Page 5 of Sexy Killer

Victor hops the steps two at a time and makes the dumbest mistake of leaving his phone on the kitchen counter. It takes me a few seconds to type in the passcode he hasn't changed since we dated. The video from one of the business owners near the jewelry shop is sitting in an email that's still open. Once I send the video to myself, I wait for the sounds of the shower runningto reach me downstairs. The bathroom door closes, muffling my steps as I leave his house.

By the time I get to my dad's place, a sense of sorrow washes over me, the silence greeting me when I walk in. He's not coming back here anytime soon, and that infuriates me.

The person I used to be—uncontrollable, angry, and violent—that's the woman Victor fell in love with, and she's also the woman who had to leave this town.

The bond between Victor and me was insatiable and is still undeniable. We used to feed off one another. It pushed us to extremes, which came to a catastrophic end three years ago. I understand why he would try to place me at the scene of the crime, but I haven't been that version of myself in a very long time.

Yet, as I sit in the darkness of Dad's living room, replaying the video sent to Victor, I know what I have to do. After freezing the screen, I'm able to get a clear view of the men leaving my father's jewelry shop. They're going to learn very soon why attacking me and my father is the biggest mistake of their lives.

4

VICTOR

Does it surprise me that Chelsea's gone when I get out of the shower?

Not at all.

Shit, I'm more shocked that she didn't take my gun and phone. I can tell she's not that same person anymore, but I have no doubt that her father being in a coma tempts her to go back to her old ways.

There's no sense dwelling in the past or trying to figure out what she's going to do about it. Burying myself in work will have us crossing paths soon enough. Hopefully, it will be before she does anything that will land her in handcuffs, which I won't have the authority to remove.

Once I'm back at the precinct, my sergeant snarls and rolls his eyes at me when I walk by. Aggravation coats every word as he speaks from behind his desk. "I thought I told you to go home, Bennett."

"I did go home, but I got a call about this robbery. You might as well let me work it, Sarge. People in that neighborhood know me and are willing to cooperate with me. I already got a tip. One of the business owners sent me footage from their security camera. It shows the suspects leaving the scene of the crime. I might get an ID off it, too."

He rubs the bridge of his nose and relents. "Fine, but you close this case fast. Who was the girl?"

"Victim. She got knocked out while the robbery took place but managed to do some damage to one of the perps. I saw some blood on the floor at the scene that didn't come from her or the shop owner. Forensics has it, but I think I can bring these guys in before the trace comes back."

"Fine," he says and dismisses me back to my duties.

After I get a still image of the robber's face with a busted nose, I know he'll be easy to find if he's still in town. I'll have to get on the street to get to my sources. Someone's going to point me in the right direction, but that has to wait until the sun comes up.

Spending the rest of my night at my desk doesn’t bother me, but my mind drifts to Chelsea. She told me I'd always put the job first because this was my chance to make up for the chaos we caused.

We justified wreaking havoc on this town after our mothers were gunned down in a botched robbery. We were barely fifteen when it happened, but the older we got, the angrier we became. Our mutual grief sparked rage and sent us down a path of revenge.

For at least five years of our lives, we targeted every business that was linked to the assholes who murdered a bunch ofinnocent people in a store on a random afternoon. We were calculating, sloppy at first, but smartened to the streets quickly.

We were twenty-two years old when the police finally caught up to us. My father pulled some strings to make it go away, to makeusgo away. I made him a promise to never be a part of the problem terrorizing our town, and I've been a man of my word ever since.

Chelsea, on the other hand, couldn't stand the idea of upholding the law that failed us. Her anger never subsides. It's always there, just under the surface. The last time I saw it unleashed, it was a bloody mess. We caught up to the men who murdered our mothers. Sure, it took us six years, but we found them. They never made it to trial.

I barely feel my eyes close as my mind reminisces on the past. Dreams find me at my desk and stay with me until someone nudges me awake hours later. The sun is up, and it's time to work my case. My first stop is to the hospital to check on Chelsea's father.

Fortunately, Nigel Emerson is awake, but it's uncertain for how long.

"Good morning, Mr. Emerson. How are you feeling?" I ask him while slowly approaching his bedside.

Nigel stirs in discomfort, a bandage around his head and a cast on his arm. "What kind of ridiculous question is that, Victor? My head was kicked in, still throbbing to the point I can barely see out of my left eye. What kind of jeweler will I be with one eye?"

"Still the best in the tri-state area, Mr. Emerson. There's a reason you're still in business after all this time. Which brings me to last night's events."

He grunts and turns away from me. "I can't believe that you were assigned this case. Or did you have your father call in more favors?"

"Jealousy over what other men can do for your daughter is pointless. Especially when everything done was for her own good."

Anger has him clutching the rails of his bed until they vibrate with his fury. "Her own good? You take her on a fucking killing spree and then?—"

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