Page 3 of A Lethal Game of Trust
And we hung up with light laughter. As soon as his chuckle cut off, the flat was unnervingly silent. I’d muted the TV when he called, and now, as the black credits continued to roll, there was only quiet darkness.
For a few minutes, I sat there, staring, blurring out my surroundings.
He was getting out of prison. He would be out there in the world, on the streets. And he’d only served ten years. Ten years for the life of the best man I’d ever known, for my mother’s sanity, for the life I should have had.
I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.
My father’s death had been no accident.
That night, he knew something was wrong. He’d dismissed all the house staff, telling Mum and me that no one could be trusted.
If the life didn’t kill you, it would make you paranoid. If it didn’t make you paranoid, it would at least make you enemies.
I’d given everything of our family’s cartel to Issy and Dom’s parents after they took me in. Though technically it was still in my name, I’d wanted nothing to do with that way of life.Nothing.My father had been coaching me since the age of ten as his successor, but witnessing what it did to him and my mum… it wasn’t something I could easily slip back into.
My stomach rumbling brought me out of my trance. I hadn’t eaten anything in anticipation of the call, and now the idea of a takeaway…
My phone buzzed again on the coffee table, but as it didn’t light up, I knew it was Jared. Again.
Yeah, I definitely deserved a pizza.
I whizzed a text off to Issy, asking if I should get a half-and-half or if she had grabbed food with her brother. My best friend preferred tomato over barbeque sauce, and though labelled a half-and-half pizza, the people at our local pizza parlour always favoured her base over mine.
Most of my Fridays for the last two months had been full of events. Distractions. This was the first weekend I had allowed myself to sit and fester, not plastering my smile or cocktail glass on social media for Jared to see.
Two months ago, Icaught him cheating.
Three weeks ago, Derek told me my father’s killer was up for parole.
I wasn’t having a good time of it.
If I wasn’t drunk, eating, or doom-scrolling, I was working. Which was paying off. I was the youngest trainee lecturer the University of Drakon had ever taken on.
And I’d been thriving without my ex.
But I missed my old self, the one who could sit without my thoughts spiralling. Now, lounging on the sofa, the TV in the background, my own body felt heavy and foreign.
Maybe I was tired.
I hadn’t been getting much sleep.
When I did, I either dreamed of Jared groaning as that girl sucked his dick or the night my father died, my hands covered in blood, holding a gun.
On my laptop, I opened up the next dissertation my mentor had asked me to mark. The last essay had been a refreshing take on feminism and the police force, whereas the next was the one I knew I would put off.
When Armed Robbery Becomes Death: Is a Manslaughter Charge Adequate?
I couldn’t be in criminal law or become a lecturer for criminology without this coming up eventually.
If I wasn’t already second-guessing this career path, this would have been the start.
My phone buzzed at the same time my stomach rumbled again. Good. If she hadn’t replied soon, I would have ordered both. A pizza for me and a half-and-half. Half for her, one and a half for me.
Yes, I could demolish that.
DO NOT ANSWER: Not even breadcrumbs tonight? Are you notgoing to give me a clue as to where I can find you or what you’re doing?
The phone was so heavy in my grip, my hands feeble as it vibrated once and then again.
