Page 144 of Speak

His face goes dark, brows furrowed once again. “Yeah, my partner just called me. Seems he had another heart attack and wasunable to be brought back. He’s in the morgue beneath the hospital, currently.”

“Christ,” I breathe, this time letting myself fall back in my chair.

“Friend of yours I’m assuming.”

I nod, grabbing the half-empty bottle of Macallan from my drawer and the tumblers, pouring myself and him a glass. “Yeah, we developed a kinship after I was hired on. Reached out to me when he saw I had… issues at times.” But that’s not why I’m in a daze. No, I’m in a daze because Damon was just there earlier. He didn’t say anything to me about him being dead. Unless…

Arlo grabs the glass of whiskey and shoots it back, sucking on his teeth. “Damn that’s good. So you say the person in the video is a woman, for sure?”

For some reason, that makes the whiskey in my throat burn more. “I said that?”

“You did.” He eyes me, dark stare softening as he seems to be aware of the fucking tornado he just brought at my door. “Fuck. Listen, how about I come back another day, I seem to just have dropped a lot on you and there’s a storm brewing.”

That’s a fucking understatement.

I nod, sipping my whiskey, letting the slow burn fill me.

I don’t hear him leaving.

Don’t remember myself locking up and leaving.

Don’t hear the music playing in the background as soon as my Bluetooth connects to my car speakers.

Don’t remember the drive home or parking.

I don’t even remember getting out of my SUV but when my hand touches the icy doorknob, it’s as though the fog in my mind clears and all I can feel is rage.

Thunder rolls overhead as the rain pings against the windows and hits the roof of my house. A storm promising destruction.

I stare at Damon’s back, illuminated by the fire in the fireplace. It was all so easy for them, wasn’t it? To keep me in the dark. To fool me. My anger has surpassed rage and is now a simmering fury.

I catch his reflection above the mirror of my sidebar holding crystal decanters full of liquors so nonchalantly, having done thisplenty of time before, a comfortable liar. He grabs my favorite, the one holding the Macallan, and begins moving his hands around, obviously making himself a cocktail.

When he’s done he turns and strides over to me, an old fashioned like the one in his hand, handing it to me as I sit in my oversized leather chair, made to feel comfortable, and yet, it's the worst chair I think I’ve ever purchased. Granted, I’ve never exactly sat in it seeing as I simply went to the furniture store and told them to just get whatever was on the display. All of this stuff is technically new.

I eye Raven’s textbooks all over the coffee table and I know she probably sat on the floor doing her class work. Her methodical chaos. Organized only in her mind and it hurts me, my heart stutters. I hate myself for adoring the way she ate her snacks while studying, and reading, and didn’t mind the mess.

I had even ordered a desk to put in my office so she could be closer to me. So I could watch her closer.

I’m a fool.

So easy to fool me. I fell for it. Her little meek mouse façade. A bad girl with big doe eyes that just needed to get fucked into oblivion. But the veil has been lifted.

I know what I saw.

I know it was her.

I take a sip of the old-fashioned Damon handed me.

I’d know that limp anywhere. Have seen it up close and personal.

She’s upstairs right now, probably well fucked and full of cum and that’s how she did it. Using her feminine wiles to distract me.

Did she ever even care for me? Did I imagine it all?

“That’s the Harrington Curse…”

The wind picks up outside, along with the splatters of raindrops, hard and unrelenting.

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