Page 5 of Criminally Yours

She didn’t look behind her. That was what they did in films, and that was what made them trip or panic.

Look straight ahead. That’s where you are aiming for. It’s all you.Her best friend’s words echoed in her head. A train was about to leave. She’d never make it.

You can do this.

Her heart rate was out of control, but she needed to get on that train. The doors were closing as she jumped on. She squealed when they nearly trapped her. She yanked her arm, and her cuff slid between the gap. She was safe.

Hugo banged on the closed train door, and she jumped back, her limbs shaking. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths.

He scowled, his eyes so black it was as if hell was waiting for her inside of them. It was the same eyes she’d seen when he was featured in gossip columns because of his dad.

Hugo Dankworth, the son of the Deputy Prime Minister, made a slitting throat motion with his finger against his neck as her train eased out of the station.

She pressed her hand to her throat as if it could stem the imagined wound he wanted to make across her skin.

She’d left her purse behind. If he found that, he’d have her address.

If she didn’t escape properly, she wouldn’t survive the night.

CHAPTER 2

Strike

Strike opened the bottom drawer and contemplated the contents as anxiety threatened his control. Piles of photos sat on top of his school rugby shirts.

He didn’t need memories of the past.

He glanced out of his window into the bedroom of his first and only love. Millie’s room had barely changed from when he was eighteen and hung out in it. Whether she was helping him study or they were watching movies, it was the location of his happiest teenage memories, until he ruined her life by trying to do the right thing.

There was one big change. The wall of photos above her bed was gone. Years ago, every inch of space was covered with photos of the two of them, including the times he held up signs like

Goodnight, Sunset

and

Yousmell of poo.

He touched his lips, but there was no smile, just his trademark scowl. He hadn’t shown genuine happiness for years.

He popped another cherry cola sweet into his mouth. He’d have to do extra training in the gym to work off the two packets he’d eaten so far, but they were the perfect comfort when he was forced to confront the past.

He picked up a photo of Millie laughing at a tennis match. Her blond hair stretched down her back, and the thick frames of her glasses hid the eyebrows that she quirked at him when he was goofy.

He gritted his teeth. Ten years was a long time to yearn for someone who was now a stranger. But he pined for the happy man he once was, too—a man not scarred by the things he’d witnessed and done. A man whose soul was now caged by a darkness even his friends couldn’t understand.

It was as if the ghosts of his failures followed him with each step and decision.

Strike added the photo of Millie to a small pile of things he wanted to keep: just a school rugby shirt, the one pair of scissors big enough to accommodate his hands, and his leavers hoodie with his real name, Caleb Moorcroft. It was a sorry sight.

Technically, Millie wasn’t a complete stranger. A couple of years ago, he’d found her book account online.

His skin itched.

He was tempted to check what she was reading now, but he only allowed himself to view it once a month, and there were three more weeks before he could have his Millie fix again.

Besides, he’d want to contact her, and that was forbidden. She was happy living her life, and he couldn’t ruin it after what he’d done.

She’d never forgive the past.