Page 161 of Filthy Lies


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“What happened?”

“He got me pregnant.”

My mouth rounded in astonishment. “Y-You had a baby with him?”

“No.” Her throat bobbed. “When I found out, he was happy.” Her top lip curved into a sneer. “I’d already intended on killing him, but like I said, I got… lost. That sped things along fast.”

Lost—I couldn’t imagine Star ever being that way. She was such a force to be reckoned with. I couldn’t imagine wanting her to be anything other than what she was—living, breathing mayhem.

“What things?”

“He wasn’t my husband at the time.”

“The pregnancy made it happen?”

“Yes. It worked in my favor. He said he loved me, and I knew what would happen if I got pregnant—”

“Did you make it happen on purpose?” I questioned softly.

She snorted. “No. I didn’t have a say in anything. I had to ask to use the bathroom, Conor. You think he gave me a choice about getting pregnant? Hell, he could have brought in a football team and ordered me to fuck them and I’d have to or I’d end up—”

“What?” I prompted when she stilled.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said with a sigh. “He had a way of making me do whatever he wanted.

“I knew that with a kid and his warped ideas of love, he’d make sure he provided for us. I killed him a week after he’d been to visit his attorney to change his will.

“I broke into his medicine cabinet, drugged his whiskey, then got him ready for the end. When he started to stir, I strung him up and watchedhimdance forme.” A ghost of a smile drifted onto her lips and I knew point blank that that bastard had made her do that—dance for him. The smile barely had a chance to exist before it was immediately quenched. “I was going to get an abortion but God proved he exists because he smiled down on me and I miscarried.”

“What happened?”

“Helped Hans hang himself. He kicked me while he was swinging. I fell.”

She uttered the words in such a facile tone that I knew those were the bare bones of what had undoubtedly been one of many traumatizing days in her life.

Her hesitation was palpable as she mumbled, “You’re Catholic.”

“Your body, your choice,” was my immediate reply. “And I’m not really Catholic.”

She grunted. “I know that, just wasn’t sure if you did and if I’d have to kick you around a bit until you understood that even if Ihadn’tmiscarried, I wasn’t going to let—”

I pressed a finger to her lips. “Your body. Your choice. Anyway, what is it with you and fighting? Or is it just a self-defense thing?”

“Got a black belt in Ju-Jitsu at fourteen. What do you think?”

“Wow.”

Another grunt.

“If you ever want to fight me… I’m not a black belt, but Brennan makes us train.”

“Hemakesyou train? You aren’t ten and have anger issues.”

“That’s why you got your black belt so young?”

“Yeah.”

“I had authority issues but Da let me burn that off by hacking into government agencies.” Her snicker soothed the agitation her anecdote had stirred.

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