Page 34 of Bulletproof Love

Those were the words she was about to say. She’s right, not knowing is the hardest part of all. The guilt that I’ll never do enough to find her. It eats me up from the inside like a disease.

“What about you? Did Trouble have a normal childhood with her family of cops?”

She heads back to the desk, opening drawers and digging through them. “You can say that.”

The way she bites on her bottom lip and avoids glancing up tells me a different story. “I bet there was lots of bedazzling in your past. Your dad must have loved that,” I say, trying to break the tension.

She laughs again, the best fucking sound I’ve ever heard. “Surprisingly, my crafting hobby didn’t start until college. I know, I’m so amazing at it you probably thought I had a lifetime of practice.”

“I’m genuinely shocked. Those were not the hot glue gun skills of a novice.” She scoffs, her eyes rolling of their own accord. While she keeps up her search, I pull up the last photo I took of Bailey on my phone. It’s hard to look at, but I can’t not ask Wayne here if he’s ever seen her. “She look familiar to you?”

His eyes bulge as he shakes his head no. It was a long shot, but I had to try.

Falin gestures for me. “I think I found something. Bring him over here.”

“You hear that? Time to be useful.” Wayne struggles against the binding as I drag him to his feet. “What did you find?”

“It’s a New York address.” She lifts the hastily scribbled note, holding it where I can read it. “Everything else here is just for show. Even those family photos feel carefully curated. The whole office has this artificial perfection, like it’s staged by a realtor—pristine, untouched, unlived in. Almost as if it’s all just an elaborate decoy.”

“You know, now that you say that, I see what you mean.” The rest of the house felt the same way. Is this place even their home? Is the whole thing fake?

I hold the note up for Wayne to see. “What’s at this address? Why is it the only thing here even remotely personal?”

He mumbles something through the gag. “I’m going to take the sock out. If you yell, I won’t think twice about blowing your brains out all over this expensive rug.”

“Won’t that attract attention?” Falin asks. She steps aside to finish up whatever she was doing at the computer.

I hold up my gun. “Silencer. It works wonders.”

“Smart,” she says, a small smile at the corner of her lips. The fact that she has absolutely no issue with me potentially shooting a man is so fucking hot.

“Sometimes I think ahead.” I direct my attention back to Wayne. “The address. I’ll give you thirty seconds to give us something worth sparing your pathetic life.”

I barely pull the saliva-coated sock from his mouth before he’s wailing like a little baby. “Please, I don’t know anything!”

“Don’t lie to me, Wayne. I really hate liars.” I tap his forehead with my gun.

“I’m not lying. He doesn’t tell me things. He doesn’t trust me yet.” His words are stifled from deep, sobbing breaths.

“What was that conversation earlier then? Go over the final details? Tell us what he meant, and fast. I’m getting bored.”

Falin cuts in. “Almost done here. I’m going to make it look like his computer has a virus.”

“I’m getting nowhere with him,” I say to Falin. “Might be time to put him out of his misery.”

I don’t know what kind of reaction to expect from her. Disgust? Anger? Resignation?

“I like that plan. Do it over here. We can leave him under the desk. My gut tells me he’s a piece of shit.”

Holy fuckballs.

That was so not the reaction I expected.

Is it too early to tell her I love her? Because I think I do. My cock certainly feels strongly.

“You heard the woman,” I tell Wayne. My voice bounces off the gleaming wood shelves and luxury wallpaper. “Last chance.”

The metallic click of my gun cocking sends him into hysterics. A dark stain spreads across his khakis as piss runs down his leg. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he sobs, words tumbling out between rapid breaths.

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