The Lover’s Promise (No Exceptions #3)(10)
Author: J.C. Reed

Once I finished, I leaned back and began to chew on a pen.

1.              Jett had failed to disclose to me that he visited his brother the last couple of weeks. He also failed to mention that Nate was released from prison.

2.              Jett had met Tiffany behind my back and failed to tell me about their past.

3.              Jett had pretended to go to work while attending a meeting in the hotel conference room with God knows who on the same day Nate was released.

4.              The detective’s evidence showed that Jett met the first victim, Sarah, in a coffee shop two weeks ago, on the same day she died. Although I had no concrete proof that Jett knew Gina, I knew he was at the club that night, watching us, which meant he saw not only me, but also her—two victims who happened to be at the same place as Jett, and died within hours.

Why all the secrets? Assuming the detective was right and Jett was a murderer, why kill Sarah and Gina? The detective said he had found no connection between the two girls yet, so they must have been random victims. As much as I tried to, I couldn’t image Jett hurting anyone. I couldn’t imagine him to be cruel, heartless, and sick.

A player yes, but not a murderer.

Except…

I drew a slow breath as memories of waking up in a hospital flooded my mind. Back then when I had been abducted, Jett did everything to find and save me—he even shot one of my captors.

Was protecting someone equal to being a cold-blooded killer?

I had no idea. All I knew was that I had always felt safe around Jett. And for some reason, I still did. However, I also had to take into account that I was in love and possibly biased. Nate and Jett’s father were both convincing liars. Maybe Jett had inherited that family trait.

I tapped the pen against my lips as my mind dove deeper into the past, back to a time when Jett had tried to deceive me to get his hands on the Italian estate, a past I had tried to forget. My hands shook slightly as I jotted down the next fact:

5.              Jett wanted the Lucazzone estate, which I had inherited, for his family.

I looked down at the dark words, unable to stop an ice-cold shudder from running down my spine at the possibility that the last piece of the puzzle might have been in front of me the whole time; that the answers to all my questions might be much simpler than I previously thought. What if everything really was part of a strategy and Jett was involved with the club?

I drew a slow breath and closed my eyes for a few seconds.

Jett had said he didn’t want the estate anymore, but what if that was a lie, a ploy to get my trust? What if, when the first plan to get the estate didn’t work, Jett had to play the caring, protective boyfriend all the while siding with his brother?

By insisting on getting my promise to stay close to him, he would make sure I didn’t run away, and by tracing my phone, he would always know where to find me. Gina and Sarah might have been killed as part of the club’s traditions. It all would make sense…if it just weren’t so hard for me to imagine.

The thought that Jett had played me caused another surge of rage and nausea to wash over me. Without wasting another second, I crumpled the paper into a ball, and typed ‘Signs that your boyfriend is a killer” into the Google search browser, ignoring the last word.

I almost choked when the search engine came up with over forty million results.

Holy heck.

I stared at the numbers.

Did that many people have doubts about their boyfriends’ mental state?

Wow. Just wow. What a crazy mad world!

I shook my head, both amazed and frightened. I knew for a fact that most psychos were intelligent people who looked charming—the kind of people that smiled in your face and tried to kill you at the moment you trusted them. They were in your social circles, always pretending to like you while planning for months and years in advance—like my sister’s boyfriend Danny had done when he sold her to the club—the very club Nate attended.

Without scrolling down, I clicked on the third link that read, “Test if your boyfriend’s a psycho,” and started going through each question.

Does he have a secret room, a drawer that he doesn’t want you to touch?

I had no idea. My mind traveled back to all the countless times I had been in Jett’s office. The possibility that I could sniff around never occurred to me. And when I moved in with him, Jett had assured me that nothing was off-limits, so I always assumed there was no need to check on him.

Does he seem obsessive, manipulative, bordering on narcissistic?

I shook my head. Jett wasn’t manipulative. Controlling, yes, and very possessive, but he wasn’t narcissistic, and sure as hell I had never seen him obsessive, unless it was about work.

Does he like to play mental games with you, where he works you up into a state of frenzy, and then pulls away, sometimes showing cracks in the mask in the form of saying things that hurt you? Does he have episodes where he suddenly erupts out of anger and lashes out, hurting you in the process, then apologizing profoundly?

I shook my head again, and again, as I went through each question. Jett had never done anything of that sort. Keeping secrets, yes, but he had never choked me, beat me, or humiliated me. And sure as hell he had never hurt me on purpose.

I swallowed as I pressed the finish button, my heart racing in my chest as the results were calculated. Finally a new page loaded with the results:

Congratulations. Your boyfriend is normal. There is only a 7% chance you’re dating a psycho.

I stared at the number.

Seven percent.

That was like… almost nothing. I could deal with almost nothing.

Feeling the weight lifting off my shoulders, I leaned back, more convinced than ever that Jett wasn’t Gina’s killer; that there must be something else going on, something that I wasn’t seeing. The thought of seeing Jett wasn’t so bad now. In fact, I was beginning to look forward to it. The day had been a disaster so far, but tomorrow everything would work out. I had to believe that. Tomorrow, I’d get the chance to ask him all the questions that kept burning holes in my mind, and he would explain. Feeling a tremendous fatigue washing over me, I let hope engulf me and finally I closed my eyes.

The sound of screeching echoed through the walls. A soft hand touched my cheek and my neck. Gentle at first, then harder, more tempestuous, more urgent, only to be replaced with something soft, warm—and wet. I opened my eyes. My heart fluttered as my eyes met Jett’s, and I sucked in my breath.