Chapter 9
Sophia
My brain pounded against my skull in time with my heartbeat, and a softball-sized knot settled in my stomach. Resting my elbows on the desk, I leaned forward, raking my fingers through my hair as I cradled my head, shielding my eyes from the glare of my monitor.
Pre-vomit saliva pooled in my mouth. I forced it down.
I was no stranger to wine. Normally, I limited myself to a glass or two a night—just enough to take the edge off. You know, normal things people who didn’t commit homicide for a living did.
But between Masie nearly passing out at the gym and the looming possibility that I might have to kill Sebby, I was stressed to say the least.
So two glasses turned into three. Three turned into a bottle. And one bottle maybe turned into two.
But I could work with a hangover. That was a skill I believed every twenty-something should possess. What I couldn’t work with was Momma calling me into another early-morning meeting.
Seriously, I’d watched the sun rise and sobered up during this video call, and she was still talking.
God. Did I talk this much?
No. There was no way.
“Sophia, you’re not listening again,” Momma said, her patience clearly wearing thin.
…If I kept pushing, could I make her mad enough to hang up?
I folded my hands on the desk and tilted my head, staring at her through the screen. All crow’s feet and no smile lines. I hoped I didn’t look like that when I got old; I mean, come on—Momma could totally afford Botox.
“No, I’m listening. We just had this meeting yesterday, and I’m bored.”
Plus, I needed a greasy breakfast, a cup of coffee, and a fistful of aspirin.
“And you never responded with a clear plan on how to prove Sebastian’s innocence.”
A groan clawed out of my chest. Seriously? She couldn’t just trust me?
“I told you—he doesn’t want to get her pregnant. That means he’s not in a cult!”
I couldn’t remember much from last night, but the sensation of his bedazzled dick was etched into the nether regions of my spank bank. He only chose me because he didn’t want to knock anyone up.
“I have no evidence supporting that,” she said coolly. “And he could be lying.”
My eye twitched.
Were there consequences for killing your mom? Other than joining the dead moms club? Sure, she was the head of S.H.A.D.E., but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d killed someone I knew. Definitely not the first time I’d killed a mother.
Plus, each unsanctioned murder only cost five years of service. I’d killed eight people and only gotten caught for seven. Even if I got caught for one more, I’d only be breaking even. Right?
Girl math.
I slumped back in my chair and rubbed my temples.
“Momma,” I said slowly, “I don’t have to prove he’s innocent. You’re the one trying to prove he’s guilty.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It should be.”
She didn’t respond. Just gave me that look. The one that said, you’re lucky I didn’t tell Mom she raised a murderer.
I let out a long, dramatic sigh, buying myself time to form a plan—but before I could, a knock sounded at the door.
Oh, thank God.
“We’re not done here. Tell whoever it is to go away,” Momma ordered.
Fudge.
“I’m not doing that. You know my family, and I’m wearing headphones.” I tapped the speaker covering my ear. “So I’m not worried.”
Her jaw tightened. “Sophia—”
“Come in!” I called, loud enough to hurt my own head.
Ugh. This was the worst. I’d say I’d never drink again, but that would be a big, fat lie.
I paused long enough to Google whether more alcohol actually helped a hangover. I didn’t find the answer before the door creaked open on old hinges.
Sebby stood in the doorway, wearing a cobalt blue shirt that clung to his chest and hugged his biceps. In one hand, he carried a wooden tray. The scent of eggs and hash browns drifted in with him, making my mouth water and my stomach lurch all at once.
“Mason thought you might be hungry,” he said sheepishly, his diamond-blue eyes fixed on the floor like he couldn’t bear to meet my gaze.
Sebby was a sweet boy. Probably didn’t know what to do the morning after sex. I knew he didn’t—I’d heard Cameron tell the story about how Sebastian cooked him rubbery eggs after the first time they hooked up. But this wasn’t our first time, so I wasn’t sure why he was acting weird.
I forced a sweet smile. “She was right. Like always.”
Seb nodded and placed the tray on my desk.
I immediately grabbed the coffee. I expected him to leave, but instead, he lingered awkwardly in front of my desk, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“What’s up, buttercup?” I asked, sipping from the mug.
Warm caffeine and sweet vanilla hit my bloodstream, and my migraine dulled slightly.
He hesitated, picking at a callus on his thumb before mumbling, “Can we talk?”
I perked up. Perfect. If he wanted to talk, I could get him to say something about not wanting to get Mason pregnant. Momma would hear. Case closed.
“Mhm. What can I do for my favorite pet?” I purred, conveniently ignoring the fact that all my submissives were my favorite.
His cheeks flushed, and he gnawed on his lower lip. For a second, I thought he might chicken out.
“I… before coming here—” he gestured vaguely toward the house, “I was in a really bad relationship.”
I sat up straighter, debating whether I should discreetly hang up on Momma. This didn’t feel like something someone who hated Sebby should be listening to.
“He used to touch me in ways I didn’t like,” Seb continued, “and… he used to say a lot of things that made me feel less than I was.”
Well, shoot.
Now I couldn’t waste my free kill on Momma; I had to find this guy. Men who felt entitled to destroy their partners were my favorite to kill. There was something poetic about forcing a man to die after he’d spent his life forcing someone else to suffer.
Sebastian kept talking, but I wasn’t listening. My brain was too busy plotting.
I tapped my fingers to my lips, already thinking through logistics. Seb had a house in Portland, which meant his ex likely lived nearby. I could disguise the trip as a family visit. Poison would be easy to hide. I just needed a name.
Seb’s lips were still moving. Whatever. Couldn’t be that important.
While I was going to murder someone—and S.H.A.D.E. would bury the evidence—I didn’t want to outright incriminate myself while my mother was still on the call.
There was no fun in murder if you got away with it too easily.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said, folding my hands and cutting him off.
His mouth hung open for a second before closing again.
“I—okay,” he stammered. “Well, if it’s that easy, I’ll just—”
“Do you really not want to have another baby with Mason?”
His eyes widened. Full-on deer-in-the-headlights moment. Adorable.
He pushed his glasses up with one finger. “Uh, yeah. I have no interest in having another kid. Ever.”
My gaze flicked to the screen to make sure Momma was still watching.
She was.
“Is there a reason?” I pressed, trying to get as much on the record as possible.
“Because three kids are enough?” He chuckled nervously. “Why is this coming up?”
I shrugged. “No reason.”
Seb nodded like I was the weird one—and, to be fair, he was probably right. He slipped out of the room, probably afraid I’d ask a hundred more questions.
Once I was alone with the video call, I turned to Momma and shot her a self-satisfied smirk.
Every time I felt good about the work I’d done, Momma made it her personal mission to ruin it. I thought having Sebastian explain—pretty much to her face—that he didn’t want more kids would be solid evidence.
But of course, Momma disagreed.
I hadn’t gone through all the hoops to “legally obtain” the information. And she swore up and down that Sebby could still be lying, which he wasn’t.
But she couldn’t know that. She wasn’t here.
Ugh.
Why did Sebby have to tell me about the other guy?
My life would be so much easier if I just offed Momma. But I couldn’t. So instead, I sat through a meeting that ran another two hours.
By the time I finally got the old bat off the call, it was well past lunch.
That meant all the kids should’ve been at daycare, and the brothers should’ve been at work.
It wasn’t too hot out, so I figured Cameron would be outside—working the property or pretending to—but that theory fell apart the second I came downstairs.
Cam wasn’t tending the farm at all.
He was sitting at the kitchen island, talking to Mason while she snacked on something I couldn’t see. They were close—too close. Their shoulders brushed like magnets, and their voices were low, like they didn’t want anyone else to hear.
Which was rude.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs for a second, peering through the archway like a Peeping Tom. Mason’s hand rested on the counter, and Cameron brushed his fingers across it.
I tilted my head, trying to figure out if the gesture was meant to be seductive… or reassuring.
And if it was the latter, why did Mason need reassurance?
She leaned in and whispered something into his ear. Cameron stiffened. I couldn’t see his face, but his posture shifted—like someone had just handed him a freshly hatched bird and told him not to drop it.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his deep drawl barely audible.
Mason nodded.
And Cameron froze again.
Not only was this rude, it was suspicious. So I did the only reasonable thing: I waltzed into the kitchen like I hadn’t just been spying on them.
“Good morning!” I sang, heading for the fridge.
Both of them jumped like they’d been caught in the middle of something illegal.
Which… maybe they had.
I hummed to myself as I pulled sandwich supplies from the fridge, keeping one eye on Mason. Normally, she had lunch ready for me and Cam by noon sharp. But today?
Nothing.
I paused mid-reach, turkey in hand, and frowned. She wasn’t feeling well this morning. Said so herself. But maybe it was more than that.
“Well, this is a warm welcome,” I said, dropping the turkey on the counter. “You both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Mason’s face paled further—which, honestly, was impressive.
Cameron recovered first, of course. He was too used to me.
“’Course we did. You snuck up on us and scared the daylights outta Mason,” he said, placing a dramatic hand over his chest like I’d given him a heart attack.
I smiled sweetly, then walked over to plant a kiss on his scruffy cheek. There was always a little spark when I kissed Cam. Not fireworks, just a steady flicker of warmth. Four years together had made it feel comfortable, like a morning cup of coffee.
“I’ll knock next time,” I said, then gestured to the sandwich fixings. “Want one?”
He scratched his beard and hesitated. Hesitated.
That was weird.
Cameron was six-foot-nine, built like a brick wall, and had a very physically demanding job. He never said no to food.
“I need to run to the store,” he said, clearing his throat.
I tipped my head like an inquisitive golden retriever, hair cascading over my shoulder. Mason looked down at the counter and suddenly became very interested in a speck of nothing.
“Can’t it wait?” I asked lightly.
Cam glanced at her again. There was something in that look, something tight and quiet and a little scared. Then he shook his head and moved toward the door.
He didn’t bother explaining. Just slipped on his boots, grabbed his keys, and walked out like he couldn’t get away fast enough.
Okay. That was suspicious.
I slowly turned back to Mason, who was still seated at the island, now very clearly trying to make herself invisible. I was willing to bet money on the fact she was hiding something, and I wasn’t going to stop until I figured out what.