Page 52 of Conflicted Lies

“Leave her.” Braxton’s voice carries over the room as he appears from somewhere deeper in the precinct, and I smile like it’s the happiest moment of my life to see him. “I’ll handle this.”

The officer seems unconvinced and points to Braxton’s car. Braxton looks out the glass doors and his jaw tics.

“Too short for the brake pedal, Shortcake?” he growls.

“No, my heel slipped,” I say innocently as I glance over his shoulder and into the area he came from. The same one he took me into months ago.

People are cuffed to chairs as they sit there and wait their turn, and officers walk around talking, eating, or drinking coffee.

He makes a point to bring his hand near his waist, drawing attention to the gun in his holster. He’s wearing all black, and the badge I came all over only a week ago hangs around his neck. I feel rather smug with a twisted idea of how it might look as a noose instead. His sleeves are rolled up to showcase the tattoos on his arm, and I can’t help but smile as those blue eyes darken with anger.

Oooh, I really got to him this time. Good.

He takes a few steps and reaches for me. People are watching us, but I don’t really care. I make a pointed look down to the box in my hands, and when he follows my gaze, it’s like he hadn’t noticed it before.

“What are you doing?” he hisses.

“I think your package got lost in the mail and somehow ended up at my house,” I inform him. “While I appreciate the compliment that you thought I was the one to create them, they’re not mine to take, so please take possession of your belongings.” His gaze flicks to the box and back to me and then back to the box again like he can’t believe what I’m doing. What did he expect to happen when he sent this to me? Did he really think I’d just accept it?

He then looks back at his car. That’s just a fucking bonus.Asshole.

“You’re still denying you made them?” he asks in disbelief.

“I can’t possibly be the only gifted person you know.” I lean in. “Also, please tell me you understand there’s a difference between what I do and what’s in this box because it’s not the same.”

“Youare the most gifted person I know.” I’m taken aback by his words. I didn’t actually expect him to admit that. He looks back down to the box again, avoiding my gaze, and I wonder if he’s realizing too late what he said. “If they aren’t yours, then throw them away. I have no need for this trash,” he says.

Trash?

Fuckingtrash?

He thinks my work is trash?

I mask my imploding thoughts, too stunned to reply, which he takes advantage of and continues. “I’ll be in touch about the insurance for the car. Have a good day, Shortcake. Don’t want to be late for your event this evening.” Then he turns back toward the bullpen. I stare after him. For the first time in my life I’m actually shocked into silence. I don’t know what to do or say.

What the fuck is this asshole playing at?

My nails curl into the box, and I hold my head high as the receptionist watches me anxiously.

Piece of shit. Asshole. Dickhead.

Wait to see what’s coming to you. You fucking deserve every slow torture in the world.

I fume on the inside as I leave with the box. I’m not so furious and stupid as to leave it in the center of a police station. Even though I was here to hand it to a fucking detective. I don’t know what the fuck I’m thinking lately, but it’s certainly nothing sane.

I set the box back in the passenger seat, start the engine, and throw the car in reverse. His bumper falls off when the vehicles are no longer pinned together, and I smirk, a tiny bit satisfied by the damage.

Piece of shit.

I don’t know what I plan to do with the statues now. I expected him to take them back because they’re his.

And he will take them back.

* * *

My mood hasn’t gotten any better since I smashed the asshole’s car. If anything, I want to return and throw gasoline on it. I’m surprised Braxton hasn’t yet filed the insurance claim, but I wonder if it’s a strategic move. Neither of us want my parents to know about me being anywhere near him or a police station, and had I been smarter, I wouldn’t have left behind evidence. But the damage is quite literally already done.

Part of me hopes the asshole keeps this to himself. I try my best to smile for the cameras at yet another event. Thankfully, I didn’t have to travel far for this one, and it’s more of a social event to raise money for a charity, which my mother has always been an advocate of. So doing things like this always makes me feel good about myself because it reminds me that although I’m not the same as my mother, I can follow her lead and try to do some good with my fortune.

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