Page 20

S arah

I sleep so hard it’s difficult to get my eyes to focus when I finally see daylight.

But once my vision focuses, everything else does too. I wiggle myself out of Boyd’s tight embrace. He rumbles once, and his chest heaves like it’s unhappy, but then he fades back to sleep. I exhale sharply, climb out of the broken bed, and dart to the other one.

I need to check my podcast.

“Whoa!” I say, my face lighting up with a smile when I see how many people have listened to my podcast since last night.

According to social media, my podcast is trending. In the true crime community, at least. This podcast could easily surpass my first few about the Mafia Prince Killer at this rate.

My jaw drops open, and I grab my vape. I inhale a few hits and lean back, kicking my feet with excitement. I regret that as soon as I do, because my ass is still tender, and my legs are rather sore. I’m sore in a lot of places.

But I can’t dwell on that. Not with the Mafia Prince Killer on the loose. I can’t believe it’s happening in Las Vegas. Where I am. I literally went to the damn crime scene.

Because of Big Boyd. I glance over at his naked body, sprawled on a mattress with broken wood around it. He drove me into that mattress so hard the bed exploded. That’s what it felt like. But he didn’t stop taking what was his.

My hand moves down my naked thighs, but I catch myself. I can’t do that without permission. I consider climbing the biggest mountain in Las Vegas to see if I can stir him back to life. I fight off the urge, hit my vape, and dive into true crime.

Everyone is analyzing the words on the wall.

I missed you . The trial was entertaining.

I’m sorry, Arthur. The message doesn’t get much clearer.

Arthur Dykstra isn’t the Mafia Prince Killer.

I did an entire podcast series and rode the wave of momentary fame in the true crime world, on an innocent man.

So, was he framed? And if he was, then… yeah, that’s what people are theorizing about most. Could they be partners?

Could the real killer have something on the man in prison paying for crimes he didn’t commit?

It could be anything. The fact Arthur Dykstra didn’t testify and let them sentence him to life has to be part of it.

But people are still scared of him. Or they were.

His rumored dead man’s switch could bring down any crime family and nobody knows which ones he’s got dirt on except the families he already hit.

He left a list of Lloyd Brennan’s crimes by his son’s dead body.

That’s what he always does. There’s a flash drive too, and the police have it.

He entered the residence last night. Like always, he used some sort of nerve agent to paralyze everyone in the house.

Bullets are rarely fired, and if they are, he uses a silencer.

He comes in like a cat burglar, carries out his gruesome act, and calls the police to report it.

They always arrive before the people wake up to the horrific sight.

Lloyd Brennan was no different. The flash drive will bring down his family. He’ll sit in prison, mourning his son, just like the other former kings with broken crowns and empires reduced to ash.

But if he’s got dirt on them, he probably has dirt on the Morandi family.

Except there’s no prince to kill unless Lea gives birth to one.

Salvatore Morandi retired at the perfect time to save his family.

If Erica’s coup had worked out, and Massimo had been killed, then Emilio’s son would be a target.

But nobody even knows where he is now. He left Las Vegas with his kids after everything happened.

“Okay, focus,” I mutter. “I need to get ready to go live at any minute with new information, so let’s get stuff to recap after I get their attention.”

Five families. Five murders. That’s what he’s done every time. If he’s going after five in Las Vegas, and the Brennans were first, then that means it will be families who operate in the city. Not true kings, but close enough for him.

Boyd’s phone is lying by the bed, where it must have fallen when he was stripping off his pants. It buzzes and I see enough to know it’s from Massimo and is about Lloyd Brennan before the screen goes dark.

“Oh, shit, oh, no…” I mutter, fighting the urge with everything I’ve got until I can’t.

I hurry to the phone and tap the screen. It lights up, but the message is hidden. I suck in a breath and scamper over by Boyd. He’s in a deep sleep by the looks of it. I tap the screen and hold it up to his face. By some miracle it opens, and I turn the phone around in my hand.

Massimo: Lloyd Brennan is dead. I need to see you.

My eyes widen in disbelief. First, because of the message. Second, because the message evaporates and dissolves after I read it. I’m staring at a blank screen.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” I whine, tapping the side of the screen like that will help.

How did I not know Mafia guys have text messages that poof like some James Bond crap? I’m going to be in so much trouble, because I have to tell Boyd what I did. I nervously take a few hits from my vape before putting it down and nudging him.

“Big Boyd,” I chime, trying to hide the nervousness in my voice. “Uh, you got a text message from Massimo.”

Boyd grumbles a few times, then one emerald-gold glaring eye blinks before the other one opens. His face relaxes when I come into focus and for a moment, I lure myself into believing I might not be in as much trouble as I am.

“Here,” I say, offering him the phone. “I accidentally read it, and it evaporated.”

“Accidentally read it?” Boyd pops a skeptical brow. “What the fuck did it say?”

He takes the phone, puts it on the nightstand, and grabs his pants.

“Lloyd Brennan died, and Massimo needs to see you,” I murmur.

“What the fuck?” he growls, fully waking up. “Yeah, I need to go. Fuck! I need a shower and a change of clothes. I’ll have to swing by my place.”

I let out a light breath of relief. He seems to be more concerned about the message than how I could have accidentally read it. I grab his shirt and offer it to him. He takes it and starts getting dressed in a hurry. I move to my bed and grab a hotel robe to slip on.

“Stay here while I’m gone,” he says. “Don’t go running around chasing clues or any shit like that. Wait for me to come back.”

“I won’t,” I answer, shaking my head. “I’m a podcaster. I don’t normally do this anywhere except my computer.”

“Keep it that way while I’m gone,” he commands. “If there’s anything useful, I’ll let you know. Give me your phone.”

He holds out his hand and I give it to him.

I watch as he types a few things, opens up some sort of console in my phone, and keeps typing.

When it flashes back to the home screen, it flickers a few times, then he accesses an app I’ve never seen before.

A few adjustments later, he flips to my contacts and adds himself.

Boyd Sagona. As soon as he hands it back, I add Big in front of his name.

“Now your text messages will do the same thing, and I can send you any updates that need to do that after you read them,” he says, pulling me into a hug.

“Stay out of trouble. Promise me? Don’t put anything on your podcast unless I tell you it’s okay.

Just because you hear from me, doesn’t mean it’s safe to report it. ”

“I promise,” I say, hugging him tightly.

“Good girl.” He strokes my hair before letting go. “We’ll talk about how you accidentally read my text message when I get back, but I need to go.”

I swallow a shudder and force a smile. “Sure!”

Boyd leaves the room with a wall-shuddering bang as he slams the door.

I’m all alone. But I probably shouldn’t be so eager for him to get back. I won’t be able to talk my way of that one without actually lying. Originally, I did read it accidentally when it blinked on the screen. Everything that happened after… not really something I can say was an accident.

And it’s all useless information, anyway. I could be the first one to report that Lloyd Brennan is dead, but Boyd didn’t tell me I could use that. I could try my new evaporating text messages.

Sarah: Can I use the Lloyd Brennan thing when I go live?

Boyd: NO

Did he mean to yell, or… I’ll assume he didn’t. Either way, the text message poofs and I have a blank screen. An interesting way to communicate, I suppose. I hope there’s a way to turn this off for people other than Big Boyd.

I miss him after he’s gone, but I’ve got plenty to keep myself occupied with. I return to my laptop and start going through all of the news sites for scraps of information I can turn into a recap.

I really wish I could break the news about Lloyd Brennan’s death, but I won’t do it without permission from the guy who is giving me information to begin with. I’m already in enough trouble for going through his phone.

But with Big Boyd, I’m probably getting spanked regardless. He even spanked me while he fucked me last night.

I smile as I think about it, losing focus on the news sites as I remember how incredible it was.

After letting my imagination run wild for longer than I should, I snap myself out of it and get back to work. I carefully collect all the information I should cover, then pause when I get to a news site that is discussing the nerve agent.

“Police say the nerve agent compound was different in Las Vegas, than in any of the prior murders, leading some to believe it could be a different killer,” I read in a mutter. “Different nerve agent? Hmm.”

I make a note of it and keep going. It’s possible that it could be a copycat. Still, a copycat that was able to leave the same kind of evidence as the Mafia Prince Killer against a crime family makes me question that theory.

I finally get everything assembled and sigh.

I don’t have any new information, but this train is moving, so there’s only one thing to do.

It’s time to go live.