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In fact, I’d probably feel better.
Clara Everett has a death wish. She has to—there’s no other logical explanation for why she eagerly walks into danger again and fucking again.
She knows how dirty and underhanded her father is. She knows he’s buddies with her ex; hell, we both heard him stand up for the douchebag and try to shift blame onto her.
I damn near smashed the phone when he said those things.
I always knew Greg Everett was a dirty cop—I just never fathomed how deep his corruption sank or how far he’d go.
And for… what? His interests are so fucking vague. It’s one of the reasons why we’ve struggled to pin anything to do with Michael Little’s murder on him.
Iknowhe’s dirty.
Iknowhe’s involved somehow.
Iknowhe’s going to trap Clara and sell her over to Martin.
She knows all that shit, too. But instead of acting like a smart person who values her life, she’s pulling a dumbass cartwheel right into the jaws of a deathtrap.
I want to chalk it up to family loyalty. I’d meet with Tolya regardless of a trap, right?
But he would never do that to me. He may be losing his goddamn mind behind bars, but he’s still my brother. My big brother who always looked out for me, even at his own expense.
It’s one of the biggest reasons why I couldn’t accept the murder charges, even with the evidence stacked against him. DNA or no, fingerprints or no, there’s no way Tolya pulled the trigger.
I wanted to believe he wasn’t even there. So did a lot of people. That one was a lie of omission I’m still processing. But regardless, he’s always been the kind of guy who would sooner give someone the shirt off his back than put a bullet through their head.
Our fatherhatedthat about him.
I aspired to be just like him.
I laugh. I laugh like I’ve lost my fucking mind because I feel like I have, and there’s no one around to hear me.
I wanted to be like Tolya?Mission fucking failed.
I splash some water on my face and stare at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors lining one wall. Stubble darkens my jaw and I’m overdue for a haircut. I’m letting myself fray at the edges in a way I’ve never done before. Visual evidence of how I’m crossing all the lines I drew in the sand for myself years ago.
My phone buzzes nearby. One of the overnight guards is alerting me that we have an unexpected guest in the middle of the night. I suck in a sharp breath and brace myself for the worst.
I might actually have to kill a cop.
So fucking be it.
“Oh. It’s just you.”
Raizo turns around from where he’s reading a plaque in the study and chuckles. “Expecting someone more entertaining?”
Visions of knifing Martin between the eyes fade from my head. “No. Someone more irritating.”
Raizo chuckles again. “Well, I’ll cut to the chase then.” He shakes his head when I gesture to an empty lounge chair, which I’m thankful for. I don’t particularly want him to stay.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” His eyes narrow at me. “I don’t like being ignored.”
I shrug. “I’ve been busy.”
“I know.” He trails a finger along the bookshelf. “You’ve been busy playing house.”
My pulse pounds in my ears. What all does he know?
