Page 42 of Conflicted Lies

Hope

“Did you kill him?” I ask Hawke.

He huffs like a child, crossing his arms over his chest. “No. You wouldn’t be finding a fucking body in the dumpster if I did it.”

I expel a sigh. “Then who the fuck did it?”

“How the fuck should I know?” he exclaims. “I was just there for titty and ass, and since when do you care who I do and don’t kill?”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t care who you kill, Hawke. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t becoming senile and messy. You know he’s probably already suspicious of our family’s involvement with this serial killer situation.”

He clicks his tongue. “Well, I don’t know who the fuck it is, but I tip my hat to them. They’re running circles around everyone. However, I’m not getting pinned for their inability to clean up after themselves.”

“That’s rich, a killer criticizing another killer’s process.”

He stares at me wide-eyed. “What’s gotten into you today? Are you fucking that detective? Because, I swear to God, if you are, the secret is out the window, and Daddy Gloves is finding out. That detective won’t even last another twelve hours.”

I snort. “Twelve hours is assuming my father decides to take a nap during that time. And, no, I’m not sleeping with him.” I lie effortlessly. “But we just need to be careful; he’s sniffing around our family. That’s never a good thing, right?”

Hawke looks at me—really looks at me. “Since when did you get so involved with the family business or start caring about who’s sniffing what? I thought your father kept you away from all of this.”

The reality is he does. But it doesn’t make me ignorant about it. And having Braxton’s attention focused on us has made me more conscious about it than ever.

“He does, but I’m not a kid anymore.”

Hawke doesn’t seem convinced. “There’s something you’re not telling me about all of this. It feels off, and I think you’re lying about something.”

“Should we talk about how you’ve been off lately as well? You’ve been at clubs a lot more recently since the incident with Ford and Billie.” I deflect. He opens and closes his mouth, then looks away, and I realize I hit home. I almost feel guilty for it.

I’m conflicted about telling him the truth. Yes, I’m lying. Only a marginal amount of guilt sits in my stomach about it, but not enough to tell him my secrets, especially when it’ll only turn on me.

“I’m not lying. I just don’t want anyone else touching him. I want to kill him myself. And I know if he keeps snooping, someone else is going to do it before me.” I elaborate.

He snorts. “I give you credit, little red. I know it’s your first time and all, but you’re being very methodical about this. If you want someone dead, you just kill them. Fuck the gun. Slit his throat or something.”

I know he’s speaking the truth, but I’ve envisioned it so many times: how Braxton and I will come to an end with me pointing a gun at his head. I’ve lived it so many times in my head I can’t pull away from it. I don’t want to. It’s the vision I hold, and once I see something so divinely, I have to express it. It’s the same as with my work.

I pull up at Ford’s house, and Hawke stares out the window, only just realizing I brought him here instead of his house. “You’re miserable when you’re by yourself. I figured you would want to come here instead.”

“But if Billie’s here, there’s no point.” He sulks.

I roll my eyes. Big baby. “I’m going to have a girls’ night with Billie and Ivy. I was on my way to their place when I got the call from Ford that I was closest to the club and to get you out of there before you started any trouble.” Before Hawke can ask, I add. “Your mother was tipped off by security about the murder.”

His jaw snaps shut again because we know how quickly gossip spreads among our family, which is why my car was tracked to be the closest to get him out and my father was on the phone. My Aunt Anya has eyes and ears everywhere, just like every member of the family,

“Me? Trouble?” He smirks. “He does still care.”

“Go and kiss and make up so I can have my girls’ night.”

Ford opens the front door, looming there with arms crossed over his chest, looking the part of a seriously pissed off dad as Felix, his cat, rubs against his legs. The two tolerate each other at best, and Ford is definitely not the cat’s favorite person.

Hawke basically bounces out of the car but leans down before closing the door. “I’m serious, though, little red. If you’re fucking that detective, you’re in deep trouble. I just don’t want to see you used or hurt.”

I’m actually surprised. Hawke is the last person I thought capable of feelings, especially when they have anything to do with romance. “You think I would give someone that much power?” I ask with a smile that seems to fill him with confidence in the situation.

“I’m just saying, people start doing crazy shit when they’re in love.” He says it so loudly I know it’s targeted at his brother. I’m laughing when he closes the door. I leave them to their sibling squabble as I pull away from the curb and head to Ivy and Billie’s apartment.

When I left Braxton’s place, I needed my girls. I can’t explain it. I’m not often dependent on people, but the feeling of going home after being with Braxton felt wrong.

---