Page 20 of Conflicted Lies

She’s changed a lot since I first met her. Although Hope is still reserved and quiet, there’s a fire behind those eyes. That’s what drew me to her in the first place. There’s a part of her she wants to hide from the rest of the world, and for some reason, I can’t rest until I understand everything about her brilliant mind.

I should know better than to continue pursuing her. It could impact my job. I’m hiding behind the excuse of investigating her, which I am actually doing, but it goes beyond that.I want her.

I want to be so deeply embedded in her thoughts that the beautiful little monster unravels for me.

It’s sick and twisted, and I don’t entirely understand it, but I can’t stop. It’s the same curiosity one has when they see a fire and have to decide whether to let it burn out in its own time or add more fuel and find out how much it’s able to consume and destroy in its path.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been great at dousing flames. I’m fascinated by human behavior, and I find it the most delicious when it borders on the edge of losing humanity completely. I hope she burns the whole fucking house down.

Trouble. That’s what she is to me.

My partner is calling, but I ignore him. Technically, I’m supposed to have today off, but that means shit to us when there’s an ongoing case. He’s also picked up on my keen interest in Hope Ivanov. But for now, I have every intention of keeping that investigation private.

I get back into my car, smirking at my exchange with Hawke Ivanov. He’s fucking massive, built like a giant, and yet I can’t help but want to provoke him. The second he hits me, I’ll imprison him, and I can’t wait to see how Hope might react, how she’ll beg and plead for me to set him free. The idea of that power and control over her excites me.

It’s the first time I’ve taken pleasure in a personal pursuit in a long time. I open my phone and look through her Instagram page. I’m certain she has someone running it for her, but I don’t care. I look at the candid shots. Then the upcoming events she’s attending, curious about her day-to-day life.

The minute I was old enough to know what I wanted to do, no one was stopping me from becoming who I am today. With my home life completely fucked up because of my mother being a drug addict and prostitute, I learned very quickly the value of the lifestyle I wanted. It was easy for me to identify patterns in people, and I was intrigued by corrupt minds. It makes them a mystery until they’re not.

It wasn’t a surprise when my sister turned into a drunk at sixteen, and I was surrounded by their disastrous nature with men who were bigger than me. The bastards often hit them and me when I tried to defend them. But they’d both always went crawling right back to their abusers, reprimanding me for intervening.

I was fourteen when I first decided to punish men like that and hold them accountable for their actions. I’d told my mother I wanted to join law enforcement, and she kicked me out of the house the same day and told me never to come back, that she would never have a cop living under her roof.

I start the engine of the car, surprised at my trip down memory lane. It’d been a long time since I revisited any of this, which meant Hope was shifting something within me. That gave her too much power already.

It’s funny how someone like me is considered an enemy to her and her family, yet I’d done plenty of good saving people in the line of duty. But perhaps they looked down their noses at those who needed protection instead of protecting themselves.

The only reason I survived is because a friend’s family took me in for two years, letting me live in their attic. I picked up multiple jobs to save up money and create the life I have now. I will never ask anything of anyone again. And I certainly am not here for her to abuse all over again.

I wonder if it might’ve been different for me if I’d had some kind of protection when I was younger. I doubt it. It was only when my mother threw me out that I discovered my father was thrown in jail because of a corrupt cop. I later delved into his crimes, which he deserved to be behind bars for, but my mother was in the habit of pardoning men who treated her and other women like shit.

Truth be told, I don’t even know if he was my real father. His name wasn’t on my birth certificate, and my mother informed me she did it out of spite because she found him fucking some other woman when she was pregnant with me.

Not that it matters. I’m glad he wasn’t on my birth certificate because it might’ve impeded my ease of transitioning into my current position; being connected to criminals is definitely not a great start for a cop.

The fewer people who know where I come from, the better. And so I’ve purposely gone out of my way to excel and surpass all expectations. Brilliant, they call me, blowing smoke up my ass. Very few of my peers tried to associate with me when that brilliance didn’t equate to friendliness. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to bring powerful people to their knees, to see how many enemies I can collect by outsmarting them at their own game.

Sure, a therapist may have mentioned I might have an authority complex, but I could suggest the same thing for her if I psychoanalyzed her in return. I didn’t disagree with her, but I also never went back to her.

As if the devil himself has a sick sense of humor, my mother’s name appears on my phone screen. I ignore it as I pull out onto the road, Hope and her cousin long gone. My mother only calls when she wants something. I’ve only seen her once in the last four years because she was arrested for trying to prostitute herself to an undercover cop.

It wasn’t surprising that she used my name to get herself out of trouble. I ended up having to pay off the police officer who arrested her, which I fucking hate. I don’t like owing anyone favors or getting mixed up in things that might ruin my job. It turns out that having a cop in the family is useful to her after all. Not that she ever said thanks.

I haven’t spoken to my sister since I was kicked out of the house. I’m pretty sure she’s married to a man who is probably also a drunk and cheats on her constantly. I don’t know why people commit to one another with no desire to remain faithful. Marriage and relationships are complete bullshit.

I never really understood that concept. If you want to fuck someone else, leave the person you’re with first. It’s pretty fucking simple. Or better yet, just don’t enter into a relationship.

My partner calls again, and I sigh, finally answering it. “Hey, you’re not at your desk this morning. Where are you?” he asks.

“Shouldn’t you be enjoying your day off?” I ask, avoiding his question. It’s not like we aren’t usually out on the field.

“Yeah, well, I’m just going over these details of the most recent murder. It’s a fucking mess, and the chief is breathing down our necks for answers.”

“Isn’t he always?” I droll. Admittedly, this one’s been stretching out for longer than it should, and we still can’t confirm that it’s only one killer, even though my gut says it is.

“Come on, man, you’re busting my balls. Do you have any more hunches? Your instincts are usually on point. I propose we try to get some spies out there among the main underworld families. It might not be one of them, but surely, if there’s a serial killer on the loose, they’ll know about it. We need a lead, and where better to start than the criminals themselves.”

My eyebrows shoot up. That’s fucking bold of Lucas. I still haven’t told him that I’m looking into Hope Ivanov personally, but this line of thinking is risky. It’s why I didn’t want to get him involved. “What? You know these families are tough to break into. The last time someone attempted that was a year ago. We never found the body of the officer after disappearing not even a week later.”

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