Page 162 of Dirty Deadly & Mine
Tears burn my eyes as my heart races unnaturally fast. I shouldn’t have left Asher like that, but what other choice did I have? I had to run, and I can’t ask him to do that. He’s on parole. He’ll get tossed back in prison if he runs.
Switching on the shitty old TV, I flick through channel after channel, every one of them lit up with news about the Crimson Angel.
THE IDENTITY OF THE CRIMSON ANGEL IS NOW KNOWN BY POLICE WHO ARE ON THE HUNT FOR THE LOCAL WOMAN WHO HAS MURDERED COUNTLESS MEN OVER A NUMBER OF YEARS.
A HOUSE WAS RAIDED IN THE LATE HOURS OF THIS EVENING, BUT THERE WAS NO SIGN OF THE ASSAILANT.
Shit… there on the screen ismyhouse. MY HOUSE!
My phone lights up again, this time with a call, and my hands shake as I stare at the screen.
Ronnie.
Shit. The boys… they know.
I should answer, but I can’t… What do I even say?
It’s not true? It’s a mistake? I can’t keep lying to them.
A loud sob lurches from my lips, and I buckle in half, my knees crashing to the floor.
As soon as Ronnie’s call cuts off, it starts ringing again, only this time it’s Jude.
Dropping my phone onto the stained yellow carpet, I fist my hands in my hair and cry.
It’s only a matter of time before my name is released. Before everyone I know learns I’m the notorious killer.
As soon as the call cuts off again, I snatch up the phone and call Barrett before the twins try to call me back, and he answers on the first ring.
“Tell me you’re safe.”
“Yes,” I sob. “For now. I’m in the city.”
Barrett sighs in relief. “Thank fuck. Stay put unless you get wind of cops moving in. I’m on my way to the twins’ campus to get them.”
I sob again. “Thank you.”
“I’ve got people working to find out who the fuck turned you in. Have you heard from your toy boy?” he asks, and I shrug, even though I can’t see him.
“K-kind of,” I squeak, trying to stop my tears. “He was in the house after you left.”
“The fuck! I checked everywhere.”
“It doesn’t matter now. But I panicked and knocked him out and…”
“And?” Barrett barks.
“I left him there,” I rush out, feeling ashamed.
Chuckling, Barrett sounds way too pleased. “Please tell me the cops found him when they stormed your house?”
“N-no,” I hiccup. “He sent me a message saying he fled over the back fence.”
“You sound worried about him,” he remarks, picking up on my tone.
“I… am. I believe him, Barrett. He’s obsessed, but he would never hurt me.”
My cousin grunts in response, but thankfully isn’t a prick about it.
