Page 73 of Black Sheep

When we get to the SUV, Bolton is nowhere in sight. Apparently the lure of a restroom on the other side of the lake was too strong to resist.

I slam the door and don’t give the sinking car another thought.

All I want is to get home to Cleo.

I lied when I told Troy she and I weren’t fucking. My soul was damned to hell the day I laid eyes on her because it was the day I vowed to make her mine at the very first opportunity. Waiting until the law gave us permission to turn our relationship physical was never going to happen. I’ve owned Cleo McCarthy’s tight pussy for months now.

I ignore the shared looks between Ronan and Troy as we leave Bearwood Lake.

As I leave the site where I became a double murderer.

Half an hour later, I’m in her arms.

Things take on a weird vibe after that day. Bolton embraces his addiction and resides in a near-constant state of drug-fueled euphoria. Ronan redoubles his efforts to become Finnan’s Mini-Me. Troy remains Troy, only worse.

Three weeks later, Finnan announces that he’s taking Cleo to her birthplace of Boston to finish processing her transition to be his ward. My request to accompany her is flatly refused. Something about the whole thing fucking stinks, but I hang on to the thought that, once she’s back in my arms, I’ll never let her leave.

Besides, I intend to use the time she’s away to double the two hundred thousand sitting pretty in my gambling account. The minute she turns eighteen, I’m marrying her and leaving this shit hole behind.

She’s gone for six agonizing weeks. She returns two weeks before my twentieth birthday.

And the girl I’ve loved since I was twelve is gone.

In her place is a cold, heartless stranger.

Chapter Nineteen

FADE TO BLACK

Axel

The screen fades to black, and my vision darkens along with it.

I can’t move. I can’t think of anything else besides the faceless strangers whose blood drips from my hands.

Of families who will never know the truth. The fact that I will never know is a punishment I bear along with my innumerable sins.

But whereas I can never contemplate closure, I crave it for my victims. Have craved it for almost a decade.

I open my eyes, stare into the shadows that live within me and without. I reach down for the remote. One more time for the fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons, and daughters who are missing two people unfortunate enough to be caught in the Rutherfords’ web.

Before I can hit replay, my phone buzzes.

The dead organ in my chest attempts to leap. There’s only one phone call I’m expecting at this time of the day. Everything else was diverted through executive assistants, attorneys, and minions.

“Any news?”

Detective Mac Malone pauses for a beat before he answers. “Nothing new worth breaking out the single malt for.”

Bleakness I have no hope of stemming claws through me. “Then why call?” I snap.

“Not so you can have the satisfaction of shooting the messenger, that’s for sure. I said I’d check in. That’s what I’m doing.”

“I’m paying you to do more than check in, detective.” The cold blade of my disappointment is poised to strike. And considering just how much I was expending on the bent cop, the treatment was deserved.

“Yeah. I’m aware of that.” His tone is less willful.

I take a moment to remind myself why I picked him.

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