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“Oh, sorry, Ilya isn’t here,” she says to me as if just noticing I’m here too. “Some boys thing.” She waves her hand in dismissal, lying back on a giant pillow, while Stella and I remain standing.
“I’m actually here to see you,” I say casually, and she sits up, eyeing me with a nervous twitch to her lips. Wordlessly, I hand her a gift box with an absurdly large silver bow flopped over the top.
She looks at me, then it, and back again. “Um, what’s this?” Her pitch rises on the end of her question, and budding excitement inflates in my chest. These are always my favorite moments, when someone goes from thinking they got away to realizing how absolutely fucked they are. There’s nothing quite like watching a person’s life flash before their eyes as they relive all the dumb decisions that got them here.
“Open it,” Stella says sharply, making Marcella flinch. Her claws are coming out, and I can’t deny the way it makes my cock twitch.
As she slowly peels the lid off, she twists her head to the side as if she’s expecting something to jump out at her. Her face scrunches in confusion as she looks inside.
“What is—oh my god, is that a—” She gasps loudly. Her eyelids flutter, and she teeters in her seat before slumping unconscious.
“Did she just faint?” Stella rushes to the couch. She frantically shakes Marcella, yelling at me to do something.
“Well.” I sigh, disappointed. “I guess she isn’t the killer.”
Chapter 16
Messy, Messy
Stella
“Wait, so you thought I killed Jeffery and brought me his sawed-off dick because . . . ?” Marcella rubs her temples as she takes in everything we just told her about Jeffery’s murder, the blackmail, suspecting her, and our plan to confront her.
Lochlan sits back down in a recliner, cracking open a beer he helped himself to from her fridge. “Dramatic effect,” he says then flashes me a mischievous smile. I try to ignore the spark of heat when he does. This is not the time.
She furrows her brows skeptically. “Uh-huh.”
He holds up his hands in defense. “It’s not like I expected you to pass the fuck out.”
She scoffs. “Right, because every girl wants a dead man’s dick in a box.”
When Lochlan sets his beer down and moves to get up, I beat him to it. “Jesus, it’s like being right back at the Den.” I point at him. “You, sit down. And you”—I look at Marcella—“call your man. Get him here. If you didn’t kill Jeffery, odds are he did.”
“I can’t.” She grimaces.
“Why not?”
“Ilya is with him—”
“Oh, shit.” Lochlan’s eyes widen in revelation as he leans forward onto his elbows. “You’re fucking Clark, aren’t you?”
“Ew, no.” She scrunches her nose then hesitantly adds. “But he’s close to Ilya.”
“Messy.” He laughs and relaxes back again.
I ignore him. “How close?”
Her eyes shift from side to side while she purses her lips. I lift my brow impatiently and she finally spills. “I’m having an affair with Bojan—”
Lochlan whoops and claps his hands together. “Now that is messy.”
Lost, I ask, “Who?”
“His son,” they say at the same time.
I fall back onto the couch, shaking my head and tutting. “Oh, girl.”
We hear the keys jingle from the kitchen. All three of us simultaneously whip our heads toward the front door. “That was fast—” Lochlan musings are cut off by Marcella frantically pushing us across the kitchen.
