Page 80 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

I scoff. “And if I do choose to leave. Are you going to kill me for knowing your secret?”

Hunter scoffs. “Like I’d ever let him do that.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” I reiterate, holding Maddox’s stare. “You said that you find it rewarding. So what happens if I threaten to leave and you panic? Will you try?”

Maddox steps around the couch, walking right into me and taking my chin. “I’d sooner throw myself into shark-infested waters than ever bring you harm,” he tells me. “I wasn’t kidding that first night we met when I said we’re soulmates. I could never hurt you, Savage. Not even if you were plunging a blade right through my chest.”

I nod and take a step back, needing to be outside of his magnetic orbit.

So they’re both contract killers. I can handle that, right? It’s not as though I wasn’t already handling it with Hunter. I suppose I should just think of it as a two for one deal. The only thing that really guts me is the fact that Maddox had an opportunity to tell me, to be upfront and honest, and he chose to keep quiet. Though to be fair, I’m a killer isn’t exactly something somebody can just blurt out. It makes them vulnerable and there needs to be a level of trust there before they can bear that kind of secret. And who am I to rush either of them into exposing themselves in that way? I’m not really an open book, either. Everybody has secrets.

I sit in silence for a few minutes before letting out a breath and looking up at them both, deciding that I need to be okay with this, because walking away just isn’t an option for me. I’m already in too deep.

“Alright, start from the beginning. I want every detail about how this all started, right down to the second you climbed into your beds, and if you even think about skipping over anything, I will slaughter you in your sleep and become the hero for killing the two killers who have been tormenting the townsfolk.”

22

MADDOX

If somebody had told me a week ago that Lyra would find out Hunter and I were professional killers and somehow become more relaxed around us afterward, I would’ve laughed in their face.

Yet here we are.

Not only has Lyra accepted it, but she’s sitting across from me at Onyx Height’s best twenty-four-seven diner, like we merely confessed to having weird hobbies.

Hunter looks mildly disturbed by how quickly she adapted, and somewhat offended that she doesn’t seem to hold it against me the way she does with him. But that’s the price he pays for ditching her at that bar the very first night they met, and I’m sure she’s going to make him sweat it for as long as she possibly can. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that she hasn’t told him to fuck off recently, so perhaps that’s progress.

Personally, I think she’s handling the news great. A little too great actually. Most women would have needed at least three to five business days to process, but not Lyra. She asked us to sit down and give her a full rundown, not leaving anything out, and that’s exactly what we did.

She sat there for about twenty minutes before asking if we wanted to go for breakfast burritos. And now, four days later, she’s just about as okay with it as we are.

“Pass the salt,” Lyra says as the three of us sit in a corner booth.

I hand it over and she gives me a small smile.

“Thanks.”

Thanks. That’s it? No shaky hands while my skin brushed her. No freaking out. No complete breakdown. She’s just perfectly okay. Completely normal with the fact that a confessed contract killer just passed her the salt.

What the actual fuck is wrong with this girl? This shit isn’t normal.

The fact that she asked Hunter how many people he’s killed over cereal this morning is beside the point. It’s almost as though she’s mildly intrigued by it.

The meeting is scheduled for later today, and after the whole apartment explosion fiasco, attendance is apparently mandatory—or at least a representative from every home needs to be there. Something about community concerns and public safety, while also wanting to ensure that the new safety policies that are put in place tonight are accepted and heard.

Honestly, I’d rather get shot through a testicle.

As we eat, my gaze drifts out the window and toward the car dealership across the street. Rows of brand-new cars sit beneath the bright red flags waving in the breeze, and I let out a breath. “I’ve been thinking about buying a car.”

Lyra drops her fork, her stare locking onto mine, filled with horror. “What?”

My brows furrow. I was expecting a few different things, but certainly not that. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re gonna sell the bike?” she asks, searching my stare. “You can’t sell that bike. I haven’t even fucked you on it yet. Plus, what’s a fuckboy without a bike? Just an ordinary fuckboy, and who wants that? I mean, shit, Maddox. Have you not seen how hot you are when you’re riding down the street in one of those sexy muscle tees and the wind has it plastered to your chest so tight you can count your abs? And then that helmet. Goddamn. If you even knew how hot that got me, you’d never sell that bike. Never even consider it.”

I just watch her, my brow arched. “You done?”

She shakes her head. “Not even close.”