Page 5 of Depraved Truths

“They’re doing good. Our son Billy just began kindergarten, and our baby is just starting to take her first steps,” he says, pride gleaming in his eyes. “Claire and I can barely keep up with Lucy these days.”

“I’m glad they’re doing well,” I reply. “How can I help you, Marshall?”

“I need to ask you a few questions about the Johnson place next door. We were called out late last night to the fire, and it was already blazing when we arrived. Have you seen anything unusual the last couple of days?”

“We’ve been working here for a few days, but I hadn’t seen anything unusual until we drove up this morning. I know from the Cunninghams that Conrad Johnson has been out of town for a few days,” I state. “In the time we’ve been working here, I haven’t seen anyone else at the house.”

I turn to Jace, “Can you think of anything important I might have missed?”

He shrugs and shakes his head no.

“Do you have any idea what happened?” I ask.

Marshall’s gaze turns grim. “It appears that Conrad fell asleep in his recliner with a lit cigarette and a bottle of Scotch, and the liquor ignited the blaze. We’ll have to wait until the DNA comes back, but I have no doubt it’s him.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” I say, the words leaving my mouth with a practiced tone. But I’m not at all sorry. Every part of me knows that bastard got what he deserved, and I feel no regret for it.

“This is most likely an open-and-shut case. It’s not a secret that Conrad had a drinking problem. If you think of anything, let us know. Good to see you,” Marshall replies.

“Yeah, you too, man,” I say, shaking his hand.

The truth is, Conrad was never meant to last in a town like this. We hunt, we fish, we help our neighbors—we look out for each other like family, because that’s what we are, and we damn sure don’t harm our own. Nobody is going to miss the sick bastard anyway.

Giving him no more thought, I head back into the house with my mind already running back to thoughts of the strange blondegoddess with killer legs that would look fantastic wrapped around my waist while she rides on my cock. I need to find out who she is.

This is going to get interesting.

Chapter 7

The shrill of my alarm slices through the quiet morning, pulling me from sleep. I reach for my phone, slapping the stop button, and stretch. My body feels light and rejuvenated. It’s always like this after I take down a target.

I take a moment to bask in the memories, a deep satisfaction filling every inch of me. It’s the same feeling I get when I save a life. Isn't that ironic? Whether it’s the adrenaline rush of taking some sick bastard’s life or the gratification of saving one, both bring me equal pleasure. But the satisfaction of eradicating a monster from this world is the only thing that lets me sleep at night without nightmares. And I never know how long those nightmares will stay at bay, so I take advantage of the peace while I can.

My thoughts drift to my morning run yesterday by Conrad’s burned house. It’s true what they say about killers returning to the scene of the crime. You can’t make this stuff up. Part of me wanted to scope out the scene, but also, I had to maintain my routine. I strategically switch between several routes to keep things unpredictable. Most of them have a view of Lake Lucia, becausethere’s nothing more peaceful than a lake. The vibrant colors, the soothing sounds of nature—it’s calming.

As of now, the investigators have ruled the incident an accident. Multiple surveillance cameras caught Conrad’s reckless drive home from the bar. Everyone believes what I want them to—that he was drunk, passed out in his recliner with a cigarette. If there’s any suspicion of foul play, I haven’t heard about it. But then again, the local police might not care. Despite their best efforts, the justice system failed the first time around.Fucking politicians.

I’ve always loved this town, ever since that first summer camp when I got away. The summer I met Allie. The summer after everything changed. Lake Lucia has a mysterious past. They say there’ve been mysterious deaths and drownings over the years. Locals call it 'Devil’s Lake,' adding to the mystique. I remember sitting around the campfire, listening to the stories. Back then, they used the legends to keep us from sneaking out or going off alone at night. As I got older, I did my own research. It only intrigued me more and is another reason I chose to make Lake Falls my home. I don’t know where I’d be now if that camp hadn’t saved me.

Once again, I feel an unnatural pull, a need to retrace my steps, to return to Cherry Lane. I can’t help but wonder if someone might’ve been working late at the Cunningham’s place that night. I knew they were starting renovations soon, but I didn’t realize they’d already begun. Thankfully, no one was around when I scouted Conrad’s house—otherwise, that could have been a problem. And who was that guyworking at the house next door?

The guy with the eyes I could drown in.

I’ve lived here for a year now, and I’ve never seen him before. Though our encounter was brief, I remember the flip-flop in mychest. That never happens. I don’t feel intense lust at first sight. But that morning, something was different. Between working in the emergency room and spending time with Allie, I thought I knew everyone who lived here year-round.

Oh shit, Allie!

We’re meeting atThe Donut Holeat ten. I need to hurry if I want to squeeze in a shower and look halfway decent before heading into town.

Just before ten, I slip out the door and into my silver Lexus. I glance down at my outfit. The yellow sundress clings just enough to accentuate my legs, and the cute sandals complete the look. My blonde hair falls in soft waves down my back and I kept the makeup subtle—just mascara, a light dusting of bronzer, and my favorite lip shade, Lovedust. I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, popping my lips in approval.

As I pull out of the driveway, I smile at the sight of the sun bouncing off the glistening lake. I love the variety of homes here—some have that rustic cabin feel, others are sleek and modern, and some are more traditional. My own place is a contemporary two-story, with an open floor plan and large picture windows overlooking the lake.

Arriving atThe Donut Hole, I pull into the parking lot. Allie’s already inside, chatting with the barista and likely everyone else in the café. She’s one of those people who doesn’t meet a stranger, and I’ve never seen anyone who hasn’t fallen for her charm.

The door jingles as I step inside. Allie’s head snaps in my direction, her blue eyes lighting up as they meet mine. She’s wearing Capri pants and a blue blouse that complement her eyes. Her shoulder-length brown hair falls in a sleek, straight line, gently framing her face. There’s a natural beauty about her, the kind that radiates from within, and draws people to her effortlessly. She grabs two drinks from the counter and walks toward me as I plop down at our usual table by the window. From this vantage point, I can easily see anyone entering or leaving the cafe.

“I’m so excited to see you!” she exclaims, handing me my iced caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso before sitting down. “It’s been forever since we’ve done this! We have so much to catch up on! OH MY GOD, did you hear about Conrad Johnson?”

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