Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Hey, heard they’re booking Brandon,” he says when he answers.
“It’s not Brandon. It’s Guy.”
“”What?” Roman’s voice is laced with confusion.
“Guy’s the killer,” I rush the words out.
Roman chokes in surprise. “Are you serious? How do you know?”
“He’s taken Chloe. Get your brother and meet me at Guy’s house.”
“I’m on my way.”
I race downtown, hoping Chloe’s alright. Praying she’s not hurt. Knowing when I get my hands on that motherfucker, I’ll make him pay for this.
Chapter 43
Chloe
* * *
I glance out over the dark waters of a lake. The night air is still and silent, like it waits with cautious anticipation to see what the night brings us.
The water of the lake laps at a sprawling hemlock, fascinating and too overgrown. Near the lake is a wooded area, and I wonder if I can run fast enough to sneak into it before Guy notices I’m gone.
I’ve been planning and plotting my escape since the moment he abducted me and threw me into the back of his grandmother’s beat-up station wagon.
“You’re the ultimate Greedy Girl,” Guy says, reemerging from downstairs.
He’s got me locked away in his own little tower, in a master bedroom that overlooks the lake. As he walks in the room, I ponder whether I can jump from the balcony when he leaves again.
I haven’t engaged in conversation with him because I know it’ll only piss him off more. In a fantasy world, I’d love for the fucker to lunge at me so I can break his nose and escape. But the reality is, I can’t overpower Guy. He’s got about a foot and a half height on me, and a good seventy-five pounds of weight on me. And a gun.
But I can’t just stand here and do nothing. There’s always the possibility that if he loses control, I could surprise him.
“It’s like you’re my final masterpiece. Taking away the one woman Devereaux cares about.” He brings his fingers to his mouth and kisses the tips. “Perfection.”
“You make me sick,” I tell him, glancing out the floor-to-ceiling slider that leads to the balcony. It’s locked, and I can’t figure out how to open it or I’d have jumped and taken off in a sprint by now. “Why go through all of this?”
Guy scoffs at my statement. “The whole town’s in a frenzy over some worthless whores. Who cares if they’re dead? They were trash. Besides, haven’t you seen the news? They caught the killer.” He smacks his gum and then laughs.
I swallow hard, trying not to reveal my anger. “No one deserves to die.”
Guy powers forward, eating up the space of the large master suite. “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. How can you be a cop and not believe there’s good and bad people in this world? I killed a couple hookers, who cares? But you…” He shakes his head with a sinister smile that implies he can’t wait to off me.
I try to get through to him. “Just because someone does bad things doesn’t mean they deserve to die. Besides, who made you the judge and jury?”
He chortles again, and the sound makes me want to vomit. Like straight up puke all over him. “Why shouldn’t I be the judge? I’ve lived by the law my entire life and look where it’s gotten me. Nowhere. I’ve got more bills than I know what to do with and a fucking pension I’ll never see.”
An icy knot forms in my stomach. “No one made you become a cop.”
“He has my life,” he screams at me.
I rear back. “Who?”
“Devereaux Huxley. I should be the rich billionaire with more women than I know what to do with.” He stabs a finger in his chest. “That should be me.”
He’s got my attention now. “What do you mean?”
“We have the same father. Yes, Daddy Dearest chose his mother over mine. He got them both pregnant and decided to marry Devereaux’s mother and leave my mother penniless.”
I gape at his revelation. “That’s not true.”
His eyes blaze with hatred. “Oh, it’s true. When I was seventeen, I found out who my true father was, and I confronted him. Daddy Dearest didn’t even acknowledge me when I confronted him about being his son. Asshole pretended I didn’t exist. He wouldn’t even say my name.”
I blink rapidly, tongue-tied, trying to process what he’s saying.
“I should be a Huxley. I should have that name too, but I don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I say in a gentle tone, trying to gain his trust.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you pity me. I paid him back.”
“Who? Paid who what?”
Guy holds his gun higher. “I took what he loved most. My father loved her most.”
“Who did he love?” My heart thumps wildly waiting for his response.
A chill black silence falls over us and I try to keep my raw emotions in check.
“His wife,” he finally says. “She was so easy to kill too. They all thought it was a suicide and I got away with it.” His voice is quiet, yet holds an undertone of belligerent violence. He pops a piece of Big Red gum into his mouth. “It was all too easy to frame Devereaux for the murders.”