Page 32 of Hot as Hell (Royal Bastards MC, Montreal, Canada #2)

Charlie closed the door, relieved the cops were done with the investigation. She stared at the pristine floor remembering Ashley lying dead… her eyes lifeless staring up at her.

By the time Hemlock had been released from the hospital, the condo was almost unrecognizable. Truck had handled the cleanup with the precision of someone who had done this kind of thing before. Every trace of the chaos that had unfolded had been wiped away.

Charlie stood at the threshold, eyes scanning the place as she entered. It didn’t feel like the same apartment anymore. The bloodstains, the shattered glass, the overturned furniture—everything had been scrubbed clean.

She appreciated the help. She really did. Truck was one of the few people she could rely on. But there was something unsettling about how easy it had been for him to erase the signs of violence that had been so recent.

The door clicked shut behind her as she stepped further into the condo. Her gaze lingered on the spot where Ashley had last been. She had never imagined it would end the way it had.

She had hoped, maybe foolishly, that the cleanup might wipe away the memory.

She didn’t know if the memory would ever truly go away, but she’d learn to deal with it…

like she did with all the other uncomfortable memories.

Just like the information the officer had given her.

She was trying to wrap her mind around it all.

According to the officer, after the accounts of what had happened in the condo, they had reopened her parents’ accident.

According to the police, their deaths had been ruled suspicious.

Now they were being ruled murder. Once they dug into Ashley’s life, they found proof she was directly responsible for their deaths.

She leaned against the door, still catching her breath.

The weight of the officer’s words hung heavy in the air, making the small condo feel more like a prison than a place of refuge.

Murder. Her parents’ deaths, which had been ruled a tragic accident all these years, were now being connected to Ashley.

The name of her friend, once a comfort, now felt like a curse.

She ran a hand through her hair, trying to piece everything together.

Ashley had always been a part of the family—almost like a sister.

But if the cops were right, everything she thought she knew about Ashley was a lie.

Weeks of investigation had turned up proof of Ashley’s involvement, evidence that pointed to her being responsible for the deaths of her parents.

The realization their deaths weren’t an accident was like a punch to the gut. And now, knowing that Ashley… her best friend, the person she’d trusted the most… was behind it all. Charlie could barely comprehend it.

The officers had mentioned surveillance footage, financial records, and witness statements that tied Ashley to the scene of the crash. But none of it made sense. What motive could Ashley have? Why would she kill the people who had always treated her like family?

They’d informed her Crispen had recovered and was released from the hospital. He had been placed under arrest for non-related things to what he and Ashley had done to her. He hadn’t spent more than forty-eight hours before being released. Now, it seemed like he was walking free, no questions asked.

If Charlie had to guess, it was more like Mr. Allen had made a substantial contribution to the police department.

Or to some government office. That’s when she realized Crispen didn’t matter…

his father didn’t matter. The only person who mattered was Hemlock.

She got her answer in the way Crispen had glared at her; the smug look on his face told her all she would ever need to know about him.

Shoving off from the door, she dropped the keys in the little wooden bowl and set her purse on the entryway table.

Feels like home . She found Hemlock standing at the kitchen sink, walking up behind him she rested her forehead against his back, and then reached her arms around his waist wanting to be close.

Charlie appreciated that he didn’t ask any questions.

He just continued washing the few dishes in the sink quietly.

She would eventually tell him about what the police had told her, she just needed a minute to quiet her mind.

Charlie had promised herself the entire drive home she wouldn’t cry.

Swallowing hard, she let go of Hemlock, then stepped back and smiled when he faced her.

Reaching around her neck, she pulled the long silver chain that held a silver cross, a Saint Christopher medal and a small tear drop half-caret diamond in a silver basket cage.

The cops had found it amongst Ashley’s things in the apartment.

“I told you I’d get it back.” She tried keeping the smile on her face, but the necklace didn’t make her happy as it had in the past. Now when she looked at it, it made her sad.

It was a stark reminder of not only her parents’ death, but that her best friend had been a psycho.

Staring at Hemlock, she couldn’t help but look at the long scar that ran down his side.

It was a reminder that you never really knew a person.

Hemlock leaned against the kitchen counter drying his hands. Setting the dishtowel down he smiled at Charlie. Shoving off the counter, he stepped up to her. Toying with the necklace, he was happy for Charlie. “You did.”

Charlie slipped the chain from her neck and placed the necklace into his hand, letting it puddle in his palm. “Can you keep it for me? I don’t think I want it right now.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

Hemlock set the necklace aside, then signaled Charlie to come to him, which she did. Six months it had taken him to completely heal, and she had stayed with him ever bitchy step of the way. Gripping her hips, he lifted her up onto the counter.

“You shouldn’t be picking me up?”

Brushing a lock of hair behind Charlie’s ear, “I’m fine. Doc cleared me today.”

Now that everything was behind them and he had been cleared, Hemlock worried she would want to move out. On more than one occasion he caught her staring at the scar and worried she still carried the weight of what happened. “I’ve got a question for you, Charlie Rose Cote.”

“I’m sure I have an answer for you, Emile Durand.” She saw the shocked look on his face at hearing her say his formal name. Did he think she didn’t remember his real name? Silly boy.

“Are you moving out?”

Well, damn, she’d thought about it at one time, for his safety, but when everything was over, she’d forgotten all about, unwilling to give him up.

Now, and after everything they’d been through, that wasn’t what she expected he was going to ask her.

She’d been under the impression they were living together.

Not knowing what to say she scrambled for an answer.

On one hand, she didn’t want him to think she expected to stay.

On the other, she didn’t want him to think she didn’t want to stay.

Was this the man’s version of the trick question?

If she said no, did that make her appear needy and if she said yes, did it make her appear uninterested? What a conundrum.

“I…” she was stumbling over her own words. “I can start looking for a place.”

Truck’s words echoed in his ears. “ You have the worst luck with women.” Shit, he was bungling things up. “Let me reword my question. Would you want to stay here with me?”

Charlie didn’t have to think before she answered, “Yes!”

Hemlock moved closer to the counter making her widen her thighs to accommodate his hips. Leaning in he kissed her softly, wanting to feel that connection they had. He’d never had such a visceral connection with another person. Not like the one he had with her.

“Are you good being here?” He watched as she stared up at him. He hadn’t asked before, afraid of what she’s say. But in all fairness, he needed to know how she felt about it. They could always move into the cottage style apartment at Truck’s. He could rent the condo out.

“As long as you’re with me. I’m good.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Lifting her from the counter, Hemlock set Charlie down, then taking her hand started leading her towards the stairs. The destination was their bedroom, specifically their bed.

Charlie knew where they were headed. It’d been six months since they’d been intimate, and the doctor had cleared Hemlock. “I think we are expected at the clubhouse for a cookout.”

“We can be late,” he said tugging her towards the stairs.

“Why are we going upstairs?”

Hemlock stopped short, staring at Charlie like she’d lost her mind. “Woman!”

Charlie laughed at his expression and the way he addressed her. “I mean, the sofa’s right there, or maybe the kitchen table.” She saw him glance at both before shaking his head no.

“I want plenty of room to move around. So, it’s the bed or nothing.”

“Then, I pick the bed.”

“That’s my girl.”

Turned out being late for the cookout wasn’t really late.

When they arrived, no one had even started cooking.

It seemed cookout was code for party. If she’d known, she would have kept Hemlock home in bed.

Now that they were there, they would be expected to stay.

“We can slip out in about an hour,” Hemlock whispered at her side.

“Half an hour and I’ll do that thing you like so much,” she countered with a wink.

“We’ll say hello and leave,” he said, making her laugh.

The party was laid back, music played in the background as the hum of laughter roused from the crowd that was gathered around the bar.

“Half an hour, huh?” Hemlock raised an eyebrow at her, clearly more intrigued by the offer than he let on. He adjusted his jacket as if preparing himself for the social battlefield ahead. “You really think it will be that easy to leave?”

“I’m sure if you fain exhaustion, they might not give us a hard time,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow. The teasing smile was matched with a twinkle in her eyes.

“You’re right. We’ll just say hello and then sneak out. No big deal,” he whispered, looking for Truck. The moment of hesitation made it clear that they both were calculating how to make the exit as seamless as possible.

Charlie nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd, already plotting their quick escape. “We’ll just say hi, have a burger and step away.” She laughed. “No one will even notice we’re gone.”

“Hey, look who finally made it!!!” Truck said with a chuckle.

Hemlock leaned over a whispered promise eased from his lips, “Half an hour.”

Charlie smiled… Hard.