Page 102 of Shades of Loyalty

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I smile at her words, nodding softly before I give her a soft kiss. Then, I leave.

The last thing I see is Jennifer resting her hand on her chest and my father looking at her with an emotion I couldn’t place.

But I didn’t have enough time to think about it.

I just had to get out.

I walk to my office, desperate to get fresh air. The second I open the huge window, I sigh deeply.

Fuck.

I don’t care who it was. I need this man fuckingdead.

My mind fills with the most disgusting, hateful thoughts. Blood and rage fill me. But I don’t care.

They were stab wounds. Someone fucking stabbed her. They stabbed my mother.

Which cruel fuck would murder her?

I light up a cigarette. I barely smoke anymore. But today?

Fuck, I need it.

My mother wouldn’t like it. She’d hate it. She’d snatch it right out of my hand and throw it onto the floor.

A smile lights up my face as I think of all the times my mom scolded my father because he’d been smoking.

They’ve always been in love. They never changed.

I grab my phone and dial my little brother’s number.

My heart breaks when Andrew answers the phone with his usual happy behavior. It hurts, knowing that no one told him yet.

Not even Vicky.

“You finally calling me, hm? Did your date go well?” He asks.

I close my eyes, breathing in deeply before I continue.

“Mom is dead.”

Chapter Forty

Daniel

The house is too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that brings me peace, but the kind that suffocates me—thick, heavy, inescapable. Even the air feels different, like the walls themselves are mourning.

I blink at the ceiling, but I don’t really see anything. My body feels numb, my chest hollow. A part of me still expects to hear her voice through the walls.

The gentle way she used to say my name. The way she always comforted me when she knew I needed it. The warmth of her touch on my face. But there’s nothing. Just emptiness.

Only the reminder that I’ll never hear her saymy name again

The bed shifts beside me, pulling me back to the present. A soft breath, the warmth of a body close to mine.

Jennifer.