Page 32 of Accepted Precedent (Love & Politics #3)

Evelyn

T his is the first night in what feels like forever that Andrew has had Mickey all to himself.

I hate to ruin it, and as much as I don’t want to, I try calling Mick.

It goes straight to voicemail. Kristin’s right—we don’t need his help—but I’d like to give him the heads-up of what happened.

I call Andrew, but it also doesn’t ring, and I hang up at his chipper voicemail message.

I think back to the few times Mickey has come home soaked in blood.

What I wouldn’t give for Aisling to appear with towels, cleaning supplies, and trash bags.

Stark-white hotel towels aren’t the best option to clean up blood.

While Kristin gets instructions from Ned, I take inventory of the room.

There’s nothing standing out as anything useful.

We are so fucking screwed.

Kristin hangs up and explains we’ll need to remove the bullet. There isn’t a single sharp object in this place. She shot him in the back of the head. How the hell are we supposed to remove a bullet from his skull when the best we’ve got is an ice bucket and a curling iron?

“Let’s check his room,” I offer. “There might be something in there we can use.”

“I took his wallet, but when I checked, there was no keycard,” she seethes, handing me his dark-brown leather wallet. I don’t take offense to her tone; we’re navigating unchartered waters here.

I sift through it and find mostly credit cards and a photo of his wife and kids.

Kristin said he had another woman with him last night, and I huff a humourless laugh.

“What an asshole.” Checking every crevice, I gasp.

“Is this it?” I pull out a card out of a wad of cash that looks identical to mine.

“Maybe. Ned said he’ll disrupt the cameras for the next half-hour. Everything after that, he’ll have to doctor up with fake footage. I’ll go check and see if it works.”

“No,” I growl, sounding a bit too much like Mickey, making Kristin laugh. “Sorry, it’s just… we should do this together.”

She nods, double-checks that we have our own key with us, then opens the door.

The coast is clear, and we cross the hall.

Thankfully, his card works. I flick on the light switch with my knuckle as we enter, and bile rises in my throat at the sight.

Blood pools around his head, still seeping from the wound.

Kristin slides her hand into mine, interlacing our fingers as she teases, “Maybe we should’ve gone with the brunch option.”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me.

She leads us deeper into the room, helping me step over the dead man, before releasing my hand.

“I’ll check the suitcase, you check the drawers.

” I open the first one—it only houses a Bible.

The second one, I press my lips together to stifle a giggle. “What is it?”

“Well, let’s just say this guy had fun last night.” I open it wider and she steps behind me, peering over my shoulder. “What do you think? Nipple clamps could work.” There’s also a box of surgical gloves, furry handcuffs, a dildo that would wreck any cavity you put it in, a riding crop, and lube.

“Fuck, Evie, you’re a genius!”

I grab the gloves and clamps, and we both stand over his body, almost as if we’re waiting for the other one to make the first move. “So…”

“So,” she echoes with a sigh. “This can’t be too hard. We glove up, one of us moves his hair out of the way, and the other uses the clamps to fish out the bullet. We can do this.”

“I call dibs on the hair.”

“Of course you would,” she chuckles, pulling out two gloves and handing them to me.

“What do you think Dad would say if he was still with us?”

“He’d probably be more worried about why you’re in love with Mick, and why I’m in love with your husband.” Her hand flies to her mouth, the loose gloves smacking her cheek. “Sorry, that just kind of slipped out.”

“It’s about time you admit that out loud,” I wink and slip my hand into one of the gloves, snapping it at my wrist like I’ve seen in movies and medical dramas. She starts and stops a rebuttal a few times, but eventually gives up. “It’s okay. Really. I’ve known for years.”

“Nothing happened. I hope you know that.”

“Even if it did, you know my relationship with Andy is completely platonic. Sure, we hooked up from time to time because we were both lonely and horny. That’s all it was.

” I put on my other glove and stretch it to fit.

My ring gets caught and snags it open. “He’s never admitted it to me, but I think he’s in love with you too.

” I rip off the torn rubbery material and remove my ring, placing it in my pocket for safe keeping, then put on another glove.

She closes her eyes, shaking her head. “We want different things, it would never work.”

“Hey.” I tap her with my elbow. “It’s your life, you make the rules.

Don’t want to get married? Don’t get married.

Want to focus on your career? Go for it.

Use my husband for orgasms? I doubt he’d say no.

” The last suggestion earns me a smile. “But I feel like there’s more to it than just sex.

You love each other, and you could still be together without ever getting married. ”

“What about you?” she asks softly as she slips on her gloves.

“Eventually Andrew and I will divorce, and we all know Mickey will wife me up the second he can.”

She coughs out a laugh. “True.”

I’m grateful all of this is now out in the open, but my heart breaks for her. There are no winners—Andrew and I are stuck in a loveless marriage, Mickey can’t be with either of us, and my sister has been forced to slink into the shadows as I pretend to be with the man she wants.

If there's a hell, I’m certain I’m in it.

“I’ll do the bullet,” I rush out, and her eyes widen. “It can’t be hard, right? No worse than getting eggshells out of a bowl.”

“Fuck Evie,” she groans, “this isn’t baking. We have to get metal out of his fucking brain.”

“Excuse me! Have you ever over-cracked an egg, then scooped out the little shards with another piece of the shell so you didn’t have to throw everything away?

” I wait for a rebuttal. “No. I didn't think so. I can do this. None of us are happy because I was a dumbass and agreed to marry my best friend a decade ago. So let me get the damn bullet out of this guy’s stupidly handsome head, before I change my mind.”

She smirks and hands me the nipple clamps. “He is stupidly handsome, isn’t he?” As she puts her gloves on, she sighs, “I’m sorry, Evie. I didn’t mean what I said about the baking.”

“No. You’re right,” I concede. “I’ve become comfortable being a politician’s wife. I lost who I am.”

Kristin crouches down and moves his hair out of the way, exposing the oozing wound.

“You’re more than that. Hell, you’re about to remove a bullet from the back of this man’s head.

I’d like to see any of those women at the gala do the same.

” She moves more of his hair and blood continues to spill onto the ground.

“You know, I suppose I did his wife a favor. Cheating bastard.”

“You really did.” My stomach sours as I pinch the clamps a few times. “Okay, let’s do this.” I press them into the wet hole and poke around for the metal. It hits something hard, and I open the clamp, grabbing it. I drag it out, but it’s stuck on something. “I think we need to open it more.”

“With what?”

“I don’t know,” I groan. “It’s stuck. Maybe we could rip it open?”

“Fuck, Evie, you’ve watched too many crime documentaries. We can’t just rip open his scalp!”

“Want to bet?” I set down the clamp and grip his hair, pulling in each direction. “Shit. Okay, you’re right; that didn’t work.”

“You think?”

“All right, let me try again from a different angle.” I slip the clamps back in, tapping what could be skull fragment or the bullet. I open the clamp, and it feels about the size of a bullet. Carefully pulling it out, I squeal, “Yes! That’s it!”

“Shh! Do you want someone to hear us?”

“The neighbors next door will just assume he’s getting laid. So… now what?”

“Let’s get out of here. Ned should stop by to check in with us, and we need to get cleaned up. Will… will you stay with me tonight?”

“Of course.” I pull my glove off, wrapping the bullet and clamp inside. “Let’s get cleaned up in your room, then stay the rest of the night in Mickey’s—it’s nicer.”

There’s a pounding at the door, and we both startle.