It wasn’t like I could make it any worse.

If nothing else, it’d help the resale value. That was doing her a favor.

It wasn’t like I was going crazy by booking a contractor to knock down the walls and open the cramped floor plan. But a little paint wouldn’t be too bad.

I got halfway through coating the house with sticky notes before logic hit me like a brick to the face.

I was wasting my time and a forest’s worth of paper for nothing.

What am I thinking? I don’t need to do any of this. The house is fine how it is.

I’m only here temporarily.

I didn’t remove the markings, but I tossed the pad and pen down as I sighed in frustration.

Thankfully, the grocery delivery person had impeccable timing. The doorbell rang, and after checking the camera, I went to retrieve the bags off the porch. My eyes automatically shot to Ward’s driveway.

I hadn’t seen my new neighbor since the get-together on Saturday. Not even a neighborly greeting when I went to get the mail. There were no vehicles in his driveway, so I assumed he was gone again.

Still?

Maybe he has a girlfriend he’s shacked up with…

How great for them.

I dragged my stupid thoughts away from stupid things that were none of my stupid business to focus on restocking the cupboards and fridge. Like every time I shopped, I finished putting everything just to be hit with the immediate desire to order pizza. Since that was a wasteful option, I decided to channel all my pent-up energy into a more impossible task.

Cooking dinner that wasn’t a frozen meal or salad.

I’m an adult.

College-educated.

I can follow a recipe.

What’s the worst that can happen?

9. True Crime, Cauliflower Edition

CHAPTER 9

TRUE CRIME, CAULIFLOWER EDITION

HOLLYWOOD

“You’re a prick. A fuckin’ bootlicker, kiss-ass without a brain in his damn skull.”

I didn’t say anything. The bastard was baiting me, and I wasn’t about to bite. I’d already happily beat his ass until he would piss, shit, and puke blood.

Or he would’ve, if he was going to be alive that long.

’Cause once Nox arrived, the pathetic bastard tied to the chair wouldn’t survive the night.

He knew it, too. That was why he was pushing me to kill him. To get it over with.

Killian Nox was a friend to Mayhem, going back to his high school days when he ran the streets with Judge and Jury. Like us, he worked in the gray—though his was darker. He was a finder. People. Objects. Information.

Similar to a PI, just with a metric fuck-ton more weaponry, manpower, and murder.