Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“Jesus fuck,” he growls, spotting my silhouette. “You scared the ever living fuck outta me. What do I owe this visit?”
I watch him closely, noting he’s slightly inebriated and not as sharp on the uptake as usual. “You don’t owe me anything for this visit. Consider it on the house.”
“Oh.” He nods, a smirk playing on his lips. “You think you can stop the payments now that you married her?”
“The payments.” I savor the word, letting silence stretch between us. “They were never about the money, Detective. They were about keeping you exactly where I needed you. Coming back, again and again, thinking you had the upper hand.”
His smirk falters. “What are you talking about?”
“Hope House.” I lean forward, watching the color drain from his face at those two simple words. “You remember Hope House, don’t you? September 15th. The night they took my sister to Saint Mary’s Hospital. You were there. I saw you. Standing in that hallway, pocketing an envelope while she fought for her life three doors down.”
“Ancient history,” he grunts, but his hand trembles as he lifts his beer. “And your sister was—”
“A vegetable. Yes, that’s what you said back then, too. Such a convenient excuse to bury the case, wasn’t it? But we both know there was evidence. Witnesses. Everything needed to put those monsters away. Everything except an honest cop.”
He surges to his feet, swaying slightly. “You think you can prove any of this? After all these years?”
“Prove it?” A soft laugh escapes me. “Hawkins, I don’t need to prove anything. While you were busy counting your money, watching your bank account grow, I was taking everything that mattered to you. I married your daughter, Detective. Your own flesh and blood. Sweet Francesca, who’s quite the catch, never knew her real father was the corrupt piece of shit who let this all happen.”
Pain twists his face. “She was never supposed to know.”
“But she does. And she knows you were fucking her mother until she committed suicide once she realized you’re a dirty cop. And what a great man her father was. You know, the one who raised her? Well, until you had him killed.” I can’t help the scoff that escapes.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. I know everything. I know you burned your own daughter’s house down, so she couldn’t figure out how dirty you are. You thought it would give you the upper hand. I know how you took bribes while other girls at Hope House suffered the same fate as my sister. How you looked the other way, again and again, padding your pockets while families got destroyed.”
“Francesca will never forgive you,” he stammers, finally understanding the gravity of his situation.
“Forgive me?” The knife catches the dim light as I step forward. “Francesca will never know. But she’ll be taken care of because she’s mine now. Just like your reputation is mine. Your pride is mine. Your future…”
I step closer, my knife high in the air, watching the arrogance in his eyes finally give way to pure horror. “That belongs to me, too.”
I walk through the penthouse door just after midnight. Frankie is standing directly in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, her silhouette sharp against the city lights. Something’s different. Something’s off.
“It’s done,” I say simply.
She turns. And then she laughs. Not a chuckle. Not a giggle. A full, throaty laugh that sends ice through my veins. In her hand, she’s holding a thick manila folder I’ve never seen before.
“Done?” Frankie’s smile is dark, almost predatory. “Oh, Damien. My precious pet. We’re just getting started.”
She tosses the folder at my feet. I hesitate for a moment, then bend down to pick it up, my heart races as I open it.
Inside are meticulously organized documents—surveillance photos, bank records, and encrypted communications. Every detail about the man I just murdered, but also hints of his connections to my own life. The handwriting in the margins? It’s unmistakably Francesca’s.
“What is this?” I demand.
“I’ve been watching you, studying you. Learning your every move. You thought you were the hunter, but you’ve always been my prey.”
She steps closer, her eyes glinting with a darkness that rivals my own. “Checkmate, Mr. Wolfe.”
I smile. The thrill of our game ignites something deeper within me. “You’ve captured your king, my queen. But tell me—” I trace my thumb across her lower lip, hearing her breath hitch. “Did you account for the knight’s sacrifice?”
She tilts her head, her gaze locked on mine, a slow smile curling at her lips. “Knights sacrifice...for their queen, don’t they?”
Before she can say another word, I pull her close, our lips crashing together into a kiss that burns through me like wildfire.
In this final moment, there’s nothing left but two twisted souls bound in darkness, choosing each other over everything else. And that’s the most wicked promise of all.