Page 97 of Malicious Marriage
What kind of request is that, anyway? I don’t have a clue how to kill someone, never mind someone much taller and stronger than me like Dean Savoy. Through tears and broken nails, I rip the kitchen apart and find nothing. Not a single wire or lens. I end up on the floor, sobbing until Malcom texts me once again and asks a very important question.
[UNKNOWN] Is Dean dead yet?
So the camera was a lie. It has to be. If he truly was watching us, then he’d know I desperately kicked Dean out using anything I could think of to just make himleave.
It takes me a long time and several consistent typos with trembling fingers to text him back, but eventually, I do.
[Clover] Working on it. Give me time. Don’t want him to resist.
Malcom replies with a .gif of someone tapping their watch and I roll my eyes, then slump back against the cabinet. What the fuck am I going to do?
Hailey had fled this life, fled this country and was about to start a family with a man who clearly loves her. Now, because of me, she’s been dragged back into this hellhole to be used as a pawn for God knows what.
And Dean. Good, sweet, kind Dean who was never like the rumors suggested and didn’t seem to have a bad bone in his body outside of his work. I manipulated him, lied to him, and ultimately hurt him. He deserves a clean break away from all of this shit to go and live his life and find someone truly decent. I just hope my lies haven’t ruined him for good.
Both the people I care about now suffer because of me. And on top of it all, Bobby is in the hospital because the stress gave him a heart attack. Everything I thought turns to ash and I can’t make it stop.
Slowly, I glance down at my belly and the baby hidden inside, growing slowly without a care in the world. Another precious thing I’ll destroy just by existing. There’s no way I’d make a good mother after being a terrible sister and an even worse wife.
I need a plan. I have no one to call and no one to turn to. This is on me.
Sniffling, I climb to my feet and wash my face at the sink, then I focus on my phone and the picture of terrified Hailey. Malcom’s waiting for me to kill Dean which means I have until he grows impatient to find out where he’s holding her.
The background is pretty simplistic with wooden floors, a floral yellow paper with faded green leaves, and what looks like the corner of a painting. It almost looks like the lioness painting hanging in the?—
Wait! It is!
My heart beats violently in my chest as my hands tremble. I knowexactlywhere he is.
The Byrne familytownhouse is mostly abandoned and has been for years. It was treated as a holiday home when we were younger but after the death of my mom, it was only me who would still visit. I loved how quiet and secluded it was, how mother’s perfume still clung in the air, and I could see the scuff marks she left on the carpet while we were playing hide and seek. Hailey and dad could never come back here, claiming they had too many memories, but that was exactly why I loved spending time here.
The moss is cut away from the front door and several of the curtains have been dragged open. Walking through the overgrown gravel pathway, I cross around the bend and a sleek black car comes into view.
He’s here.
Iknewit.
I have no idea what I’m going to do when I confront him, or how I’m going to save Hailey. I just have to dosomething. I’m trembling so much that by the time I climb the steps to the front door, it feels like I’m about to shake apart at my joints. I clench my teeth and my fists but it does nothing to calm me down.
Do I walk in?
Do I knock?
Should I sneak in?
Just as I’m toying over what the right move is, the door swings open and one of Malcom’s guards stops abruptly in front of me, visibly surprised.
“H–He’s expecting me,” I force out before the man can speak.
He raises a brow, then shrugs, jerking his head backward. “He’s in the back.” Then he walks past me toward the car.
I’m going to throw up. Was it meant to be that easy?
Forcing a deep breath, I step into my childhood home and follow the dusty corridor through to the ajar door at the end. My mother’s study, of all places. Does Malcom even know that? I don’t remember him being around much when I was a child.
Malcom leans over the ornate wooden desk staring down at several clumped papers on the desk. He shuffles them about and grumbles in discontent, then jumps right out of his skin when I clear my throat.
“Hey, Uncle.”