Twisted Hate (Twisted, 3)

Because you’re mine. Let another man touch you, Jules, and you’ll find out just how easily I can take a man’s life as I can save one.

Josh’s words played on a loop in my head like a beautiful, terrifying broken record. Four days later, and I’ve yet to find the pause button.

Even now, as I tapped away at my computer at LHAC, I sensed the whisper of Josh’s declaration against my skin.

Our conversation had ended after that. We’d returned to the wedding, my heart a vigorous drum in my chest, my blood electric in my veins. It was like he’d wanted to engrave his words in my mind, and he’d succeeded.

What are you so afraid of, Red?

Everything.

I’d always been the good-time girl, the one who stuck to casual flings and pushed guys away before they got too close. Scared that if they looked too closely, they would see the real me, and the real me wouldn’t be enough.

It hadn’t been enough for my mom or Max. Sometimes, it wasn’t enough even for me.

But Josh had seen the worst of me, assumed the worst of me, and he still wanted to stay. It was enough to induce that most dangerous of emotions: hope.

He’s seen most of the worst of you, a taunting voice whispered in my head.

He didn’t know about my past or the things I’d done for money. He never would. Not if I could help it.

“Jules.”

I jumped, my heart thundering, before I relaxed. “Hey, Barbs.”

The receptionist leaned against my cubicle and tapped the computer screen. “Time to go, hun. The office is closed.”

I looked around, shocked to see the office had, in fact, emptied. I hadn’t even noticed the others leave.

“Right.” I rubbed a hand over my face. God, I was out of it. “Let me just close everything out first.”

“No particular rush on my end.” She eyed me with a speculative expression. “I was surprised Josh didn’t come in today to celebrate the Bower case. It’s his day off too.”

We’d successfully cleared Terence Bower’s criminal record, and we found out that morning that he’d landed a job that would tide the family over while his wife recovered. It was a big win for us, but even though I’d worked on the case since I started at LHAC, I couldn’t summon much excitement.

I was too busy worrying over my life to celebrate someone else’s, no matter how happy I was for them.

Still, my stomach fluttered at the sound of Josh’s name. “Don’t know why. You’ll have to ask him.” I saved the document I was working on and logged off.

“Hmm. I thought you would know, since you’re friendly and all.” A mischievous gleam lit up Barbs’s eyes. “You two would make a great-looking couple.”

“Would we?” My cheeks heated, but I kept my voice even. “I imagine I’d carry most of the weight in that situation.”

Her body shook with laughter. “See, you’re what that boy needs. He’s surrounded by too many yes people. All the women fawning over him and not questioning a single thing he says or does.” She shook her head. “He needs someone to keep him on his toes. Too bad you’re not interested…are you?”

She leaned forward, and I finally understood why the clinic staff called her the office matchmaker.

“Good night, Barbs,” I said pointedly, earning myself another laugh.

“G’night, hun. We’ll talk later.” She winked before returning to her desk.

I packed up my belongings. It was odd that Josh didn’t come in, but maybe he was catching up on rest. He’d been working overtime at the hospital to make up for the days he’d missed when he was in Eldorra. I hadn’t seen him since we returned to D.C., and I’d been hesitant to text him.

After the way we left things, it seemed wrong for our first post-wedding interaction to be anything but face to face.

I also hadn’t figured out how to respond to his implicit request to change our arrangement, so there was that.

My phone rang, dragging me out of my chaotic thoughts.

I was so distracted I answered it without checking the caller ID first. “Hello?”

“May I speak with Jules Miller, please?” an unfamiliar female voice asked.

I froze at the use of my old name. I was tempted to tell them they had the wrong number, but curiosity overwhelmed my sense of self-preservation.

“Speaking.” I clutched the phone tighter to my ear.

“Ms. Miller, I’m calling from Whittlesburg Hospital. It’s about Adeline Miller.” Her voice gentled. “I’m afraid I have some sad news.”

My stomach spiraled into free fall. No.

I knew what she was going to say before she said it.

“I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs. Miller died this afternoon…”

I barely heard the rest of her words through the roar in my ears.

Adeline Miller.

My mom.

My mom was dead.