Break Me

I want to pull my hair out.

Apparently, a few prominent members of the city council all received the same fucked-up letter.

As I scour the Internet to find anything I can on the three people Lo thinks may have killed her family, I have an angel on my lap, a tablet in my hand, and two cats at my feet. Women are a pain in the ass.

Three of the six have already been ruled out. As for the last three, well, I have serious doubts it’s Adrian. Charlotte could be it, but the woman never has a hair out of place; therefore, I don’t see her leaving a crime scene like the one that was the Boschs’ home.

Now Waters is a whole different story. I have known the man my whole life. He’s as much of a son of a bitch as my own father. Is he capable of killing? Without a doubt.

Then again, so am I.

She is still asleep when I get up to leave for work. Work comes early. No gym today. I have to act quickly to get any information I can before they start covering their asses.

These letters obviously have them all on edge if they called my father. What do they all know? What are they all covering up?

My mind and body are wound tight. I can’t seem to get to the bottom of this. Sure, there were funds missing, but I can’t find the paper trail attaching anyone specific to the money yet.

I can rule out Adrian’s and Charlotte’s involvement. Both were out of town and that gives them a solid alibi. It’s documented travel, receipts received, and if I look deep enough, I know I could probably find more. But I don’t have time.

Waters, on the other hand, has nothing saying he was in town or out.

What I do manage to pull up gives me a partial insurance plan against retaliation as I dig more. I look into the finances from over five years ago, trying to find what Lo’s dad may have stumbled upon. In the end, I can’t prove murder, but I am able to download a year’s worth of his work onto a thumb drive. Thanks to my time rooming with a hacker in college, I can do this without leaving a trace behind.

When I walk into the apartment later, she stands at the counter. She forces a smile, but then her lip quivers.

I hold up the thumb drive and give her a reassuring smile. “Things are going to be okay. Two of the three were out of town. I’m not saying they are not guilty of something, but their hands are clean of this.”

She walks up and hugs me around the waist. “I’m so sorry.”

“Angel, I’m sorry you went through what you did. I’m so sorry, but let me ask you something.” I tip her chin up. “Did you feel safe today?”

“Yes, I did. But I was terrified for you. I put you in danger. I never meant—”

“You felt safe today in my home—our home.” I pull away and look down at her. “I have insurance, angel. We’re good. Nothing is going to happen. It’s almost guaranteed.”

With both of our minds on trying to figure out this unsolved case, neither of us say much or eat much for dinner. As bedtime comes, I hold her as she sleeps. I can’t shake the feeling that my father and the rest are more worried about the damn paper trail than being brought up on murder charges. It should make me feel damn good, but it doesn’t.

If they are not guilty of this, if I can prove they didn’t have shit to do with it, my girl, my angel, will be looking over her shoulder forever. She will never be free or whole.

My chest tightens at the thought. I look down and kiss her head. She will have me, though. I will be her protection, and I will gladly take her as she is . . . more than gladly.

Chapter Twenty - Three

It’s the weekend, and Jason is asleep next to me. I watch him. He has been going over and over my dad’s work, and he knows now there is a discrepancy, but he doesn’t know how it led to such a brutal massacre.

He has become obsessed. Between work and my problems, the only time he isn’t inside his head is when he is inside me. I feel useless unless I am under him. The selfish girl in me loves it.

I go to work, knowing the black Chevy truck following me is his friend from the gym. I know it’s his way of making sure he knows I get there, and that kind of protection means everything to me.

“What are you thinking?” he asks in a tired whisper.

Without thinking, I respond, “That I should walk away so you aren’t so stressed.”