Page 73 of Hate To Love You


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“Hey, bro.”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be mad, but I did something. I needed to. I had to know.”

That sounds ominous. “What?”

He hesitates. “I drove to San Diego and broke into Bethany Banks’s apartment.”

I vault to my feet, nerves and exhaustion forgotten. “What? Why the hell did you do that?”

“To prove you’re wrong. She may give you good pussy, but she’s a lying, thieving snake. I needed you to see that. And now I can prove it.”

Foreboding gongs in my chest. I force myself to take a deep breath. He can’t be right. Bethany told me herself that her father left incriminating evidence at her place for others to find, right? Bret simply fell for it.

But I have to hear my brother out. He doesn’t understand how I feel and he doesn’t know Beth. I have to prove that I’m listening and that I care. “First of all, are you fucking crazy? You could go to jail for breaking and entering. A conviction like that could be attached to every résumé you ever float for the rest of your life.”

“Relax. I didn’t take anything of value. And no one saw me.”

“How do you know? Where are you now?”

“I’m heading out of San Diego now. I drove to a mall, then waited until well after dark to hire a taxi. I paid cash. No one should be able to tie me to anything. But I got two hours alone in your girlfriend’s place.”

I do my best to tamp down my fury. “You have no right to invade anyone’s privacy. You don’t see me snooping through your shit.”

“Yeah, okay. So it’s underhanded. I get it. But what’s really important is the shit I found.”

“And what is that?”

“Admittedly, nothing at first, except the fact her apartment is almost all white. It’s so devoid of color that it’s weird. Like she has no personality.”

“I promise you she does.” But Bethany definitely prefers neat and organized. She likes lines that are simple, colors that are crisp and unfussy. White suits her.

“Well, the place gave me the creeps.”

I refrain from pointing out that Bret was predisposed to not like anything about Bethany. “Her decor isn’t a reason to convict her of anything. If it was, I would have locked you up a long time ago for violating good taste with all those skateboard posters and bikini shots.”

“Ha ha,” he returns acidly.

“I’m serious. You don’t know her. I do.”

“Boning her doesn’t make you an expert, either,” he spits back at me. “You think you know her, but your dick is not the most logical part of your body. Stop being a chump. I saw the evidence of her guilt tonight.”

He’s clearly dying to tell me all about whatever “smoking gun” he’s found. He’s convinced it’s going to change my mind. I’m not sure how. Bethany has already told me so much, probably more than going through her apartment ever would. But I’d pretty much figured out that truth when I searched the ohana. At the time, I thought prowling through Beth’s stuff was simply being thorough and smart. But I didn’t start understanding the woman at all until I opened my ears and my mind.

“Bret, look… I’m tired. It’s been a long-ass day, and I have to work tomorrow night. I’m pissed as hell at you for taking a chance that might have flushed your future down the toilet, especially for a vendetta. As much as we hate it, Dad is gone. So is the money. But think about this: he was the last person who would ever want you to risk yourself, especially for revenge. Despite what you think you saw, Bethany has told me everything. And I mean everything about how the money disappeared. I get why she had nothing to do with it. Which is also why she hasn’t been charged with a crime.”

“Whatever she told you was bullshit. She wasn’t charged with a crime because she fucked the federal prosecutor. I saw the video, bro. I found it tucked away in her apartment. I’ll cut you some slack for being bowled over by a pretty face and a centerfold body. She looks like she’d be fantastic to bang. But get the right head in the game, bro. She’s responsible for Dad’s death. How can you let your dick get in the way of that? How are you living with yourself? Sleeping at night?”

The bottom drops out of my stomach. I gape. Is this the video Barclay hit Beth up for? “How do you know the identity of the guy in the video?”

“His name, James Braden, was on a sticky note in the envelope with the flash drive. All I had to do was Google.”

The box containing the ring—the symbol of my future with Beth—drops from my numb fingers.

She fucked the prosecutor? Funny how she never mentioned that part… In fact, she lied and told me she didn’t have the video at all. Did she film herself fucking the prosecutor to save her glorified sperm donor from prison, as Barclay seems to think? Or did she whore her body out to save herself?

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