Page 40 of Charity's Redemption

Was it strange, masturbating to the sounds of her fucking another man—my cousin? To some, maybe; to us, no.

We shared her body, why couldn’t we share her blissful cries as well.

Vito walked into the kitchen, where I made myself a cappuccino, choosing to go with a liquid breakfast. He had bags under his eyes, but despite what seemed like a sleepless night for all of us, his suit was straight as a pin, and he was ready to tackle the day.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He gave me a side-eye. “Long night.”

If Vito lived in this house, I would’ve assumed Charity was the cause, but he had his own home five miles down the road that he shared with his sister.

“Yeah? Pick up some hooker on the street or something?”

“Funny.” He pulled out the carafe of regular coffee and poured himself a cup, choosing the liquid diet as well. “Question, but I’m sure I already know the answer—was Charity supposed to kill John?”

My drink nearly made it to my lips when his question froze me in place, sending my stomach into knots. “No, why?” I placed my cup down and waited for the predictable answer.

“I got a call early this morning from our rookie in the department.” Vito took a seat at the counter, his mug in hand with pitch-black coffee. “He said, police got a call around midnight to one of our properties. When they got there, it looked like John struggled with the assailant. Broken knee, face nearly unrecognizable, but the kicker was the knife sticking out of his throat.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and braced myself for a fucking shit storm that would destroy my sober morning. “What kind of knife?”

He pulled his phone out and showed me the crime photo.

John lay in his bed, his eyes swollen shut, his nose bloody, and blood caked all over his white shirt. Charity used John’s face as a punching bag, that was for sure, but the paring knife sticking out of his jugular wasn’t her style. She preferred to use her own knives anyway, and she sure as shit wouldn’t leave it behind to be used for evidence.

“He’s been dead for about twenty-four hours, they think. That lines up with the time Charity was there.”

“Fuck.” I wiped my hand down my face and groaned. “She didn’t do it.”

“How can you be certain? She was high as a kite when she came in.”

“I just do. Does Luca know about this yet?”

He shook his head, then took a quick sip. “No. I was going to tell him during our morning briefing.”

I cleared my throat as Luca walked into the kitchen and rolled my shoulders.

“Is that for me?” He pointed to my untouched drink on the counter.

“Yeah.” I pushed it in his direction, locked eyes with Vito, and left the kitchen in a hurry.

“What’s gotten into him?” Luca said.

I raced up the steps and barged into Luca’s room, where I knew she’d be. “I need to hear it from you before I say anything else.”

Charity sat on the couch tying her black matching shoelaces, her damp hair falling in front of her face towards the ground. She looked up at me, her smile contagious. “Good morning to you too, big guy.” She pulled her jeans over her boots. “And what do you need to hear?”

“Did you kill John?”

Her head ticked to the side as her brows pulled together with bewilderment. “What are you talking about? Of course not. I roughed him up a bunch, broke his kneecap, but I left him alive. I’m sure of it.”

I fell to my knees before her and laid my hands on her thighs. “You need to think long and hard. I know you have limited memory because of the coke, but you need to try to remember.”

“Max, you’re worrying me.” She ran her hand through my hair. “I remember everything until it really hit me, but I was already with Luca by then.”

“So you didn’t put a knife in his throat?”

She snorted and then laughed. “No,” she shook her head. “I would’ve known if I did that. Why?”

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