Page 14 of Conflicted Lies

“I don’t want my father to find out,” I tell him with a smile.

“Not find out?” Ford asks me. “You know who your father is, right?”

I push my glasses up my nose and nod my head. “If we can keep it between us, that would be great,” I say.

“Okay, so who are we helping you kill?” Hawke asks. I swear he’s going to start bouncing excitedly.

“Iwant to be the one to kill him. Just teach me how.” I need to do this myself.

“Who knew there was a little bit of devil in there,” Hawke jokes as Ford opens the envelope I give him. “Who pissed you off? And why do you want to kill him?”

“He’s a detective. And he lied to me about who he is.” That is somewhat true. I mean, he didn’t exactly announce who he was the first time we met years ago, neither did I but that’s not the point. But I don’t want my cousins asking further about my association with him so if I say I didn’t know who he was, it’s the truth. Now that I do, I realize he’s problematic.

They both stare at me.

“You want to kill a police officer?” Ford asks.

“Yep.” I nod. “Dead.”

Hawke whistles, seemingly impressed. He looks at his arms. “I actually have goosebumps because of how proud I am.”

We both look at Ford expectantly. He’s usually the one of calm guidance, but when I face him, he’s paled, his face stricken.

I go to ask if he’s okay, but he closes the envelope and is already leaving the room.

“Hey!” Hawke yells out after him. “We’re not done here. What the fuck was in that note?”

A cold dread fills my stomach, and I don’t know what’s happened, Ford leaving abruptly isn’t entirely new, but it just feels off…

“Nothing. Don’t follow me,” he yells back, a quiet calm, but that’s when he’s the deadliest.

“What the fuck?” Hawke curses at the entrance of the kitchen, looking out after him. I can tell he’s unsettled.

“Do you think everything’s okay?” I ask Hawke quietly.

His eyebrows furrow, and I can tell he’s concerned. He pulls out his phone, and I see the nameLoverappear as he rapidly messages. He sends a message, and I only catch a glimpse of the words tracking Ford as he says. “So, how do you want to kill him? Because if it’s a crowbar you want to use, you’ll have to wait for the rude asshole who just abandoned us to get back since that’s his specialty,” Hawke says.

“Crowbar?” I’d heard stories about my cousins. I’ve never seen them in action, but rumors circulate very quickly. Especially when they come with a warning. Ford prefers to fight with two crowbars, while Hawke, the brute who eats way too many carbs and spends the majority of his time either lifting weights or fucking women, uses spiked gloves.

“How about guns?”

Hawke’s eyebrows perk up and he looks at me now after the text is sent. I can tell he’s unsettled by Ford leaving.

“You’re serious about wanting to kill this guy? Why? I know it’s in the family business, but you’re not a killer, Hope.” He says, but I can tell he’s only half listening.

I bite my bottom lip because although I’m surrounded by killers for family members, I’ve never come for help to anyone for something like this. Me asking this is as abnormal as me enjoying being in a roomful of people. But if Braxton has made it his fixation to sniff too closely to me for a murder he’s trying to pin on me, I know it’ll put my family in jeopardy. I know they can look after themselves, but I don’t want to bring this trouble to my doorstep. Or my mother, for that matter. I don’t want to lose my independence because if I can’t protect myself and my family. If that happens, then my father will no doubt revoke all the freedom I’ve acquired in the last year.

It’s just one detective, right? It can’t be that hard, and if I do fuck up, which I won’t, then at least I know I can depend on my cousins to help me.

Hawke receives a message, and his eyebrows furrow. Whatever business Ford has himself involved with it’s not good. Even if I did have an answer for Hawke, I don’t think he’d hear me right now.

“Go Hawke. Something’s wrong, right?” I say. My cousins are always involved in shenanigans. Not the good kind and often leaving a trail of bodies behind them, but one thing is for certain—they’re always together.

“We’re not done with this, little red. I’ll teach you how to shoot, okay?” he says, pulling his keys out of his pocket and racing down the hallway. I hear him call out from the door. “Close up when you leave!”

I pick at my plate of food. Looking down at the small cat, who stares up at me as if knowing.

I wonder if this was a mistake. Sure, I’m pissed at Braxton, but is killing a police officer the answer?

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