Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Hudson

S he disappears as soon as we get to the house, leaving without a backward glance.

I can't say I blame her. What I did was a dick move, but I'd be lying if I said I regretted it.

She's young, and the things I've done are so far out of her comfort zone, I'm surprised she isn't rocking in the corner somewhere. They have nothing on the things I want to do to her, though. Her innocence only makes everything ten times hotter.

There's beauty in having sex with a woman with experience. Confidence without arrogance is sexy as hell. But as much as I admire it, it doesn't get me off like it used to. Not like the wide-eyed innocence of someone who's begging for direction. Someone who will bloom under praise and learn from punishments.

I grab a beer from the fridge and take it to my office. I sit at my desk, staring at the file I dropped in here earlier and take a drink of my beer as I hear the shower turn on. I swallow, picturing Starling naked and wet, before a surge of anger takes over at the thought of her washing me from her skin.

Taking a few more mouthfuls, I slam the bottle on the desk and open the file. I study every inch of it, noting everything from the cause of death to the witness statements, or lack thereof.

She was strangled, according to the medical examiner. That type of death is done up close and personal and, more often than not, by an ex, spouse, or someone the victim knew. And since I killed her husband, I wondered if she'd been seeing anyone since then.

I close the file, unlock the bottom drawer of my desk, and toss it inside. I steeple my fingers and lean back. I don't keep records of my kills. Once the job is done, I move on to the next. Keeping files is like collecting trophies and will get you a nice little jail sentence if the cops catch wind of it. People can point fingers in your direction all they want, but with no evidence, nothing can be proven. Why people keep records blows my mind because, essentially, they're doing the cops' job for them.

Sure, it means I have to rely on my memory of Jason Spears, but ninety-nine percent of the time, there's no need to recall past cases.

Off the top of my head, nothing in particular stands out about the man. Yes, he was a cheating douche, but so are a lot of guys. I don't know the ins and outs of his relationship with his wife beyond how tight he was with her finances. I don't know if he was good to her or abusive. It wasn't my business to know. I am curious if the person who hired me to take him out is the same person who killed or arranged for Jessica to be killed.

And if so, how does Emma play into it?

I type in my security code and play the surveillance footage from the night Emma was killed, ignoring everyone we've already eliminated. Nobody arrives carrying anything large enough to hide a body. With growing frustration, I take the footage back further.

The club is closed on Wednesdays for deep cleaning and for the dancers to practice new routines if they need to, but there's no admission to the public. I pause before picking up my cell phone and calling Atlas.

"You found something?"

"I could be calling for a chat."

"I find that as believable as you calling for a blow job."

I laugh, but don't disagree. "Fine. I was calling to see why the girls didn't rehearse last week."

"There was a plumbing issue. And yes, before you ask, I had them checked out too."

I scroll slowly through the footage before stopping. "So none of the dancers should have been in on Wednesday?"

"Only the one that came in early and noticed the problem. From there, the others were informed of the issue. Why?"

"Was the person who came in Kelly?" A door slams downstairs.

"How'd you know that?"

"I can see her on screen. She walks in and heads straight to the training room before going to the restroom, where I lose her for a couple minutes. When she comes out, she makes a call—I'm guessing to you about the problem. Then she walks back to the training room, grabs the prop unit from just off-screen, and pushes it back to the changing room. That's where I lose her again until she leaves fifteen minutes later. You really should have cameras in there."

"Legally, I can't."

"And you always do things legally?" I chuckle.

"If it means getting my club shut down, then yeah, mostly. What are you telling me, anyway?"

"That I couldn't find anyone entering the building with any means to hide the body, except the people we've ruled out."

"Okay, tell me something I don't know."

"That Kelly has a chunk of time inside the building where she wasn't seen on camera."

"And?"

"And that prop unit is big enough to hide a body inside it."

"Ah fuck." He hangs up, making me grin as I get up and investigate the noise downstairs.

I walk into the kitchen and see Abbot bent over the sink. He must sense me, because he looks up. His nose is bloody, his cheek swollen, and his jaw bruised.

"What the fuck happened?"

"Football. Don't worry about it," he grumbles, swallowing a couple of painkillers with some water.

"That's not from football," I snarl.

"Just leave it." He slams the glass down on the counter and moves to leave.

I reach for him. "Abbot?—"

"I said, fucking leave it." He body checks me as he walks by, taking off upstairs.

I start to follow him but stop at the bottom of the stairs. What am I doing? He doesn't want me up in his face, and all my presence will do is piss him off further. Instead, I go to my office, pull out a tracking device, and head out to his car. I stick it in the wheel well, knowing he won't see it.

With a sigh, I look up at the sky, imagining Eloise looking down at me with a smirk on her face. "Yeah, I know I'm fucking this all up, but what did you expect from me?" I mutter, heading back inside.

I order food from a local Italian place, getting enough so we can eat the leftovers tomorrow, and then try to figure out what to do with myself while I wait for it to arrive.

I can't hear any shouting or yelling coming from upstairs, so at least I know he's not taking whatever happened out on Starling. Still, I don't like being kept in the dark. So, I pull out my cell phone and check the camera in their room.

What I see has me sitting down on the sofa in confusion. Abbot has his head in Starling's lap, her hand stroking his hair as he cries body-wracking sobs. I can see Starling crying softly, like she's trying to hide it from him. His pain clearly hurts her. She really does love him, and I'm using that love as an all-access pass to her body.

"Fuck." I don't feel guilt often, but I know there's no way she won't get hurt in this. I'm too far gone to leave her alone, even though I know the right thing would be to walk away and keep this as nothing more than a dirty secret.

But I can't. I'm not that guy. There's nothing noble or self-sacrificing about me. I want her, and so I'll have her. It's as simple as that.

I look at Abbot and focus on him for a moment. His pain is visceral, and yet instinctively, I know it has nothing to do with the bruises or bloody nose. So what the fuck is going on with my kid? I'd love nothing more than to force the truth out of him, but he doesn't trust me. I guess I can't argue with that, since I'm blackmailing his girlfriend to ride my dick.

Hopefully, I'll be able to fuck her out of my system sooner rather than later, and this time next year, I'll be nothing more than a bad memory. She'll be gone —words I remember from the coffee shop.

A stab of pain shoots through my heart at the thought.

Standing, I walk to my office and turn on my computer before I get to work. It only takes me a few minutes to hack through the school's firewall. I'm not sure they can call it security at this point because there's nothing fucking secure about it.

I take in everything I can about Starling, from her average grades to her attendance record to her behavioral reports. It's interesting seeing her through a different lens. From what I can tell, she's a bit of a loner. She's not a problem child, but she isn't a star student either, so she falls into the gray area where most of the time teachers don't notice her. I see all the comments made are generic and probably repeated with dozens of other students.

They probably know what she looks like but have no idea about her wants, likes, or dislikes. Hell, I bet most of them have no idea about her home life or how it's taken a strange turn recently. I wonder what they would think if they knew she was fucking her new guardian.

They couldn't stop me, of course, even if they wanted to. Starling is eighteen and old enough to make her own decisions. Though I tied her hands, she made her choice when she let me slide into her tight pussy.

There's one teacher who's been helping her fill out applications for colleges offering scholarships and partial scholarships. It's not an easy way to go, especially with her grades being just average, so the colleges she's applying to aren't anything special. The thing they have in common, though, is that they're all on the other side of the country. That will never do.

I note the names of the colleges and then get to work accessing their systems. The college security is better than the high school's, so it takes me a little longer to hack in and access the applications. I delete the scholarship requests and withdraw her application completely from one college, saying that she's accepted a different school, knowing that the file will be closed by tomorrow.

For the other two applications, I change her grades, making them a little lower than before, and remove the letter of recommendation. Now, there are hundreds of applications far more enticing than hers, and with limited spaces available, I don't see her being offered a place. If she does get in, I'll need to figure something else out. For now, though, she isn't going anywhere.

I shut the computer down when I hear the door and go grab the food. I give the delivery guy a tip and take the food into the kitchen, leaving it on the counter in the bags as I check the camera app. Abbot seems to have fallen asleep, but Starling is still sitting there stroking his hair. I clench my fists as I shove my phone back in my pocket and head up to their room.

I knock on the door lightly and push it open. "I ordered some food. Come and eat while he sleeps."

She looks up at me, then at Abbot, whose face is turned away from me. "How did you know he was asleep?" she asks, looking back up at me.

"Because he hasn't yelled at me to get the fuck out of his room."

She frowns but nods, buying my explanation, thankfully. Telling her there's a camera in here and almost everywhere else in the house wouldn't go down well.

"Is he okay?" I ask, knowing she thinks I'm a monster. And yeah, she's right. I am, but that doesn't mean I'm heartless.

"And you care?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."

She opens her mouth to say something, but then her eyes drop to Abbot, and she shakes her head instead. "He will be."

"What can I do?" I offer, surprising us both.

"Love him," she whispers so softly I almost miss it. She strokes her fingers gently through his hair before she leans down and kisses his forehead.

I'd give her anything, but I can't give her that. I'm not sure I'm capable of loving anyone. I'm too fucking selfish. And if she runs her fingers through his hair one more fucking time, I'll shave it off while he sleeps.

She eases out from underneath him and lowers his head to the pillow. She waits to make sure he's settled, and I watch her watching him, barely holding back the urge to finish what some motherfucker started.

She climbs off the bed and straightens the T-shirt she's wearing over an old pair of shorts that must have been from years ago because there's nowhere else they'd be considered decent other than in the bedroom. She heads toward the door, expecting me to move, but she should know me better than that by now.

In the end, she has no choice but to brush past me, her chest grazing my arm. She keeps her head down and walks away from me as quickly as she can, which doesn't bother me because I can watch her ass in those tiny shorts.

Closing the door, I follow her down to the kitchen, where she's reaching into the cupboard above her head for a glass.

I stand behind her and pin her to the counter so she can feel how hard I am. "I don't want you sharing a bed with him anymore."

She slams the glass down on the counter and spins around, defiance blazing in her eyes. "How nice for you. Do you even give a single fuck about what I want?"

I dip my head and skim my nose across her jaw. "Your attitude is turning me on, Birdie. It makes me want to fuck it right out of you."

"Me having a pulse is enough to turn you on. You need fucking help," she spits.

I slide my hand into her hair and yank her head back, exposing her throat and forcing her to submit to me. "You're my therapy."

She snarls as I nip at her skin, but her anger is making her blind to what I'm about to do.

"I'm not qualified to deal with your kind of crazy. Pick someone else."

"I don't want anyone else, Birdie. I only want you." I lick over her pulse point, making her shudder. "You're mine."

"Lucky fucking me," she scoffs.

"Oh the things we could do with your dirty mouth and my dirty mind."

"That's just it, though, Hudson. It's my mouth, my body, and my heart you're playing with. Mine. Not yours. I belong to no one."

"I asked you nicely. I guess a statement is in order."

"What?"

Before she can say anything else, I suck the skin of her neck, nibbling and sucking again harder. It takes a few seconds for her to realize what I'm doing. When she does, she tries to push me away, but I grab her wrists, holding them between us, and keep going while she begs me to stop.

Once I'm done, I pull back and see the unmistakable mark on her neck. My mark of ownership . I grin, feeling proud of myself, but that slips when I see the look in her eyes.

She doesn't bother hiding her tears from me. She lets them fall freely as I let go of her. She lifts a shaky hand to her neck and lets her eyes slip closed in defeat.

"I hate you," she whispers.

"You won't hate me forever."

She opens her eyes and stares into mine, unflinching. "Challenge accepted."

I press against her so she can feel how hard I still am. It's an unspoken warning that I can see she's battling with herself to listen to.

"You don't care about me. You don't care about your son. I'm not sure why you took us in." She shakes her head, a broken laugh slipping free. "You're blackmailing me into sleeping with you. And I'm doing it for Abbot because I refuse to have him let down by another parent.

"But eventually, he'll see what you did to me. Oh, it'll be too late for me and him by then. I know he'll lash out and hurt me in the worst possible way. That's the thing about loving someone—you give them a piece of your heart. And I gave him whatever pieces I had left, and when this comes out, he'll turn them into dust. But that's not what scares me. It's what happens after that. When he takes a step back and remembers who I am and what I've done for him. He'll connect the dots, and then he'll be gone, too. He'll hate you, but not half as much as he'll hate himself.

"The boy I love will suffer because of you. So yeah, I'll have no problem hating you until my last breath."

She pushes past me, and I let her, her words hitting harder than I expected them to. She pauses in the doorway. "I hope you know you just voided this fucked-up agreement between us, because when he sees this, he'll work it out. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon, and any leverage you had will be gone just like him and me."

She looks at me over her shoulder, her voice devoid of emotion. "I hope it was worth it."

"Even if this is it, if we all go up in flames, you were worth it."

"A narcissist and a poet. In another life, you would have been just my type."

"I'll take that as a compliment, coming from someone like you."

"You shouldn't. We're a match made in hell. There's no version of us that works. We're destined to destroy each other."

"But what a beautiful way to burn."