Page 49 of Red My Lips

Seeing Jill’s handiwork up close and personal is like looking at a work of art. The stab wounds are both painful and precise, meant to inflict intense suffering right before the end. The fact that she took this ugly brute of a man who was twice her size down so easily and without hesitation fills me with pride.

My Jill is a powerful little thing.

I grin as I look down at the blood coating him and picture just how stunning the color of it will look on Jill’s full lips.

Leaving the body here was reckless, but I expect nothing less from my girl. Now that she’s finished with him, she’s ready to move on with her life. And I’ll make sure she can, just like I did with that cock-sucker Jonas.

Jonas’ body was easy to get rid of—now he’s nothing but a pile of dust at a crematorium. She got lucky with Carter when the cops assumed his death was a random attack.

A happy tune whistles from my lips as I begin to scrub the scene of anything that can be tied to Jill. Disposing of the body won’t be too difficult—there’s a building around the block with an incinerator big enough to fit this fucker. Soon, he’ll be nothing but smoke and ash, and Jill will be free to live without the ghost of her vengeance coming back to hound her.

I’m the only shadow allowed to haunt Jillian Hart.

And I’ll never let her go.

Chapter Twenty

Jill

My knuckles turn white against the death grip on the phone pressed to my ear. Hours—and days—of follow-up calls, sitting on hold just to get a full voicemail box. Getting the same run-around by receptionists and other drones—all just to lead to this conversation.

“Cold? How can it be cold? Tommy’s only been missing for a few months,” I demand, my anger wishing it could reach through the phone and strangle the detective on the other end.

“Listen, Miss Hart,” Detective Condescending says. “We’ve followed procedure to the letter, but with no leads, there’s nothing more we can do. According to the Coroner’s report, the amount of blood at the scene is enough to assume your brother is deceased. And with the circles your brother ran in, finding a body isn’t a common occurrence. We can’t dedicate more manpower or hours to this case unless we’re provided with more evidence.”

“So you’re not even going to be looking anymore?” My tone is sharp and bitter, but I don’t give a fuck to try and sound pleasant. The time for pleasantries is over.

“Unless something new comes up, our hands are tied. Sorry, Miss Hart.” My phone beeps in my ear to indicate the call has ended. He hung up on me.

Motherfucker.

I pace back and forth for over an hour, his words running through my head on a loop, making me angrier each time—cold case…no leads…your brother is deceased…our hands are tied…Miss Hart. I hate when they call me that—Miss Hart—like I’m some sweet kindergarten teacher in a romance novel.

Snatching my purse off my kitchen counter and my keys from the bowl on the entryway table, I storm out of my apartment. Slamming my car door shut, I rev the engine a few times before whipping out of the parking garage into the summer night and weaving through traffic. My hands tighten on the steering wheel until my fingers ache, my heartbeat matching my racing mind.

By the time I pull up to the curb, my head is such a mess there’s no going back. My breathing quickens as emotions crash over me, potent and crushing. I climb out from behind the wheel and slam the door shut. My car alarm beeps behind me as I flash the keyfob over my shoulder, stomping up the steps to the front door. The keys in my hands jingle irritatingly as I slip the shiny metal into the lock and turn it easily.

As the door opens, my control fractures.

I want to rage, and I want to crumble. I want to charge into the bar with a bat and start swinging until there’s nothing left but rubble with no chance of repair. Nothing but pieces left shattered and broken—just like my family, just like my life.

Just like me.

Turmoil builds inside me as I close the door behind me until I’m practically shaking.

“Whoever you are—you better have a damn good reason to be here right now, or I’ll enjoy putting a bullet in your head,” a deep voice rumbles as a switch is flipped and light floods the room. Gage stands at the edge of the large kitchen, shirtless and deadly, his gun pointed right at my head. I watch the realization settle over him, his eyes lowering to the key in my hand.

“Well, well, well, look who’s here.” He smirks, lowering his gun and tucking it into the back of the sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he saunters towards me. “I knew you’d be here before too long. You couldn’t wait to use that key, could you?”

I tighten my grip on the key when my hand starts to tremble, emotion overwhelming me like a dark cloud as I stare at him. Moisture wells up in my eyes, blurring my vision. A sob escapes me as the first tear rolls down my cheek.

All teasing and humor vanishes off Gage’s face in the blink of an eye. He eats the distance between us in a few large strides, pulling me into his arms without hesitation. I melt into him as his body envelops me. Wrapped in his embrace, the floodgates open, and I fall apart.

We stand there in silence for a while as I cry into his chest. After a few minutes, he pulls back just enough to look down at my face, his hand cupping my cheek to lift my eyes to meet his. The anger in his expression builds with each tear that falls down my face.

“Who do I need to kill?” There’s a rough, demanding edge beneath his low voice. I gaze up at him, my mouth opening then closing without a sound. He wants to know what happened, but I can’t talk about it right now. If I start explaining before I get my emotions under control, this city will never recover from the damage of my inevitable rampage.

Sensing my wrath surging has his own rising. His darkness is brewing just below the surface, itching to be unleashed. He starts to reach one arm around his back for his gun, but I stop him by wrapping my arm around his waist to halt his movement.

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