Page 91 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

When Smooch has finally decided that I’ve been thoroughly welcomed to a new day, I trudge out of bed and help myself to a warm shower and get ready for my day. I’ve got a meeting with my old landlord and his lawyer this afternoon before I’m due to start my shift at Black Velvet, so something tells me today isn’t going to be my day.

I think it’s fair to say that after a proper investigation, my dark room has been discovered. And while I know Maddox offered to cover all the expenses involved with this, I don’t think it’s fair to expect that of him. I was the one who illegally created a space in my home I wasn’t entitled to, and I was the one who housed a shitload of flammable chemicals that generally shouldn’t mix. An explosion was imminent. It was only a matter of time. And unlucky for me, it only took one single overly-curious sex-beast to unravel it all.

Not gonna lie, I’ve been enjoying living here though. It’s definitely an adjustment going from having nothing but peace and quiet, while surrounded by all my beautiful things with pretty bedsheets and quilts, to living with two moronic asshats, an oversized dog, and mismatched pillow cases, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Not to mention, the constant mind-blowing sex definitely has its bonuses.

After making myself a coffee, I go in search of the boys, starting with the home gym before checking out back, but I’m well and truly alone, and I pause, my brain frantically searching for any sign that they could be out on a job that I’ve missed, but I come up blank.

My heart races.

They can’t beat me to a hit, especially not after spending the night bragging about how much better I am. They naturally didn’t believe me, but with egos that big, I didn’t expect them to. Doesn’t make it any less true though. I am better. Faster. Stealthier. Quicker on a trigger. And that’s not my ego talking. I’m just that good. But I won’t lie, Maddox and Hunter are incredible. Seeing them in action at the DeLuca compound last week was an eye-opener . . . and a turn on.

Spinning on my heel, I stalk back to the bedroom, my pulse quickening with nerves. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant. How could I be so stupid? I let my guard down, they caught me in the act, and now they’re slipping out in the night to take a hit.

This is going to come back to bite me. I can only imagine the bragging that’s going to rain down over me.

Scooping up my phone, I open a new message and madly start typing before hitting send.

Lyra: Where are you idiots?

Maddox’s response comes through first.

Lemony Snicket: Well good morning my feisty little redhead. How’d you sleep?

Lyra: Don’t hit me with that shit. Where did you sneak out to?

Hunter’s message is next.

Hannah Montana: What’s the matter? Worried we’re out proving that we’re better than you? I’m concerned, my sweet little sociopath. If you were as good as you say you are, there’s no way we would have been able to slip past you so easily.

Lyra: The only thing that can slip past me first thing in the morning is an accidental fart. What’s the job?

Lemony Snicket: Relax, Savage. There is no job. We’re out for a run.

Lyra: I can smell the bullshit from a mile away!

A notification in the group chat flashes on the screen. Lemony Snicket changed Lyra’s nickname to Vanilla Ice.

Vanilla Ice: WTF! Vanilla Ice?

Lemony Snicket: Self-explanatory.

Vanilla Ice: No. Think of something different.

Lemony Snicket: Once the name is created, it sticks. Isn’t that your rule?

Hannah Montana: I like it. It’s a constant reminder that this little vanilla perfume wearing she-devil got caught in a trap, and what’s better than a constant reminder that Lyra Vale was fooled by the great Hunter Cole?

Vanilla Ice: Literally everything.

Lemony Snicket: We’ll be home in ten.

Vanilla Ice: I’m testing you for gunshot residue when you get home.

I huff and puff as I storm through the house, stomping around like an idiot. There’s no question that I’m better than Hunter and Maddox, but it looks as though I severely underestimated just how sly they could be. I should have seen it coming.

When their ten minutes are up, I stand by the door with my hands braced on my hips, waiting for them to come in, already rehearsing the verbal smackdown they’re going to get.

I hear them coming down the path a moment later, chatting between themselves as they reach the porch. The door opens, and I inch forward, ready to explode, when the words get caught in my throat.