Page 27 of Mischievous Lies

“Not many people surprise me. I certainly wasn’t expecting it from you,” Braxton says, standing at my front door late the next evening.

This guy pisses me off, and I can’t believe I felt the need to actually call him myself. I stayed with Ivy all fucking night and all morning. I don’t think she realizes how much she slept. And I stayed in that fucking chair, imagining all the ways I should’ve killed that fucking dickhead who thought he could take advantage of her. But make no mistake… he will die.

“You just going to stare me down or put cash in my hand?” Braxton says.

“You’re such a dick,” I grumble, reminding myself of all the reasons why I called him and why I shouldn’t kill my cousin’s new boyfriend.

“And you’re an asshole. So what do you need?” His smile brightens, and I wonder if the reason I don’t like him is because we’re similar. Most likely. He’s cocky, opinionated, and antagonizing. Had we met under other circumstances, I might’ve liked him.

He puts his hands in his pockets as if he has all the time in the world. But I don’t. “Early hours are usually the best formurder, wouldn’t you say?” I’m not surprised that he figured it out so quickly since he tracks anything Ivanov-related. I was messy, kicking that guy’s ass at the party, and reports most likely have already been made. Ones that only this fucker can make disappear. Something he’s been doing for years without us realizing.

“Which hospital is the fucker at?” I ask.

“Cough up the money first.” He smirks. I pull out my phone and transfer the money. “I could’ve texted the address to you, so why did you call me over?”

I grind my teeth. I didn’t exactly want to call him. But I also refuse to let that fucker who tried to hurt Ivy still be breathing by the time she wakes up again. She asked me not to tell any of her friends or family. If I call Ford, who I trust the most, he’ll tell Billie. I could call my parents, but the Walkers are good friends with my uncle Alek. We’re all interwoven, and this new fucker seems like the only option who can clean my mess, even after I murder the fucker in the hospital.

But most importantly… “I need you to watch Ivy while I’m out for an hour.” I step to the side, inviting him into my home.

His eyebrows furrow. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because I know you’ll keep your mouth shut. You want to be accepted into the family, right?” I grit.

“Hope’s mom already loves me,” he says matter-of-factly as he steps inside. This guy is such a dickhead. “You know, this is usually something my little shortcake would handle. This guy is just her type, you know—a man who hurts women.” It’s only become recent knowledge for a lot of us that my cousin is a serial killer who targets men who try to hurt women, but this asshole is mine.

“This is personal, and I’m not a patient man. I have cameras around the house, and I swear to God if you touch her or?—”

He puts his hand up. “Let me assure you, the only woman I like to fuck is your sweet little cousin.”Asshole. “I didn’t think there was anything between you and Ivy Walker anyway.”

“That’s none of your business. And besides, we look out for one another here,” I say as I push past him. I don’t want to leave her, but I’ll self-implode if I don’t finish the job. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I found her like that. I wish I’d killed him then.

I’m walking toward my car as he calls out from behind me, “Nothing happened to her, by the way.” I turn to face him. “I watched the footage just to make sure.” Relief rushes through me, but that knowledge doesn’t change anything.

“Just because it didn’t happen this time doesn’t mean the same fucker won’t try it again to someone else.” I turn and continue to my car, that lethal edge cracking through to the surface. This part of me, that I summon like a god, has a mind of its own. I know I’m impulsive. I know I’m consumed by it. But every time I welcome it, I enjoy the thrill of power it offers me.

I’m checking my cameras on my phone constantly, even as I walk through the hospital, ignoring those I pass as I stride in purposefully, still with vomit on my shirt. I see Braxton standing across the room from her as she sleeps curled up in a ball, short blonde hair fanned over my pillows. I wanted someone with her in case she vomits again and doesn’t find the bucket beside her.

I walk down the quiet corridor, my temper following me like a shadow as patients sleep. My family has a lot of connections, and despite disliking the detective, the fucker is handy. Buying out doctors and erasing records is done within seconds with the right people in your pocket.

I come to a stop at his room, thinking about Ivy last night and the state she was in. I wish she could see this. Feel the satisfaction and relief that will come from it. But I know it’s better to keep her away from it. She might not be able to spill blood, but I’ll gladly do it for her.

The door silently opens, and I find the fucker passed out in his hospital bed. His arm is in a cast, and he looks bedridden. I guess it sucks to be him. I shut the door behind me, then pull the curtain so no one can see through the door. I loom over him, and the fucker has no better sense to stir awake. I reach inside my jacket and find my spiked gloves.

When Ford and I survived fighting on the streets, I learned that my greatest weapons were my fists, while he prefers crowbars. Even when we began working for Eli, we never changed our methods. I like feeling bones break and blood splattering my skin. The spikes on the knuckles of my gloves make everything far more explosive and effective. Instead of putting them on as I usually would, I put them on the opposite hands, so the spikes are on the palms so whatever I grab will feel the bite of them.

These gloves have taken many lives. But this one, I think, will be one of my favorites. I flick off his machines, and a moment later, his eyelids burst open. Horror mars his features as his gaze quickly flicks to the gloves and then back to my face as if he can’t believe I’m standing here. I bet he wishes it were a nightmare. But I imagine he’s used to being the monster haunting plenty of women’s dreams. How many women has he done it to? How long has he thought he’d go unpunished?

“Hello, Lester.” I smile like the devil himself, embracing the part of me that only wants to see a price paid in blood. “I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.” I lean down and pull the blankets off him. He cries out and tries to fight against me, but no one will hear him. And even if they do, no one will come.Turns out, having influential parents and a dirty detective in the family makes things really easy.

“I-I didn’t d-do anything,” he stammers. I don’t care what he has to say. I saw what he was doing with my own fucking eyes. That was all the proof I needed. “I didn’t know she was your woman,” he says in the next breath, which very much says he knows what he was doing. “I didn’t supply it.” I would really like to take this nice and slow, stretch it out, slowly run my glove up and down his skin, but I have a woman to return to. “I’ll give you names,” he says in a pleading tone.

“You talk too much for a dead man,” I say, reaching for the pillow behind his head and taking the pillowcase off with my free hand, then stuffing it into his mouth. He tries to pull it out, but I hold his arm down, the spikes of my glove digging into his skin and making him wince. His other arm is already in a cast, including his fingers, so he can’t use that at all. Such a shame. So helpless. As most cowards are.

I pull his hospital gown up, and when I do, I see a sad excuse for a fucking dick. I bet women laugh at it; probably why he drugs them because it’s the only way he can fuck them. The fucking asshole.

I’m a cold-blooded killer, make no mistake about that, but what this man does is disgusting. And all people like him should be put six feet into the fucking ground. He tries to pull his arm free, but I’m a lot stronger than he is. I wrap my other gloved hand around his cock. His screams are muffled by the pillowcase as he tries to kick and wriggle from the hold I have on him. I squeeze harder, and blood begins to ooze from his cock.

A man like him isn’t deserving of a dick. It should only be used to please women or to be pleased by a willing partner. And it seems this man has his priorities all mixed up, so I’ve come to fix that for him. I squeeze a little harder, and blood starts leaking onto his bed. His eyes roll back in his head, and he quicklypasses out, taking much of the fun out of this for me. Fucking pussy.

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