Page 147 of Please Hate Me

I glared down at not-Aiden.

“What? Because she’s pregnant?”

“Uh, no?” He pointed to the speaker the song was spewing from. “That’s about her dad.”

“And?” James probably wrote that shit himself. That would explainwhyit was shit.

“Wait—you’re fucking with me.”

It was getting really hard to hide my hatred for not-Aiden.

“About what?”

“Oh my god, you seriously don’t know? James Albright is dead.”

Chapter 40

Sebastian

The cobwebs littering the basement of Saint Samael’s infested my hair while dust flooded my nostrils. I fought a sneeze as I buried my arm in the crook of my elbow, using the fabric of my hoodie to quell the itch in my nose. Getting dirty during investigations was hands down my least favorite part of my job... But I was more than willing to get a little grimy if that meant findingsomethingto indict Cameron Cole as a killer.

I had hoped that when Mason read the article for me, she’d find thatCalvinburned the house down in some form of ritualistic sacrifice. More than that, I hoped she’d fear him. If she had asked the right questions, I would have been able to tell her everything about her murderous baby daddy.

Instead, Mason had to go and ruin everything. Sometimes, I forgot she was actually intelligent since she had nothing to show for it. She didn’t even have a GED, which meant she wasn’t qualified for most retail jobs. But she would never need a job again once she became my trophy wife. I could keep her barefoot and pregnant, completely and utterly dependent on me. Wecould’ve already been on our way to Portland by now if things had gone the right way.

Butno,she had to ask a question that turned my investigation on its head.

‘What about Dale?’

The only light in the basement came from the small window I had climbed through, but it wasn’t enough to prevent me from bumping into things. Searching for evidence would be nearly impossible in these conditions. I patted my jeans before withdrawing my phone and quickly flicking on the flashlight. The white glow was almost blinding, but after my eyes adjusted, I froze.

I had hoped to find some old church records or some boxes of photos. If I was really lucky, maybe I’d get a confession written in a journal. Far-fetched, maybe, but it had happened to me before.

Instead, I seemed to have found some sort of altar.

With slow, careful steps, I inched toward the large wooden cross in the middle of the room. Whereas congregants would sit on pews upstairs, down here, it seemed they kneeled on velvet cushions, most of them so well-worn that they had divots where I imagined someone’s shins once rested.

A bubble of excitement fluttered in my chest. After today, I would be able to kill Cameron Cole. It would look like a suicide; he’d leave a note confessing everything, and I’d take my princess back to Portland in time for our daughter to make her grand entrance.

I couldn’twaitto see the fear in Cameron’s eyes as he realized his time had come. The thought was almost intoxicating. I held my breath, trying to force myself to calm down as I finally reached the cross.

There was a ledge in front of it, and instinctively, I tried to climb onto it. Thankfully, the attempt was successful. With myback to the wood, I stared out at the empty pillows, imagining a congregation of adoring sheep. Though I detested Cameron for killing all those innocent women and trying to do the same to Mason, I had to admit, it sounded pretty nice to be worshiped.

After I hopped off the wooden pedestal, I slid my phone into my pocket just in time for the device to vibrate. The sensation caused me to jump out of my skin. I held my phone up, squinting at my brother’s name.

What the hell couldhewant?

I considered answering for a second, only to think better of it. If it were important, he’d call back or leave a voicemail.

I didn’t bother to turn the flashlight back on; instead, I slowly felt my way through near darkness until I reached the back of the room. Eventually, I stumbled upon something velvety hanging from the ceiling, presumably a curtain. The fabric was heavy and stiff as I slid it to the side, letting myself into the world it may be hiding.

If the front area of the basement was dark, this area could only be described as ‘the abyss’. There was no light, no sound to mask the racing of my heart. I reached for my phone once more, only for it to light up with my brother’s nameagain.

I rolled my eyes before rejecting him once again. Didn’t he know I wasbusy? Why couldn’t he just fucking text me?

I turned the screen around, using it to illuminate the small space. The abyss eagerly swallowed the meager amount of light, and attempted to swallow me also as I tumbled headfirst over a box. I caught myself just before my face hit the floor, but my glasses catapulted off my nose and skittered into the darkness.

“God dammit.”

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