“I’ll get you…something,” I say, and turn to leave.
“Say you’re crazy.” Still hunched over, she holds her stomach, her words laced with venom. “Say it now.”
“Those words will never leave my mouth.”
She looks at me now. Those dark pools flicker with spite.
I stand at the cellar door, matching her glare. I tell her the only truth that she can trust in her state. “We both want revenge. Help me find mine, and I’ll grant you yours.”
When this is over, I’ll let her put a damn bullet in my head.
The heavy door slams closed. The echo rebounds down the dark corridor, following me as I ascend the stairs, like the voices that never leave. A damn bullet in the head might just be the answer.
9
Below
Makenna
My neck stings from where Easton tore my necklace away. I rub the irritated skin, the pain as fresh as the missing feel of the cool silver that’s been pressed there for the past year.
Hudson gave me the necklace when I made detective.
He gave me the gift that day…and then we made love that night.
We knew the rules. We knew the policy about mixing a personal relationship with a working one. It wasn’t just frowned upon to sleep with your partner; it was a disgrace. But we also knew, the very first week we were paired together, that there was no denying our attraction for each other.
You can’t help who you fall in love with.
Hudson said this to me the first time we kissed. Our bulky uniforms awkward to get around as our lips crashed, bodies colliding against each other and the lockers. We laughed during that kiss, a mix of need and elation making my head dizzy
.
He trained me. Ten years my senior, I feared I was one of those pathetic women who gravitated toward her boss, attracted to his power and confidence. But it wasn’t like that. He was gentle when I needed him to be, and tough when the job demanded more.
We kept a balance between our relationship and the job. The job came first. We both understood that. And that’s why we worked when all our other romantic endeavors died a quick death.
He was my first love. He was my first everything.
And then he was gone.
I stare vacantly at the pile of folders in the middle of the cellar.
I don’t want to touch them.
My obsessive search led me here. That’s the only answer I need. The monster is real, and I found him.
I lie down, my face pressed to the cold slab. I failed. Those files can’t help me. Even if I had aimed my gun at the right man…even if I had pulled the trigger…none of it will bring Hudson back.
That hollow knowledge makes it easier to accept my fate.
The reality is grim. I’m going to be killed by the same beast that took Hudson’s life.
Why?
The curious voice inside me questions this. I try to shut it down, but the thought is infectious. A virus contaminating my conscious thought. Like every case I’ve ever worked.
That’s what got Hudson killed.