Page 79 of Suspicious
That’s when they took us to that shithole. That’s when the monsters on The List stole my sister’s innocence and shattered her dreams into dust.
But I can’t dwell on the past. Not when there’s work to be done.
I zero in on my newest target, studying his every move with meticulous precision. I already have enough dirt on him to warrant his place on The List, but I’m thorough.
I watch as he stumbles out of the office building, making his way to the same seedy bar he always frequents. He slugs back beers with his so-called friends, all smiles and bravado. Hits on anything in a skirt, his wedding ring glinting mockingly under the city lights. The poor bastard has no idea he’s being watched.
An account manager for some mid-tier insurance racket, clocking in dutifully ever since he saidI dothree years ago. But no vow can tame his wandering eye or his greedy hands. A skirt-chasing sleazebag, betraying his bride with every batting lash, every accidental brush of the hip.
Another black mark etched next to his name.
I retreat to my office, unwilling to risk Frankie stumbling upon my research. I dig deeper into every facet of his life—the carefully curated image he projects on social media, the sordid secrets he hides in private messages to women who aren’t his wife.
Hours slip by as I gather every scrap of information, piecing together the perfect moment to strike. Some things never change, and men like him? They see women as objects to conquer, use, and discard at will. Maybe that’s who he’s always been. Or maybe that fateful day years ago twisted him into the monster he is now.
Not that it matters. Vengeance is the only thing on my mind, and his patterns prove he’s the same piece of shit he’s always been. Hurting the good people in his life to satisfy his own wicked urges.
I’m going to savor every second I spend making this asshole suffer.
Tonight, I choose to stay at the office, content to watch Frankie through the cameras hidden throughout the penthouse. She tosses and turns, restless without me beside her. A telling sign of how deep our connection runs.
I lean back in my chair, eyes glued to the screen as I observe her every movement. The way her hair spills across the pillow, a dark chestnut river against the silk. The rise and fall of her chest, her breaths coming quick and shallow. Even in sleep, she yearns for me.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. I’ve gotten under her skin, burrowed deep into her heart and mind. She’s consumedby thoughts of me, just as I intended. It’s almost too easy, the way she’s fallen for me. Hook, line, and sinker.
But as I watch her, a strange sensation stirs in my chest. A flicker of something I can’t quite name. Is it affection? Desire? No, it’s more than that. It’s a connection, a bond that goes beyond the physical. Beyond the game I’m playing.
I shake my head, pushing the feeling aside. I can’t afford to get attached. Not now, not ever. Frankie is a means to an end, a pawn in my grand scheme. Nothing more.
And yet, as she whispers my name in her sleep, a shiver runs down my spine. I can’t deny the effect she has on me, the way she makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t felt in years. It’s intoxicating and addictive.
Dangerous.
I force myself to look away from the screen, to focus on the task at hand. I have work to do, plans to make. I can’t let myself get distracted by a pair of pretty brown eyes and a few whispered words of love.
But even as I delve back into my research, my mind wanders back to Frankie. To the way she looks at me, the way she feels in my arms. The way she makes me question everything I thought I knew about myself.
I take a deep breath, pushing the thoughts aside once more. I have a mission, a purpose. And I won’t let anyone, not even the beautiful detective who’s stealing my heart, stand in my way.
CHAPTER SIX
Damien
“Hey Olivia.” I glance at the new interface to see if she’s responding to my voice how she should. “How are you feeling today?” The neurologist insists I speak to her casually, as if we’re catching up over coffee. But it’s hard to maintain that kind of lightheartedness when I’ve sunk tens of millions of dollars into her recovery.
A few sparks flicker on the screen, confirming she’s processing my words. Good. The attack didn’t rob her brain of understanding. She just can’t respond.
“I’m fine. Work is work,” I tell her. “My girlfriend is living with me now. It’s not official, but it’s happening.”
I fix my gaze on the monitor, willing there to be more activity so that she’ll get the positive reinforcement she needs so she can progress quicker. “It’s been an experience. I haven’t shared my home with anyone since…well, you know when.”
I lean in, checking for any signs of acknowledgment. “Being with her is surprisingly easy.” Where this urge to share my life withOlivia comes from, I don’t know, but it feels important. Maybe it’s the way to reach her.
“Her name is Francesca, but everyone calls her Frankie.”
My eyes flit to her face, and to my surprise, Olivia's lips curl slightly—just the faintest smile. A spark of recognition? Can it be?
There’s another small flicker, but it’s overshadowed by the pounding in my chest. I pull out my phone, feeling a rush of excitement. “Get up here now,” I tell the neurologist I hired, my impatience now mixed with hope. I pace the room, glancing out at the ocean, then back to Olivia. If this little smile is a sign of progress, then I want to do everything in my power to nurture it.