Page 90 of Conflicted Lies

She lets out a shaky breath. I can’t read her rolling emotions or expressions. Suddenly, she looks at me. “And Kylie? Who killed her?”

I swallow hard and look at my hands wrapped around Braxton’s. I clear my throat. “I was jealous.”

“Jealous? You killed her because you were jealous?” she asks incredulously.

“Yes.” My voice quavers. I’m not proud of it. It’s the reason why I couldn’t sculpt the image of her body. I wouldn’t confess to having remorse because I don’t, not for any of my victims, and it’s already done. But I didn’t feel elated by it like I had my other victims.

I turn to my father, who’s trying to hide a smirk, and it twists a sick confusion in me as to whether I should be proud or ashamed.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Mom asks desperately. “Do you trust me so little?” I look at her, and I’m wounded by her stricken expression.

“I just—” My voice cracks as I hold her hand, my other still on Braxton, unwilling to break our connection. “I didn’t want you to hate me. I didn’t want you to know how fucked up your only child is. I didn’t want to be a disappointment when you’ve always been so proud of me. I didn’t want to be your shame.”

“Hope.” Tears stream down her face, and she cups my cheeks. “I would never be ashamed of you.” She pulls me in for a hug, and I’m so shaken by everything that’s happened these last twenty-four hours that I begin to cry, not knowing how badly I needed this from her. She kisses my head.

“I will always love you. You are our daughter. It’ll take me some time to get my head around this, but I would never forsake you. I was able to love your father not in spite of this side of him but because of it. I just don’t agree with killing people because of jealousy. Your Aunt Anya might feel differently, though.”

I choke on a laugh and wipe away tears as I gaze up at her. She cups my face again. “Just don’t keep these things a secret. We’re a family. We look out for one another, no matter what. But if you don’t tell us these things, we can’t protect you.”

“I think our little one is very capable of protecting herself now, sweetheart,” Dad says, pulling her back slightly. It’s like my mother sees me in a different light now. I’m not their baby girl anymore. I think they’ll always see me like that in some ways, but I feel like, for the first time in my entire life, they truly see the woman I’ve become. No matter how messy or dangerous I might be.

She lets out a slow breath and shakes her head. “And people ask why I drink so much.” She tries to laugh it off, and an uncomfortable laugh bubbles from me as well. I remove my glasses and wipe my eyes.

“We need to put a few boundaries in place, though, so you don’t get caught,” Dad says, and my mother whistles, holding her hand in the air.

“Can we just take this one day at a time? I still need to process this.” She pats my hand. “I love you, but it’s a lot to take in. I still remember you taking your first steps.”

“And I remember you ignoring all of the boys,” Dad grumbles in complaint as he side-eyes Braxton. I smirk, gazing back at him as well. I wonder what he’s dreaming of, if anything at all. Most likely, he’s catching up on the sleep he lost while tangling himself in my games.

But there are still things he and I need to discuss. We’re not in the clear yet, and I’m still not entirely sure my father or aunt will leave him unscathed.

The storm hasn’t yet passed.

CHAPTER45

Braxton

My body is heavy, and my mind is hazy. I feel like I’ve been stuck in a dream despite not recalling any of it. A woman is rapidly speaking in the distance, and I note a Russian accent. I groan as my eyes flutter open, and she goes quiet.

“We should just shoot him now,” Anya Ivanov grumbles from the doorway.

“Braxton?” Hope’s voice breaks, and my searching gaze lands on her. “Oh, thank fuck,” she says on an exhale as her hand squeezes mine. My eyebrows furrow as I look down at our joined hands, and everything slowly starts creeping back to me.

“Where am I?” I ask groggily.

“Well, it’s good to know, at the very least, you haven’t been sneaking into my daughter’s bedroom,” Alek Ivanov says, coming to a stop at the end of my bed.

“Dad,” Hope chastises, but I can’t help but smirk.

“We prefer public spaces,” I taunt, and gain so much satisfaction from the vein in his temple that looks like it will rupture at any second.

“Braxton,” Hope reprimands.

“Can we kill him now? Like actually kill him?” Anya growls. “The little shit got blood on all my favorite things.”

I slowly try to sit up in the bed, grimacing, and Hope’s hands are all over me, trying to help, but it’s definitely more of a nuisance, which checks out for this little pain in my ass.

“Shortcake,” I say with a small smile. She didn’t give up on me. She didn’t leave me to die. “You can let go now,” I say and give her a knowing look. “I’m not going anywhere.”

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