
His eyebrows dip as he licks his lips. “I’ve just got this new job that I can’t really pull out of anytime soon. But I’m making a fuck-ton of money from it, so it’ll be better for us. I can spoil you.”
I try to hold back the vomit that wants to rise up my throat.
As if a piece of shit like this could ever spoil me.
I wonder when the crazy started for him or if it was something that was always beneath the surface, waiting to be exploited.
I consider my next words carefully as I lean in, giving a clear view of my cleavage.
“I don’t know if you can handle me. Besides, I’ve just started some new work too. I can’t really go into much detail, but it pays well too.”
“Really?” he purrs, staring at my tits.
“Yep.” I smack my lips together, and his gaze goes straight to them as if hypnotized. I place my hand under the table on his knee. “You have me curious now. I want to hear more about your job.”
His gaze snaps to my eyes, but I don’t let it deter me. I’m a confident woman; getting men to respond to me has never been difficult. And I won’t allow Jared to be an exception. Once he’s in my trap, it’s game over.
“I really shouldn’t…”
I giggle. “Now I’m even more intrigued. I like a man with secrets. Someone who’s doing mysterious things. Makes for a good time. But I do have high expectations of a man if he says he can look after me.”
He licks his lips, and I know for a fact that Jared has never been with a woman like me, and it makes it easy to play on the fantasy.
“Uh, well… It’s not exactly… legal,” he stammers, and I slide my hand farther up his thigh, dragging my nails against his pants. I bet the pour guy is already rock hard. “I mean, I don’t think it’s that bad, though.”
“What is it?” I encourage.
“Drugs,” he blurts quietly as I squeeze as high as my hand can reach.
“Oooh,” I purr. He’s staring at my mouth and licking his lips. This guy couldn’t be any easier to lure into a honeytrap. “What kind of drugs? The fun kind?” I arch an eyebrow.
Wherever this is leading, I hope it gives me an indication of his employer, or I’ll thread it into a confession of Makayla’s murder.
I know I’ll get the answers, but I want them for myself.
I want to crack this man in two since I’ve been consumed with him for the last two weeks.
I want the answers. I need them for my own peace.
“Just stuff. But my boss pays me a lot of money for it. But sometimes he’s intense.”
“Intense is good, isn’t it?” I ask, pretending like I care.
“Not like this guy. He was unhappy with a recent mistake I made, and so I had to do a job I wasn’t comfortable with,” he admits.
Interesting.
“Everything okay? You can tell me, you know. It’s not easy keeping things to yourself,” I push.
He stares at the food between us, and I feel the shift before I see it in his gaze. Has the asshole actually snapped?
“No, it’s not okay. I wouldn’t have had to do it if the drugs just worked on you and shit didn’t start going pear-shaped.”
My entire body freezes. Did he just say what I think he did?
No way, surely not. A manic smile slowly creeps onto his lips as I retract my hand and realize he might be cracking far more quickly than I thought he might.
The thing with ordinary men is when they’re introduced into this world, not all of them can handle its expectations or its repercussions.
“What do you mean?” I ask, leaning back in my chair now. The Jared who was sitting across from me a moment before is gone. The facade of who or what he might’ve once been vanished.
I didn’t touch my food because I didn’t trust his intention before, and I certainly don’t trust it now. He studies me with curious eyes, and I wonder how I missed it. How I missed his interest in me. Because now when I look at him, I can see it clear as day written all over his face.
“If only it worked on you, and Lester didn’t go missing because of it. You should’ve just gone home with him like a good girl. That was our plan. It was as simple as that. I wish I could’ve seen you then, and we could’ve talked about us .”
“You were the one behind drugging me that night?” I ask quietly, realizing he’s furious with me as if I’m the reason it all went wrong.
It takes my breath away. I’d come to terms with what happened, but knowing it wasn’t just Lester but him as well?
It makes me feel sick. How many women…? I let the thought trail off.
I always assumed he and Makayla just had a weird relationship, and somehow they made it work.
She never really shared many details with me about him, and I never really cared enough to ask.
But this asshole has a few screws loose, and not in a fun way.
In a way that’s he nurtured himself to take advantage of women and then blame them for him having to face any kind of consequences.
He picks up his knife and fork, cuts into the steak, and puts a piece in his mouth, chewing furiously as if that will calm down his mood.
“I was just trying to create a time for us to speak privately. But every time we were at parties, you were always off with some other guy,” he grits out.
“You were with Makayla,” I remind him. Remember the dead ex-girlfriend you killed?!
“Fuck Makayla. She always got in the way,” he bites back.
I’m gobsmacked by how deranged this guy is, and I wish I had never touched him, even if I was only trying to get answers from him.
He’s looking around the restaurant now as if we’re being spied on, and I realize he’s living in a state of paranoia, certain he’s being watched or waiting for his fall when he makes another wrong move.
He’s a desperate man.
And desperate men end up in deeper trouble, or worse, in this world.
His hair is styled back, and he’s wearing a nice suit.
I thought at first it was because he was trying to impress me, but maybe this is him uncomfortably living in a world he was never cut out for.
And it’s very clear he wasn’t meant for it because I know men who certainly don’t squeal. Especially to impress a woman.
He makes me want to vomit. Not only would I never want him, I don’t even find him attractive.
Without a doubt, he’s the worst type of man.
“You’re awfully quiet. You should eat,” he says, pointing his knife at my salad.
“Did you do it?” I ask. Fuck this coy shit.
He’s going to pay for what he did anyway.
Now I want him to see me for the real me.
A powerful woman. One not enticed by his cheap cologne or rented suit.
A woman who basks in the world he so desperately wanted to be involved with and so clearly can’t handle.
He glances over his shoulder. This asshole’s in too deep, and he doesn’t know how to get out.
So I’ll make sure he’s taken out.
“Do what?”
“Makayla. Did you kill her?” I ask directly.
He stops cutting his steak and raises his gaze to mine. There’s a twinkle of being recognized but also the erratic movement of a man who’s about to crack.
“The possibility is there,” he says, glancing down at my tits.
“I never meant for it to happen. But I was punished for being sloppy here in Manhattan for selling the drugs. So I had to kill some politician’s daughter.
Makayla wasn’t supposed to be there that night, but when she heard I asked one of her friends on a date, she came anyway.
Convinced the other girl to have a threesome with us.
Maybe I should’ve fucked them both before I killed them.
” He’s speaking so rapidly now it’s like he’s glorifying his actions.
“I’m not a killer. I just had to show my boss I was dedicated, you know.
” Something changes in his expression, and he meets my eyes again.
“But girls like a bad boy anyway, right? I’d never hurt you. You’re different. You should eat.”
“No,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
He chuckles as if hearing no is a challenge, and he’s completely in control of this situation.
He reaches for his glass of wine and takes a sip.
“That’s what I’ve always liked about you.
You have a little more bite. Before I dated Makayla, do you even remember me trying to get your number?
” He’s trying to romanticize the situation.
Wow, this asshole is a total manipulator, but he’s fucking terrible at it. But I suppose if he’s encouraged women around him to take drugs, they’re more susceptible to it. I feel so stupid not having intervened with Makayla sooner. “It was you I wanted, but I settled for her to be closer to you.”
I consider the fork to my right and how it might look in his eye but curl my nails into my palms instead.
I might be boiling inside, fueled by rage, but a killer I’m not.
Not for him. But it doesn’t mean there aren’t ways to hurt a man, just a little.
Because someone has to do it, right? I think, shooting a quick glance at the steak knife on my right.
“But it’s okay. That obstacle is gone now.
I made it work for us,” he says, deranged.
“I even came back sooner than I thought I’d be able to, just so I could see you.
Can’t you see how much I love you?” I think I’m going to be sick.
“Let’s go back to my place after this and talk about it. We’ll have more privacy there.”
Nausea churns in my stomach. This guy actually believes what he’s saying, and I don’t know if this is before or after he killed Makayla and the other woman. I can’t tell if he was sane or wasn’t. But one thing’s obvious—he killed them to save his own ass, and they never deserved that.
My nails are biting into the palm of my hand because I know I need to lead him somewhere secluded so the boys can grab him, but I don’t want to be anywhere near him.
Just as I’m about to agree and suggest we leave now, a voice booms over my shoulder, and all that nauseating tension curling in my stomach quickly dissipates.
Even if it’s not the plan, I feel safer knowing he’s here.
“Sorry to interrupt, lover, but I heard there was a fuckhead trying to steal my girl.”
But he’s a little before his cue.