Page 28 of Mischievous Lies

I grab his throat, the spikes on my gloves puncturing his flesh. I squeeze, satisfaction bubbling up inside me as I feel the life draining from him. I focus my hearing on his labored, unhinged breaths as his body tries to keep him alive. Too bad the Grim Reaper has decided it’s his time to die.

It’s like watching a worm wriggle until his breathing comes to a stop. I can’t even find satisfaction in the kill as I blink once and then twice. How long have I been choking him? Blood has spread all down my gloves and is seeping through the blankets.

I release him and walk over to the sink to rinse my gloves. I sometimes lose myself in moments like these. I get so excited by the kill that it becomes patchy for me. When I step out of the room, two men are waiting in the hall with a small rolling bin. They’re the cleanup crew.

They nod their heads and then enter the room. Pulling out my phone, I immediately check my home cameras, thankful to find her still sound asleep.

CHAPTER 18

Ivy

I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, but the second time I wake up, I feel a lot better than I did the first time. My stomach gurgles with hunger, and I’m thankful it seems to be settling down. My mind feels clearer, and I don’t feel so sluggish and dead on the inside. I turn to my side and find him in bed next to me, his back against the headboard, his arms crossed over his chest, sleeping without a shirt on. He most likely had to shower after I vomited all over him. I take the opportunity to study him closely.

Tattoos cover his chest and arms. There are only a few spots without any ink, and I know, without a doubt, he’ll find something to fill them. I’m jealous of the asshole’s thick eyelashes, and his hair looks effortlessly styled despite just being washed. Hawke is beautiful, and it’s strange to view him the same way I might’ve days ago, after how carefully he treated me. It’s a sobering thought to think about how fucked-up his childhood was. I wonder who looked after him. I have the urge to curl my fingers through his hair, but refrain because I don’t want to wake him.

I turn back around, reach for the glass of water he left for me, and take a sip. There’s a small package of crackers there as well,and as if my stomach senses them, it growls loudly, and I curl into myself, willing it to stop.

“You’ve been asleep for almost two days. You need to eat something,” he says from over my shoulder. Damn, I always thought he was a heavy sleeper.

“Sorry for waking you,” I say as I turn back to face him.

“I was only resting my eyes.” His eyes are still closed, and he looks so tired. This is a side to Hawke I’ve never seen before. I wonder if anyone but his brother has seen this part of him that almost seems… sad.

“What time is it?” I ask, looking for my phone and spotting it on his side table.

“Four in the morning on Sunday.”

“Sunday?!” I yell, sitting upright. He opens one eye now, his almost-black gaze finding me.

No wonder I feel like I’ve slept like the dead. I’ve literally slept for almost two days. When was the last time I slept like that?

Memories come back of spewing all over his bed, and I instantly feel guilty. I always assumed someone like him would have a housekeeper and that he wouldn’t do things like that, but I guess I’ve been wrong about a few things when it comes to Hawke.

“I can pay your housekeeper bill. For the sheets. Thank you for looking after me.”

“I’ve already washed them.”

“You do your own laundry?” I ask, amused. I know Hawke has money, a lot of it, so imagining him doing something so domestic is… I try not to smirk. “Why?” I’m spoiled because my mother does mine, and I’d much rather buy a new outfit than wash laundry. I’m not incapable of it. I just hate it. I immediately try to imagine Anya doing the ironing, and the image is easily replaced by River doing it.

He casually shrugs. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“No, I won’t,” I say, promising myself I won’t laugh at him.

He seems hesitant but sighs and then explains, “I come from nothing, so while it’s nice to have money and do all the fancy things we dreamed about when we lived on the streets, I always told myself if I could just get a washer, I’d do all of my laundry myself. So when I bought this place, it was the first thing Anya gave me, and I still use the same one.”

“She gave you a washing machine?” I ask in disbelief. I never expect these types of responses from him. I thought all Hawke did was fuck, party, kill, and lift weights.

“Yep. Our first Christmas together, she asked what we wanted. Ford remained quiet, and I blurted out, I wanted a washing machine. Trust me, when you live in the same clothes for weeks on end, you want one.” A cheesy smile spreads on his face. “I just didn’t think she’d buy me another one when I moved out and bought this place when I was eighteen.”

It’s crazy to think how quickly they turned their lives around. Sure, the twins had had help from Anya, but they honed their skills enough to impress Eli and ended up working for him. I grew up around those guys and know they’re as ruthless as they come. Maybe I’m desensitized to it all because I’m not scared of them. Never have been and never will. But that’s a luxury I know only a few have.

I don’t comment on his living situation because I can’t relate, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have empathy for everything he’s been through. I was raised by two loving parents who literally showed me the world. We are different in a lot of ways, but at the same time, we’re somehow alike.

“Have you traveled much?” I ask. Hawke has a social media account, but he rarely posts anything. And the number of women who follow him anyway is mind-boggling. Most likely,they’re just sliding into his DMs. But I’ve never heard about him traveling.

“Nope. I think I have a passport somewhere. I’ve just never had the urge to since I’m by Eli’s side all the time,” he says, closing his eyes once again. “But you love to visit other places, don’t you?”

Grabbing the crackers, I put one in my mouth, chew it up, then swallow it before I say, “It’s my favorite thing in the world.”

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