Page 37 of Dove

“Hey, you said you got a new manager at Entice, right?” I asked Tessa as I stood in the middle of the room.

“Yeah, why?” Her brows scrunched together as she looked at me.

“What happened to Rodney?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. I never saw him again after the night he attacked you.”

My hand flew to my mouth as I stifled a gasp. No. There was no way. I grabbed my phone off the couch and started frantically scrolling. I pulled up a social media app and located my ex. Chad Albracht.

His page was full of people wishing him well. But when I read a little closer, I realized he was missing. He’d been missing for a while. I switched to Google and typed in his name. A news article popped up instantly. I scanned quickly, latching onto keywords.

Disappeared without a trace several months ago.

Last seen leaving his office.

Never made it home.

Presumed dead.

My phone clattered to the ground. I told Maddox about Chad. About how he and his friends had emotionally tortured me for months. Maddox threatened to kill him. But I’d never given him Chad’s name. How did he find out?

The same way he’d found out where I lived. And my favorite color. And that I loved books. He had a way of finding things no one else did. His job was to know secrets. To use them. Apparently, he’d found my father’s secrets as well.

“He did this.” My eyes flicked to Tessa, who’d been watching me the whole time. I pointed to the TV, where the story was still playing. “He did that.”

“Okay.” Tessa drew out the word. “I don’t understand what the big deal is. Sounds like he deserved it.” I started pacing back and forth. “He destroyed a pedophile. I’d say that’s okay.”

“What about Rodney? Where do you think he disappeared to?” I shouted.

“Cree,p who tried to rape you?” She said. “Also, not a loss to society.”

“And Chad?”

“Your douchebag ex?”

“Yes. Keep up.” I snapped, feeling more frantic by the minute.

“I’m trying to, but you’re not making sense. What happened to Chad?”

“Poof. Gone. Disappeared. Presume dead.” I stopped my manic pacing to look at her. She was surprisingly calm. Like all this, death didn’t affect her. “I knew he was a killer. But I didn’tknow. Like how I know you’re Italian, but you don’t speak it, so I don’t think about it.”

“Being Italian and being a murderer are not the same thing.” Tessa stared at me like I wasn’t making any sense.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” I grumbled.

She stood up, grabbing my shoulders until I was facing her. “Okay, what are you saying?”

“That I didn’t think about it before. I knew, but never like this. Never shoved in my face with bloody clothes and news stories and plunging a knife into someone’s arm. Being kidnapped.” The last words were whispered as if I could stop the memories if I didn’t speak them too loudly.

How was I supposed to be okay with this? Knowing my boyfriend went around exacting his own brand of justice when he thought someone offended me. It certainly wasn’t normal. And it also wasn’t normal to be turned on by it. But shit, I kind of was.

It was something about the strength of his actions. The possessiveness. The feeling of protection. As if the world couldn’t hurt me as long as he was by my side.

And it was wrong. Because the world could hurt me. He could hurt me. The longer I stayed, the more of a target I became.

“How am I supposed to live with the fact that my boyfriend kills for a living?”

Tessa threw her arms up and shrugged. “How do the wives of gun manufacturers live knowing their fancy houses are bought with the death of children?”

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