“I just bought your freedom until our graduation. I’m out the second the diploma touches my hand, so you need to get a plan in place for then. I can help, but I’m letting you know this favor has an expiry date. Until then, you’re… mine.” It feels strange to say that to him, and I can’t look at him as the words slip from my lips.
“This is seriously fucking insane, Lips. You’ve got to give me something. Where did you get the diamond, and how many more do you have? Why are they favors? Why is your protection greater than the O’Cronin family business? Fuck, give me anything, Lips!”
As his voice raises to a shout, I press my hands into his lips and try to calm him down.He said my name. I can’t answer any of his questions without knowing he’s all in. And why would he be all in for a scrawny little Mounty? Tears prick at my eyes, but I don’t regret my hasty actions. My gut had gotten me to where I was today. It will get me through this, too.
I slip the envelope out of my shorts, and I drop it on the bed. Then I tug down the collar of the sweater until Harley can see the perfectly healed circle.
“I got that diamond by taking a bullet for the man whose favor it represented. I saved his life, and I also won him the trust of his favorite gun for hire.”
Harley’s fingers rubbed at the raised skin, pressing the same way his uncle had. My skin tingles deliciously. “Diarmuid did this?”
I nod, and then shrug. “I think… I think I have Diarmuid’s trust over… the other person. I just can’t afford his fees,” I whisper, never having allowed myself to even think that before.
It was something else to file away for later.
Harley swallows, and then pulls away from me. His hands are shaking. I have to face the facts that the kiss was just his adrenaline needing an out.
“I won’t tell the others. I don’t know how the fuck I’d explain it, anyway.”
And then he walks out.
Once again, I’m gutted as I close the door behind him.
I’ve got to stop letting him in my room.
Chapter 26
Ialmost forget about the envelope that Diarmuid had delivered while I am wallowing over my kiss with Harley. His protection of me with Avery stays intact, but he no longer speaks to me. None of them speak to me. At first I’m worried because I think he’s told the rest of them what I did, but I can feel Avery’s eyes bore holes into my back whenever she’s in my proximity. It’s like I’m a bomb about to go off, and she doesn’t know the range of potential casualties. I make it through a few weeks of being ignored by them all and tutoring Blaise like crazy. It’s only after I bump into Joey in the library punching one of his friends for not laughing at his jokes that I decide to get back to work on taking him out. I’m not sure what I was expecting to get from the envelope, but the information is brutal and sobering.
I was wrong. Joseph Campbell Fedor Beaumont, or Joey, isn’t a killerin the making. He’s already got three deaths under his belt.
Not that the file says that outright, but it’s clear what’s been going on. There’s a nanny, a maid, and a groundsman who have all turned up dead on the property. Newspapers have declared the house haunted since the police ruled the deaths accidental. There are pages and pages of evidence that any prosecutor worth their wage would be able to convict Joey with, but it’s all been swept under the rug. The autopsies are unpleasant, to say the least. The things he’s done, especially to the maid, are truly horrifying. Biting, burning, stabbing. Evidence of sexual assault.
He was eleven.
It dawns on me just how lucky I was that night of the party. Had he been sober, or at a different stage of his high, if I hadn’t had my knife. If, if, if. So many things had worked in my favor that I didn’t know about.
At the very back of the file, there’s a single page of information on the twins.
Alexander Asher William Beaumont. Born three minutes before his sister, former state swimming champion, now retired, allergic to mangoes, presented at emergency department seventy-six times in his lifetime, which is an average of five times a year. I grimace. There’s a list of the injuries too. Broken wrist, fractured skull, internal bleeding, concussions, every rib in him must have been broken at least twice. Child protection services have been contacted multiple times, but no one ever checks on the family, which tells me his parents are paying bribes. Frequent and expensive bribes.
Then, finally, there’s Avery Aspen Waverley Beaumont. Only daughter, interests include ballet, violin, and the war strategy game of Go. No known allergies, though she refuses to eat mangoes thanks to Ash’s allergy. One trip to the emergency department for Avery. Last year she was DOA and resuscitated. Clear signs of strangulation, another call to child protection services, but again no follow-up.
That explains the escort she gets from the guys everywhere she goes. It also explains why they’re so protective. She wasn’t just attacked; she was killed. My chest hurts as I think about how Ash would have felt, knowing she had stopped breathing. Knowing she was gone, even for the few minutes she was, must have destroyed him. The day Joey strangled Matthew in the library Ash didn’t hesitate for a second to help me. After so much trauma, he is stronger than I would have ever thought. I’ve always looked at him and seen the spoiled rich brat he puts on. Even the anger and the flinches in his brother’s directions didn’t clue me in to how bad Joey really is.
I’m going to have to deal with Joey.
I’ve done a lot in life, but I’ve never actually planned a murder. I’m not quite sure that’s what I’m doing now, but I’m going to have to start taking Joey and the warnings about him seriously. Loose cannons and unpredictable drug addicts are dangerous people to have around you, especially if you carry as many secrets as I do.
I flip the last page to make sure I haven’t missed anything and there a small, handwritten note in the back. It’s not Matteo’s handwriting, so it would have to be from Diarmuid.
Do not let Joseph Beaumont Sr know you’re looking into his son.His hands are bloodier than mine.
Fuck. A complicated web to unravel.
* * *
Now that I’m not being whispered about or having my food spiked, I begin to use the study areas that are everywhere at Hannaford. All of my assignments have been handed in for the school year, and now I’m focusing on my last-minute revision for the upcoming exams. I’m an expert at keeping well organized notes, and so I drag a giant file around with me everywhere I go, so I can read and cram at every opportunity. I’m confident I’ll be the top in all my classes, but the perfectionist in me compels me to study until every second of every day until the exams are over.
