DECEIT (B723) by Hazel Grace (ebook reader for surface pro .TXT) 📕

eyes latch to mine. “You think Alexander did it?”

“What if Emmy told him that he wasn’t the father and they fought?”

“Still doesn’t mean he’s…I mean, yeah, he’d be the reason she was upset but…I dunno, man.”

“Something’s off, Ky. It doesn’t feel right.” He gives me a remorseful stare and adjusts his weight.

“You’re just looking for another outcome, brother. Nothing is going to bring her back. There’s no one to blame. It was an accident. Even if it wasn’t, Lucien would’ve said something.”

I ignore him because he’s wrong. “We could look up the street cameras and shit.”

Kyson hits me with an exasperated look. “Dude…alright, if it’ll get it out of your system.” He frowns. “But leave Mills alone.”

“Fuck you,” I reply slowly. “And, no. I’ll hire an outside source.”

“Why he’d want to know. Everyone would.”

“I’m not asking him.” Kyson’s eyes constrict. “Do you want me to kill him?”

“I’ll ask,” he replies off a sigh. “And get what we need.” I steal another look at the baby in his arms. “It’s Alaric.”

I nod, already know that. I need another drink, but I want to take off from this party more. I’ve already experienced too much shit for the day.

“You wanna hold him?”

“No, I’ve already held one.”

Kyson chuckles, deep in his chest as if he’s amused by my discomfort. “Don’t tell me you’re going to treat them differently.”

“I’m not going to treat them anyway because I’m not going to associate with the little betrayal spawns.”

“And that’s their fault?”

I wave a dismissive hand in the air. “I’m out. I’ve had enough family for the day.”

“You’re not ditching,” Kyson counters, kicking me with his foot. “Cake, then we’ll ask Mills together. If he doesn’t agree at least you can be useful and threaten him so more. I’ll allow that as a loophole.”

“Ky—“ My lips smirk in a sinister lift. “—you know better than to order me around. I’m taking off.”

“Fine.” He lets his one word settle with the hidden message of him not moving this silent investigation any further than this shitty conversation.

Kyson has always had this aggravating way of getting me to agree to something. The asshole should’ve been a lawyer or car salesman with the way he leaves an open-ended issue still lingering over your head.

He knows what I want and will make me come to terms with how it’s going to go down and for how much.

With me not killing Mills and with my pride shoved up my ass.

I’ve breached all levels of patience and the lines that have been crossed. Alexander showed up at Marty’s birthday party, and that’s all Mills had to tell me to push aside all the petty and mind-eating ideas I wanted to evoke on him.

He’s too close to my family.

He’s getting too fucking pushy and I’m going to just kill him now before he can do anything else.

It’ll rouse a problem of what to do with his body or what I have to create to make his sudden death look like an accident, but I’ll take care of it later.

Alexander is dead tonight.

Dressed in all black, I already have a key card for his penthouse from stopping by and staying with him on nights when he got off work late. But the beeping sound when I hovered it over his door would tip him off that someone was coming inside, and I’m looking for the element of surprise.

So I use my cute but significant magnet in my hand. It’ll demagnetize and jack up the mechanisms in the lock, so I won’t need to do anything but quietly turn the knob.

My heart is racing so quickly in my chest that it’s in my ears. I wait two breaths before attempting to open it.

I think of how cold his eyes were when he stalked towards with his knife. How he didn’t care that he was about to finish me off with our unborn children inside of my belly.

It sends an unwanted chill of goosebumps up my arms, but I ignore them as I twist the metal knob and pad through the threshold.

Inside, the living space is pitch black besides the city lights that sweep into horizontal lines through his kitchen. Thankfully, I’ve been in this place over a hundred times so I can navigate his coffee table and where his rug starts on the floor.

The room still holds the scent of citrus, and I’m about five or six steps in is when my whole body freezes in suspense.

I can smell him.

The leather and nutmeg mixed with cigarettes.

Bishop.

Slowly, I train my eyes to search in the dark to make sure he’s not already seated somewhere. Watching me like he did back in that Pittsburgh hotel when I brought back Armageddon.

My mind sprints in all sorts of directions—why is he here, is he fucking insane, and how the hell do I get him out?

Then where is he, or did he leave already?

I’m practically stuck in my spot for several reasons because searching Alexander’s space will only result in him possibly running into me or vice versa.

You might as well expose yourself. If you kill Alexander, the game is over. 

Or he’ll throw the biggest bitch fit and tip my ex off that someone is in his place. 

My brain tells me to retreat and try again later, but my heart, it lunges for him. It wants to be selfish and be recognized by the man I married.

The one I never divorced.

The one who didn’t get away but wanted to be kept within his own safety of emotions and thoughts where nothing and no one could hurt him.

Except I did hurt him.

I pretended to be dead, and only then did I see a speck of true feelings leave that man’s body.

I have to go. 

Slowly, I double back my steps, and that’s when I hear the elevator ping outside the hall.

Thank fuck I took the stairs. 

Remembering the small closet behind me, I find my forced hiding spot. The front door opens a moment later, then the knob jingles, and I hear Alexander’s muttered fuck. 

Keys are thrown on