Page 3 of Conflicted Lies

“Nice to see you again, Hope.” He winks, and I recognize that cocky smile as he leans over me to buckle my seat belt.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” I sigh and let my head hit the back of the seat.

Braxton Hero.

The very man I lost my virginity to when I was eighteen.

Fuck.

He looks good.

“I heard that,” he says just before he slams the door shut, locking me in the back of the cop car with my hands still cuffed behind my back.

Fuck, I’m in so much trouble.

CHAPTER2

Braxton

Ican’t fight the smirk on my lips as I walk over to my partner.

He doesn’t seem too impressed, though. He jerks his head in the direction of where she’s restrained in the car. “You know her?”

Lucas and I were forced into a partnership. I consider it a love-hate relationship, depending on what type of day he’s having. But he’s a good fucking detective and has my back.

“Who doesn’t know her family?” I ask, not at all appreciating his tone. It’s not a lie; we all know her family and how none of us can touch them.Under normal circumstances.Hope just made it far too easy this evening. She hadn’t even run a quarter of a mile before giving up and throwing herself to the ground in exhaustion like a sacrificial lamb, one I was happy to slaughter tonight.

“That’s not what I am asking,” he says. I shake my head as he slides into the driver’s seat, and I take the passenger seat.

I glance at her over my shoulder. Her head is tilted back awkwardly, and she appears to be asleep. Shit, she passed out quickly, clearly unfazed by her predicament.

And why would she be? At twenty-two years old, the woman has more power and wealth than she knows what to do with. But I didn’t know that when I first met her.

Until tonight, I haven’t seen her for four years, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about her. Though, I don’t remember her being so feisty. She was quiet and reserved as if she carefully chose who she gave her time to. It’s what drew me to her. I wanted to break something so sickly sweet and innocent, but there were little glimmers of her feisty side here. One I’m certain very few see and more prone to come out with the assistance of alcohol. I didn’t know she was a virgin the first night we met until she bled all over my cock. She’d reassured me she wanted it and told me not to change my pace.

So we fucked. Three times.

By the time I went for a shower and came back to the room, she was gone. And I haven’t seen her since.

I was going to reach out to her again. Finding people is my specialty as a detective, after all, but that changed when I discovered who she was. Not the alias she gave me, but the truth of who she actually was. I wonder if she knew who I was that night. Or did it just so happen we were on opposite sides of a fence that neither of us should’ve crossed. She’s not just any criminal’s daughter; she’s Alek Ivanov’s fucking daughter. The name alone runs so deeply in the underbelly of black-market auctions and has heavily tied connections with Manhattan’s Italian mafia, the Monti’s.

So I left it alone and haven’t seen her since.

Until now.

Drunk in a park, defeated by one minute of running after stealing my partner’s wallet. Though I’m pretty sure it was her friend and not her who actually did the pickpocketing. Had they targeted me, they wouldn’t have gotten any farther than down the block. Unfortunately, my partner likes donuts, which is why he’s the driver—so I can jump out of the car at any given moment and run.

“So, do you know her or not?” he presses. I side-eye him, having thought he’d dropped it.

“No. In family reputation alone.” I finally answer him, unsure of what else to say. Do I know her? Not really. Could I tell him about the way her body moves when she’s under me? Yes. Yes, I could. In very graphic detail, actually. I grind my teeth, thinking back on that night. I’ve not been able to forget it.

“I don’t think she has the wallet,” he says, looking at her through the rearview mirror. Her mouth is wide open, so she’s definitely fucking snoozing.

“No, it was her friend,” I agree.

I tap my fingers against the door. Ordinarily, we shouldn’t touch her. In fact, we might get reprimanded for doing so. But this is different. I let her escape once. Why couldn’t I have a different type of fun with it the second time? Even if it rains down hell at the police station and creates more paperwork for me.

I’m just doing my job,I convince myself, trying to hide a smirk.

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