The Chaos She Brings (Murderously Romantic #2)

Chapter 1

There’s No Way I’m Getting My Security Deposit Back

Tess to Carina: Help [unsent]

Tess

How do you hide a dead body?

No, seriously. I’m actually asking. Because it’s not like I can google this shit. And I have one staring me right in the face.

Think, Tess.

Who do I know that might help? Or would know who to call?

It’s not like you can just text someone: Oh, hi! Sorry for the out of the blue message. Don’t suppose you’re any good at disposing of dead bodies? Also please don’t call the police :).

I have the grand total of one friend.

She seems pretty resourceful.

But this?

Ah fuck it.

I need help.

Like, yesterday.

My boyfriend is a steaming pile of dog shit. Or is it ex-boyfriend? Late boyfriend? What do you even call someone who tried to kill you but ended up on the losing side of a fight with home décor?

He was nice. Sweet even. Or so I thought. Then he just fucking snapped.

Literally.

One minute, we were watching Bridgerton and fighting over who could have the leftover Chinese, then the next, he had his hands around my throat, and he was choking the life out of me. I couldn’t breathe as I clawed at his wrists, my face going red as I gasped for air.

And I thought to myself, I had two options: die, or make sure he did.

Someone else might’ve come up with an option three—call the police or try to de-escalate—but I’m not someone else.

So, I reached out and got my fingers around the closest object, which just so happened to be my favourite lamp.

I swung it as hard as I could, the thing making a hollow thunk against his thick skull, and the bastard released me.

But I wasn’t done. No, I slammed it down, again, and again, and again, and… you get the picture.

But in case you didn’t—blood and gore splattered everywhere.

Which means, when I said there was a corpse staring at me, that was a lie. Because his face is caved the fuck in. So, he’s not looking at anyone again.

I’ve been staring at his smashed-up brain for the last hour as I try to work out what the hell I’m supposed to do now.

There’s a strange calmness about me that would probably be concerning to most people. It’s not like I’m a seasoned killer—this is my first.

First, Tess? Really.

Let’s rephrase. This is my only murder. I have no plans to do it again.

Despite the unusualness, I don’t feel guilty.

In fact, I’m not sure I feel anything other than the thudding of my heart in my chest as I desperately try to work out how the fuck I’m going to get away with this.

I’m certainly not about to go down for murder when it was him that started it. No thank you.

So, that leaves me with one option: call in my best friend.

I know better than to text Carina about this, but calling is different. Right?

“Please pick up. Please pick up,” I mutter, phone pressed to my ear.

“Hullo?”

Oh fuck. She actually answered. What the hell do I say?

“Tess?”

“Hey girlie! How are ya?” I wince at myself. Did that sound natural? I’m pretty sure my voice comes out too bright. Like I’m forcing a smile on my face. Which, to be fair, I am. If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry and all that.

“Tess, it’s midnight, you better tell me what you want or I’m hanging up.”

Okay. Here goes nothing. “Uhh… I have a… situation.”

There’s a pause, like she’s debating whether she even wants to know. “What kind of situation?”

Just say it. “ImurderedmyboyfriendandIneedtohidethebody.”

“Come again?”

“I have a dead body in my living room and I need someone to help me dispose of it.”

Silence.

At what point do I say this is a prank? April fools? In June?

“Alright. Not the weirdest thing I’ve heard. Tell me what happened?”

Not the weirdest—? What fucked up shit has she done?

I relay the summarised version of events and hold my breath as I wait to see if she’ll help.

“One sec.”

There’re whispers on the other side of the phone and then, “I’m sending over my cleaner.”

“A cleaner.” My voice is flat. “Did you even hear me? I have a dead body in my house. Now is not the time for someone to come clean my toilets.”

I swear I can hear her rolling her eyes over the phone.

She sighs, long-suffering. “Not that kind of cleaner. Kai specialises in… situations like this.”

Oh.

Oh!

“And you… use him often?”

“All the time.”

“What the hell kind of charity are you running?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Pretty sure I’m very worried about it.”

“Kai’s on his way. Sit tight.”

“Thanks, Cari.” I let out a breath of relief that someone is coming to help me.

“I’m coming over too, it’s all going to be fine.”

Carina was my best friend growing up, though when I knew her, she was called Naomi. Then, she disappeared. Poof. I never heard from her again.

That is, until I saw her in Starbucks last year. She was some badass woman in a pink suit, but I recognised her instantly. We got chatting, and our friendship has re-solidified.

A few months ago, after a different boyfriend got a bit handsy with me, we’d been having a wine night and she’d said, “If you ever find yourself in real trouble—call me. No questions asked.” I’d laughed it off then, thinking she was being dramatic.

But now, with Jake's blood pooling around his head, those words feel like a lifeline.

I don’t know if this is the kind of situation she was implying at the time, but I really didn’t have anyone else to turn to.

Looks like I made the right call, even if it does leave me with more questions.

We hang up after I promise to keep her in the loop.

Now what? I just wait?

Jake’s lifeless form mocks me from the other side of the room. It’s always the J names, isn’t it?

I haven’t found the strength to move from my position where my back is pressed to the wall furthest away from him. My flat isn’t exactly big—this is London, after all—but my landlord lets me pay less rent if, in return, I fix the many, many maintenance issues myself.

Oh. My. God.

There’s no way I’m getting my security deposit back.

Are there bigger things I should be worrying about?

Maybe how I just killed a man? How I’ll never be able to get the smell of his rotten body out of my nostrils?

Perhaps. But honestly, I don’t think like I’m very shaken up about that.

Which is concerning, but I’m trying not to dwell on that strange turn of events.

I’m more annoyed that his blood is seeping into my very expensive Persian rug that’s now going to have to go in the bin. Goodbye, four hundred pounds I’m never getting back. I only bought it last week as well.

Other than the blood and brains splattering my living room floor the rest of the place looks pretty much like normal. My cream sofa only has a few crimson splotches, and my coffee table somehow came away unscathed.

A knock at the door has me jumping about ten feet in the air.

Right. The mysterious cleaner.

I step around the body of my late lover and throw the door open like I’m welcoming the entire building to witness my disaster.

On the other side stands a man who looks like he just stepped out of a photoshoot for the World's Sexiest Man. The tight fitted black top and grey joggers give off this relaxed, casual man—someone who’d be completely chill being dragged out of bed at God knows what hour to dispose of a body.

I rake my gaze down his form and take in every glorious inch. The gods took their time with this one. He’s got the whole intentionally messy hair thing down to a T, and bluish-green eyes that are currently looking at me like I just killed his mother.

I didn’t. Just putting it out there.

Yeah, those eyes are not relaxed. In fact, now I’m looking more closely, I see his jaw locked tight, his fists clenched. I swallow.

His expression is intimidating alone.

And then there’s the sheer size of him.

This is fine. Carina trusts him. He must be nice.

I force a bright smile. “Kai?”

“You’d be pretty fucked if I wasn’t.”

“Excuse me?” I stammer, taken aback by his bluntness.

“Did you even check the peephole?”

Uh. “No?”

He rolls his eyes, strides in, and shuts the door with a quiet thud behind him.

I trail after him like a nervous puppy unsure of what to do next, while he takes in my apartment like it’s a piece of abstract art he’s trying to decode.

“So… Carina says you’ve handled this kind of thing before?” I ask, sounding like I’m trying to convince myself more than him.

“You could say that.”

He starts pulling out various bottles from a bag like he’s about to pour them all into a cauldron and magic the body away. That would be pretty cool to see actually.

“You going to just stand there and look pretty or help me?” he asks, not even looking at me as he starts wrapping the body in some thick tarp.

“You think I’m pretty?” I can’t stop the blush heating my cheeks.

His head whips up and his gaze slowly drags down the whole length of me. My stomach tightens at the intensity as his eyes blaze with a heat for a moment before it’s gone and his head drops back down to focus on Jake’s corpse.

“You’re beautiful. But that’s not exactly the priority here.”

He thinks I’m pretty!

I mentally roll my eyes. You have a dead body to deal with Tess—your boy…ex-boyfriend's body to be precise. Do not lust after this man.

“Right. Yep. Okay. How can I help, Sergeant?” I stand up straight and give a little salute. Nice one. Thank God his head was down so no one witnessed that little embarrassment.

“We’re going to have to rip up your carpet. There’s no salvaging that. But this,” he hands me a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, “should get the stains out of your sofa. Spray it on, then leave it for twenty minutes before wiping it off.”

I start spraying each splotch of blood, praying to any god that will listen that he’s right. After the twenty minutes are done, he hands me some paper towel to dab it with, then a microfiber cloth to wipe away the excess. Low and behold, my cream sofa actually looks exactly as it did before.

A knock sounds through the flat.