Page 69 of Belle

Chapter 22

Maddox

I’ll kill that motherfucker. Ever since Belle told me what happened today, I’ve been trying to come up with different scenarios of how we can get rid of him and make it look like an accident.

It suddenly occurs to me that it doesn’t have to look like an accident. Chet has absolutely no one that would miss him. He has no family, no friends, no wife. Nothing. I’m the only person he has––or had.

“Belle.” She’s sitting in the bed. We haven’t said a word to each other in a while, both lost in our own thoughts.

She looks over at me, confused as to why I broke our comfortable silence.

“We can kill him any way we want. Any wayyouwant. There is no one that will miss him.”

She studies my face. “We could kill him and take him to Deadhorse. We’ll throw him in the creek.”

Our creek.

It should make me feel uncomfortable, disgusted that we have a special place to dump bodies. But it doesn’t.

I never thought of that. I hadn’t figured out how we would get rid of the body, but she’s right. That’s the perfect place to take him. We haven’t been there in months.

“That’s genius.”

“I need to think about how to get rid of him. I want him to suffer, like I did.”

“Do you think we’re fucked up?” I look in her direction, wondering if I should be concerned that we can just talk about murder and death so nonchalantly.

“Of course we are. That’s why we work.” She snuggles down in the bed, curling up against me.

* * *

The next morning,when I wake up, Belle isn’t in bed with me. I panic for just a moment, and then I hear music coming from downstairs.

I walk downstairs, following the music, and find her in the kitchen.

I lean against the door frame, watching her dance and sing around while she makes breakfast. It’s one of those rare moments when she seems like a normal woman. A woman that you could settle down and have a family with.

“How long have you been standing there?” I didn’t even notice her standing in front of me.

“Just a couple of minutes. I was admiring your singing and dancing.” She laughs, smacking me in the shoulder, and turns back to the stove.

Grabbing a seat at the kitchen table, I pull out the paperwork she showed me last night. “I can’t believe he has really been robbing me blind. Right under my nose.”

“This is exactly why I don’t trust anyone. That way, I’m not surprised when they let me down.” She shrugs, sitting a plate down in front of me.

“You don’t even trust me.”

She pauses, mid bite, and stares at me. “I’m undecided.”

I feel like that’s better than a flat-out no. Which is precisely what I would have gotten from her had I asked this same question a couple of months ago.

“I trust you more now than I did before,” she says, confirming what I already know.

We sit and eat in silence for a while, and we’re interrupted when my phone rings. It’s Chet. I turn the phone in her direction to show her.

“Answer it. He doesn’t know that I told you everything. We can use that to our advantage. Tell him you're going to a job site. Maybe we can lure him back here?”

“Hey, man.” I try to sound as casual as possible, even though I’d love nothing more than to knock his fucking teeth out.

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