“Hey, Dad.”
Wonderful. Why not just drag Barnaby out here, too? Let’sWeekend at Bernie’sthis afternoon.
“As nice as this is,” Asher says to the cop. “I have to unpack and get groceries … so maybe we can bring this to a close.”
“No, that’s the new neighbor,” Ella says into the phone. “What time are you coming to pick me up?” She stands and heads for the door and slaps the cop’s hand away when he tries to touch her. She puts her palm over the phone, bloody pawprint still on her sweatshirt, and smiles at Asher. “It was nice to meet you, Asher.”
Her attention lands on me, but before she can comment, I slam the door in her face. Again.
Chapter 3
Asher
“Could you have been more obvious?” Gable asks.
I’m still staring at the closed door, a shit-eating grin on my face. How long was Ella here? Five minutes? Ten? I look at my bandaged arm, my hand still warm from her touch, my heart still beating ridiculously fast over a woman I’ve just met. But I can’t help it.
I hadn’t caught sight of her when she’d burst into the apartment. I was too preoccupied making sure Barnaby’s legs were out of the doorway before I slammed the bedroom door closed, plunging myself into relative darkness, listening to the two of them argue. I’d spotted the bloody pawprints on Barnaby’s bedroom floor just as I heard Ella mention Motor might be bleeding, had whipped out my knife and drawn it across my own arm without thinking twice, because I knew Gable’s first reaction would be the worst one—dispose of the witness. Aka murder number two. So, I’d emerged from the bedroom, blood dripping across my forearm, but the pain was forgotten when I glimpsed Ella.
My first thought?
I didn’t have any.
I know I spoke, because I’d recognized my own voice coming out of my mouth. But I must have been on autopilot, too busy taking in everything about her to have any kind of rational thought at all.
I remember my first real crush. I was eight. Candy Stevens, a neighbor to one of the many foster homes I’d lived in. She’d given me a spare pack of Pokémon cards and I’d vowed to marry her that day. But I’d been moved to another foster home a few weeks later. I still remember the feeling of her handing over the cards, the blush on her cheeks, and how much I’d completely fumbled over every word I said and how I’d thought of the best things to say three days later. The butterflies, the sweating, the racing heart, the need to escape the situation but also replay it all at the same time. That childhood crush hit me hard, but I’d never felt anything close to that reaction later in life.
Until the tiny brunette in the living room.
She was maybe a smidge over five foot four, with long dark hair, and the biggest, most astonishing blue eyes. Perfect lips. Flawless skin. And when she saw my arm, she seemed genuinely concerned.
I don’t truly believe in love—notthatkind of love, anyway. I know I love Gable; we’re brothers in the ways that count, and I’d die for him in a second. But romantic love? It seems too fluffy.
But with a dead body in the other room, and blood dripping down my arm, I’m fairly sure I fell in love with Ella.
What a shame I have to kill her.
Gable snaps his fingers in front of me. “Hey,douchebag. Stop dipping into the wank bank while I’m standing right here.”
I blink at Gable, acutely aware that I’m still smiling. “What was the question?”
“I said”—he claps for every word—“could. You. Have. Been. More. Obvious?”
“About what?”
Gable wets a kitchen towel and calls Motor over, kneeling to wash the blood off the dog's paws. “About how much you want to bone the brunette!”
“Ella.”
Gable frowns, trying to tackle cleaning Motor’s paws while the dog licks his face. “What?”
“Her name is Ella,” I say. “She’s fucking cute though, right?”
More than cute. Beautiful. Ravishing.
I need a fucking thesaurus.
“Bad i-fucking-dea to bone a target,” Gable says. “And why did you say we’re staying here? Did your blood rush to your dick that fast?”
