My heart drops, thudding heavily in the pit of my stomach. Claire pinning the
murder on me would actually be convenient. It will absolutely destroy any reputation I have as an author, but that wouldn’t be the worst of it. They could press charges, fabricate evidence against me, and convict me. And I wouldn’t be
going to jail, but right back into Claire’s hands.
Fuck. Me.
“Zade isn’t going to let anything happen to you, Addie,” Daya assures.
“Don’t panic. We’ll figure it out, and I’m sure this is something he would’ve planned for.”
Though she can’t see me, I nod my head. It does little to calm my racing heart.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have—”
“Addie, don’t be one of those where you’re only sorry you got caught. Be
sorry because it doesn’t sit right in your soul, if that’s truly how you feel. If I’m being honest, I feel nothing about ending Luke’s life, so I guess we’re both on God’s shitlist or whatever. Regardless, what we’re doing with Claire? It’s huge.
Bigger than you or me. And it’s going to save a lot of lives.”
I nod my head again, squeezing my eyes shut tightly.
“I know, you’re right. I’m not sorry for what I did.” I blow out a heavy breath. “I just don’t know what’s going to happen, and I’m scared.”
“We’re going to be okay. Remember who you have on your side.”
On cue, I feel a touch brush away my hand from my shoulder before
replacing it with his own, digging his thumb into that persistent knot.
My hand drops, and a mix of pain and pleasure erupt from where his skilled
fingers work my muscles.
“I remember,” I murmur, trapping a moan in my throat when he hits a
particularly painful spot. “Thank you, Daya. I’ll call you later, okay?”
The second we hang up, I let loose a groan. I figured if Daya heard that, it might disturb her. His other hand joins the assault, drawing out more sounds of pleasure. It hurts so fucking good.
“Daya break the news?” he asks quietly in a deep timbre.
“Yeah,” I answer with a cracked voice.
“Nothing—”
“Is going to happen to me, I know,” I cut in. “But sometimes things don’t go
to plan.”
He directs me around, and I turn with a tired sigh. His scar crinkles from his
amused grin, noting the sassy look on my face.
“You’re going to want to tune into the news at eight o’clock then.”
My brows knit, and a frown curls my lips down. “What did you do?”
“I haven’t done it yet, but I’m going to.” He flicks my nose, and I sputter in
response, slapping away his hand. His smile grows, taking over his scarred face
and brightening his yin-yang eyes.
Jesus, his smile is fucking dangerous. It easily stops my heart.
“Eight o’clock, little mouse. It’ll hurt my feelings if you miss it.”
“You can’t sit there, Addie! You’ll be sitting right in Baine’s lap. And he’s
awfully bony, so he won’t be very comfortable.”
My ass is popped out mid-air, suspended over my leather couch when she
stops me.
“Uhm, okay,” I sigh, a smidge tired of avoiding my own damn furniture
because Sibby’s imaginary friends are sitting all over it. Can’t they stand? It’s not like their invisible legs are going to get tired.
I straighten and Sibby gasps loudly, causing me to jump and almost drop my
wine.
“What?” I ask, alarmed, searching the couch for a spider or something. They
don’t scare me, but Sibby tends to morph into an even smaller child when bugs
come out.
“I am so sorry, Addie. Baine grabbed your ass. Baine, don’t do that! Zade is going to kill you, ya know? He gets his balls in a knot when people touch her.”
“Balls in a knot?” I mutter, both confused and utterly fucking frazzled. I hike
a thumb over my shoulder awkwardly when she continues to berate Baine.
“I’m gonna go over here,” I mumble, just a little disturbed. I turn on the TV
and flip to Channel 8. They’re droning on about Xavier again, and I immediately
break out into a sweat, waiting for my picture to pop up as a person of interest.
I think if I were, the police would have already come knocking, but my
anxiety gets away from me anyway.
Taking a large gulp of wine, I glance at the time on my phone and note that
it’s 7:59 PM. If I know Zade, whatever he’s about to pull, he’ll be on time. Eight
on the dot, to the very second.
I take another sip, rolling my eyes when Sibby’s hand slides up her thigh, pushing up her black polka-dot dress, and then proceeds to slap at her own hand, yelling at Mortis for trying to hit on her in front of me. She’s getting better about keeping the sexual activities to herself.
My heart trips over itself when the image of the reporter on TV begins to skip
and then turns to static before cutting out. I gasp when a picture of a man replaces the reporter, his black hood drawn over his head and face covered with a familiar black mask with a dramatic frown, and a slash through the eye.
No fucking way.
Slowly, I stand, my mouth open as I near the TV.
“Greetings, fellow Americans,” Zade starts, my brows jumping when I hear how abnormally deep his voice is. He altered it. “In light of the disappearance of oil tycoon, Xavier Delano, this is a message for the police force, all government officials, and as always, the people of this country.”
Zade crosses his black-gloved hands, seeming to get comfortable.
“Xavier Delano was buying young women as sex slaves from human
traffickers, then murdering them when he grew bored. I have released all evidence of this online. Pictured above are several women who he bought, tortured, raped, and killed. Remember their names. I have. In honor of all the women who lost their lives to this man, I took matters into my own hands. Xavier Delano is not missing. He’s dead.”
Zade leans forward and cocks his head. An eeriness pulses through the radio
waves emitting from the screen. Raw danger radiates throughout my bones when
I look into the bottomless holes where his eyes are hidden. I shiver, delighting in
the feel of it.
“He is not the first to suffer the consequences of his actions, and he will not