Page 60 of Cruel Charming Psychos (Necessary Evils 2)

This is heaven, or my version of it. Wanting and being wanted, our bodies held together by friction and tension, bonded together by a lust for each other that cannot be ignored.

She is mine and I am hers.

* * *

I look both ways before crossing the street, not for traffic but rather ensuring nobody is following me. I’m paranoid like that, especially these days. I pull open the door and hurry inside, shaking the snow off my coat.

The lights are blinding, redirecting off a chandelier of diamonds that paints the showboxes in glistening shine. Diamonds sparkle under the light, each of them threatening to outshine the other. This is going to be much more difficult than I would have believed.

“Mr. Callaway, what brings you in today?” a woman asks.

I pass the woman behind the counter an awkward smile. “Do we know each other?”

“You might not know me but everybody around here knows you, especially after-” She cuts herself off, averting her gaze. “Anyways, are you looking for anything in particular?”

She doesn’t have to say anything more. I know what she was going to say before she had the decency to change subjects. Everyone knew my father before his crimes were made public and all the people that somehow didn’t know him, know his name now. It’s the talk of the town. The whispers are often so loud that I can’t believe Emily and Addison have stuck around for long.

I scratch at the back of my head, having never said the words out loud until now, “I’m going to propose to my girlfriend… I think.”

“You think?” She arches a brow and places one hand atop the glass counter. “What’s holding you back from saying, ‘I’m going to propose to my girlfriend?’ Feel free to tell me if it’s none of my business.”

I inch closer to the counter. “I’m just not sure if she’s the type to want to get married?”

“The two of you haven’t talked about it? She hasn’t dropped any hints?”

“Honestly, I think we both hated each other’s guts until a few months ago.” I let out a chuckle. “It’s rather ridiculous, but I think we’ve finally reached the point where we can forgive each other and build a life worth living.”

“There is no set route to a happy ending.” She feigns a smile, but it’s clear she thinks my proposed proposal is a terrible idea. She might be right. I don’t even know if it’s the right thing to do, and I’ve never handled rejection well. “Do any of these rings catch your eye?”

I circle the front of the counter, checking out all the rings that sparkle under the light. Some shine brighter than the others. Some blind me.

I’ve bought jewelry for women before, but I don’t remember them being so expensive. It’s not like money is a problem. Not anymore. My mother has kept her distance from me and vice versa, but after Dad was arrested, she reinstated my and Emily’s trusts. I’m sure it wasn’t out of the goodness of her heart, but rather the optics of taking his side over one of the victim’s. That’s the kind of woman she is. Everything is about optics. As for her moral center, it doesn’t exist. Her morals sway with the winds of change, blowing whichever way she deems public perception to be. Right now, that means abandoning her perverted husband, but I still have my doubts that she didn’t know. How can that be right under nose, in her house, for all those years? But I guess the same could be said about me. We’re all guilty by association. The Callaway name was built on the back of power and fear, and now it’s been corroded to be buried underneath the weight of perversion and murder. It takes one bad apple to destroy the reputation of one of the most powerful families on the East coast.

I continue surveying the rings, hoping that the right one will speak to me when I see it. They’re all rather plain, boring, and typical of the rings women wear around here as a testament to their husbands’ money rather than a signal of the love shared between two souls.

And then there’s one, entirely different from the others. Unique. There’s a black diamond in the center of the setting with four diamonds surrounding it.

“That’s the one,” I say, pointing to the ring.

“This one?” She unlocks the case from the other side, slides the glass door open, and grabs the ring to bring it on top of the counter. “It’s the only one we have. If it’s not the right size, resizing is a free service. Do you know what size her finger is?”

I shake my head. “To be honest, I didn’t even think about that.”

“It’s not entirely unusual for men to come in not knowing the correct size. Like I said, it’s a free service. If it doesn’t fit, we’ll gladly adjust it.”

I look her straight in the eyes. She’s pretty enough, sexy even. Before I met Addison, she’s exactly the type of girl I was notorious for bedding. Now, though? I just admire her beauty from a safe distance. “I’ll take it.”

ChapterTwenty-Eight

ADDISON

Some days I feel as if I’m turning into the living embodiment of a housewife. Cooking. Cleaning. Waiting for Nick to come home from his new job at the bank. Sometimes, I like this person I’m becoming. Other times, I’m back to wanting to run. Old habits die hard. I’ve been conditioned to understand that the dam always breaks. Sooner or later, things will fall apart. I’m smart enough to realize that I don’t handle the fallout well.

Sometimes I think about the men I’ve killed. The first was Carter. I have more empathy than I had for him before, knowing what he suffered as a child. In the middle of the night, I often find myself wondering how different his life would have been if his father was anyone else in the world. The whole battle between nature and nurture. Did he have any choice in the monster he became?

The Callaways, if nothing else, are opportunists. For the life of me, I can’t understand why they haven’t weaponized what happened the night of the fire. We framed him for the murder of the two men. His phone was at the scene of the crime before it went into the ocean. The men were killed with the bullets he loaded into his own gun. But even without proof, he’s the kind of man that won’t go down without a fight. Sometimes, the thoughts keep me up late at night as I wonder why he hasn’t said anything about me holding him and his wife hostage in their own pool house. Sure, they kidnapped me first, but they also don’t play fair. They could leave that part out of the story and I would be easy to paint as a liar if I had to tell my side of the story. It makes me feel as if they’re up to something and I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

This peace and happiness can’t last, not when it’s built on a mountain of trauma and betrayal. In this game, I was once the prey and they the predators. Soon enough, the tables will turn once more.

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