Page 186 of Deceit

“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 enoughfamilyfor 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 smellhim.

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?

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