“That’s just unlucky,” Rook murmured, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the scene. “After hearing what I did tonight, I think it wouldn’t be a bad thing for the parents to know that their daughter’s a fucked-up asshole and can’t really blame it on her fake diagnosis of schizophrenia.”
“Speaking of that,” Haggard grunted. “How do we know that she wasn’t just lying about that? Wouldn’t that be something someone who was sick would do?”
Yeah.
Only…
“I got from the very beginning that Abby wasn’t sick,” I said. “The cold calculation in her eyes when I met her at that restaurant… I believed her when she said she wasn’t sick. I believed her, because anybody that smart and cunning, with the understanding of what they were doing to their own sister written right there in their eyes, would be able to fake an illness to get out of murder charges.”
“The real question is… why the hell did her sister hate her that much?”
“I don’t know that we’ll ever know,” I admitted.
Then we got to work cleaning up the crime scene.
• • •
Later that night, as I helped Iris clean her head wound around the stitches, she broke into my thoughts with a few husky words.
“There is one benefit of this whole night,” Iris whispered brokenly.
“What?” I asked, not sure what she could say that would be a benefit at this point.
“I won’t have to worry about a family history of schizophrenia,” she murmured. “I won’t have to worry about my kids having it.”
There was a warmth now pooling in my belly as I dried her off with the fluffy towel that was twice her size.
“You want kids with me, baby?” I teased.
Finally, a spark came into her eyes.
The exact thing I was trying to accomplish.
“Yes,” she answered. “I want lots.”
I wrapped the towel around her body, then pulled her in by using my hold on the lapels.
“I don’t know what number is considered lots,” I joked. “But I’ll give you three.”
“Three isn’t lots. Three is three.” She sniffled.
I let go of the lapels of the towel, and she caught them before it could fall.
Once she was holding on to it tight, I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
Pulling the covers back, I laid her down and got into the bed with her, throwing the covers over the top of both of us before situating her in my arms and tucking her in so close that she likely couldn’t move.
It was a long time before the crying started.
And it was another long stretch before the crying stopped.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered. “We have to call the cops.”
Again, there was no way in hell we were calling the cops.
Mostly because I wasn’t sure that having them snooping around in Battle Crows MC business was the best course of action.
I mean, we kept our shit tight, but there was always a chance we would fuck up. And the fewer transgressions against us, the better.
Meaning, this needed to stay under the radar, in my honest opinion.
Not to mention I didn’t know what information Abby was able to glean from her sleuthing over the last week.
The less attention we drew to it all, the better.
“The good thing is, that crime scene was already released to us to get cleaned up,” I told her. “You owning it is even better. We’ll be able to have a legit cleaning crew come in and clean up, and the cops won’t have any reason to second-guess why that cleaning crew is there.”
“Cleaning crew?” she muttered. “They’re going to be able to tell the difference between new blood and old.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “but when your brother is the owner of the company, and since he’s the only company in the area—within four surrounding counties—it won’t be weird or odd that he’s there. And he cleans up hazardous shit like that all the time. He’s been called for multiple crime scenes.”
“Your brother owns a cleaning company?” she asked curiously.
I chuckled. “Essentially, yes. But he doesn’t just clean up the walls and sweep up dog hair. He removes blood, mold, or even in some cases asbestos. Repairs fire and water damage. He’s like a contractor for fucked-up houses from natural disasters. His favorite time of year is when it floods. He gets so many jobs that way.”
She shook her head, making my beard tickle with her movement.
“I’m scared to ask you if your brother has done this before,” she whispered.
I looked at her with a laugh. “I don’t think that’s information you need to know.”
Plausible deniability.
Maybe I should marry her, too.
Because a partner couldn’t be forced to incriminate their significant other.
CHAPTER 25
I’m going to die petting something I shouldn’t.
-text from Iris to Callum
SHINE
There was a reason that I owned a tree farm.
When Iris had asked a couple of weeks ago, I’d been honest with her.
I liked making money, and selling trees was a good way to do it.
But there was another reason that I did what I did.
Another thing I’d found?
That a body sent through a wood chipper did a damn fine job of getting it small enough that you couldn’t tell what was what.
Once the deed was done, I mixed the soil thoroughly, then started to plant more trees.
Only when every last bit of soil was gone did I bring the backhoe in with more.
After watering my new trees, I walked back to the office, which was a half a mile away.
When I arrived, I saw my receptionist, Marigold, sitting there with a smile on her face.
“A big order just came in,” she said, waving it at me. “Hope you have some ready to go.”
I smirked at her. “That’s what I’ve been doing all morning.”
I sent little pieces all over the fucking world, and other people buried my indiscretions for me.
And that was exactly what I did the rest of the day.
I wrapped my trees up. Packaged them. Then sent them all over the world.
And that night, when I went to bed, I didn’t miss a wink of sleep.
Why?
Because Iris was safe, and there was one less person on this earth that was willing to take her from me.
THE END.
EPILOGUE
Someone has to set the bad example.
-Text from Shine to Iris
IRIS
I thought I was going to die.
Literally and figuratively.
My brain and lungs weren’t quite working right, and there was this weird ringing in my ears that I knew for a fact shouldn’t be happening.
This was it.
This was how I was going to die.
To pay for my sins.
“You’re not going to die, Iris Crow.”
Iris Crow.
My eyes drifted closed, and I thought back to the day that I’d become Mrs. Callum Crow.
• • •
“Do you, Iris, take Shine…” I interrupted the preacher by clearing my throat. “Callum. I love the name Shine, but his name is Callum.”