Page 51 of Twisted Redemption

I tense. She slept perfectly fine when she was next to me Friday night. I know because I didn’t sleep a fucking wink. Or was she faking it? Shit. She probably was.

Sophia frowns, saying something quietly that I can’t hear. I wrap my arm tighter around Charlie to keep myself from moving closer to their conversation.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. Within seconds, Alex is storming over to us, phone in hand. He looks like he’s about to unleash hell.

“What the fuck is this?” he yells at Sophia. He yanks her away from the group, shoving his phone in her face.

Sophia’s eyes widen as she takes in whatever he’s showing her. She stumbles backward. “Xan, please don’t do this. I can explain.”

Dread fills my stomach. Those words never mean anything good. And Alex just got Sophia back, after he’s been quietly pining after her for five years. If he loses her again, god knows what he’ll do.

“You can explain? There’s no way to explain this, Soph. You cheated on me. Have you been the entire time? We’re over. Done.”

Sophia just stands there as tears fill her eyes.

And that’s when I see Tristan watching the whole thing from the other side of the patio, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Tristan?” Brooke hisses at Sophia. She’s the only one who had a good angle to see Alex’s phone.

“It’s not what it looks like, I promise.” Sophia’s eyes are pleading, but Brooke just looks at her with disgust.

Fuck. The guys and I know that when Tristan is concerned, it’s best to not take the situation at face value. Soph cheating on Alex with that scumbag? Doubtful.

But Brooke? She’s not in this as deep as we are.

And she looks like she’s been stabbed in the heart by the person she loves most in the world.

But before she can get another word out, I notice three cops striding over to Alex. What the hell?

“Alexander Hendricks?” one of them says. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Francis Hendricks.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Sophia’s face pales, but it’s nothing compared to Brooke’s reaction.

“No,” she murmurs. And then, louder, “No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t do that.” She reaches out, trying to push the officers away from Alex. “He’s not a killer. He wouldn’t—”

I grab her before she gets herself in trouble. She struggles against me, but I keep my grip on her firm.

“No! Alex, they can’t do this, they can’t—”

“Brooke, look at me,” Alex says, his voice firm but somehow still gentle. “I’ll be okay. Stop struggling. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“But Alex—” She shuts up when he cuts her a chilling look.

He just stands there with his hands behind his back as one of the cops cuffs him and reads him his rights. Then, so quietly only we can hear, he looks at Dominic and says, “Protect her. Please.”

Brooke stomps on my foot, but I don’t loosen my hold on her. “Why aren’t you fighting this? Alex, say something! Tell them they’re wrong.”

Everly somehow appears next to us and swats her arm. “Shut up, Brooke. You’re making a scene. Stop drawing more attention to this.”

She may be right—everyone is watching us—but it doesn’t stop me from grabbing her wrist and yanking her away. She barely hit Brooke, but I don’t fucking care. No one touches her like that.

Still, her scolding works. Brooke slumps against me, breathing hard.

“Soph?” Dominic says. He’s tugging on her arm, but she’s frozen in place, staring after Alex as the cops lead him away. Her expression is a mix of fear and realization, like she’s finally putting everything together, but the conclusion is horrifying.

And, to be honest, it is. Because we covered up Francis’s murder perfectly. So the only explanation for this is that Tristan is fucking with us. But... how? We made sure there wasn’t a single shred of evidence left of what Alex did.

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