Hate You, Love You. - Chapter 121

Jason

”This is so fucked up.”

I rummage through the box again and dump the contents on her bed. Sifting through a bunch of documents and more photos, an orange file catches my attention. I open it and grab the first thing I see. What I find shocks me again.

Theodore Clayton James.

Theo?!

His picture is staring at me right in the face and I’m all shades of confused. What has he got to do with all this? Scrunching my eyebrows, I withdraw another paper which happens to have his profile.

It’s unmistakable. It’s him.

Police Officer. Twenty-five. Member of the ATF. Six-foot-two. Born in Austin, Texas. Member of the Texan Police Department.

Theo is a fucking cop?!

”Today just keeps getting better and better,” I grunt.

My gut was correct after all, he isn’t her step-brother. But, if he’s a cop, why is he posing as a student in Bridgewood? Moreso, what does he have to do with Mel?

The only people that can give me answers are Mel, Theo and Patricia.

”But, this is bad.”

If Theo is a cop, and he’s a member of the ATF, what if he’s after me? What if he knows I’m running a fucking gang in Bridgewood? If he knows about my activities, then I, along with the rest of my crew are in big trouble. For years, I’ve kept my business away from the cops and I haven’t so much as had a visit from them. Money talks in Bridgewood and when you have an overflow of it, you can get away with shit. Corruption is everywhere and cops think that they have a moral compass but when you shove money in their face, they’ll take it willingly and do your bidding.

But, Theodore Clayton James is not a regular cop from Bridgewood. He has been lying to everyone and he doesn’t look like they type to be bribed. He’s a member of the ATF for fucks sake and that alone is enough to show that he has high credibility.

But did she sell me out?

No, it’s not possible. Mel wouldn’t do that to me. She’s loyal. I trust her.

But what is she doing with a cop?

”What are you doing in my room?” I hear Patricia’s voice float in the room. My gaze turns to her in the doorway and I don’t even flinch at the fact that she caught me red handed going through her things.

She has a lot of explaining to do.

Her heels clank on the tiles and her eyes widen once she sees what I’m holding. She rushes to me and tries to get the file from my hand but I’m obviously taller than her, even in heels. I’m curious, moreso, I’m angry and she better start explaining herself or else this mansion wouldn’t be able to house the both of us.

”What the fuck is all this?” I roar. She opens her mouth to say something but I cut her off immediately. ”And don’t you dare fucking lie because I’ve seen proof.”

I did take pictures of  everything I saw.

”You shouldn’t be going through my things,” she screeches. Her hand still stretches to get the file from my hand and I roll my eyes. ”You have no right?”

”You want to speak about right,” I yell in her face. ”What gives you the right to kill Vladmir Gustaf?”

Is she crazy? Killing the head of a powerful mafia is no small matter and the minute they find out who did it, she’s as good as dead and I can’t do shit to protect her.

”Why would you think I did that?” she denies. ”I don’t want a death wish.”

You slept with a rival gang member and now it seems like you murdered or had a hand in murdering the head of the Siddeno mafia family and you’re saying you don’t want a death wish.

Is she high on crack?

”Don’t lie to me, Avanla.” I hold her arm firmly. ”Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Patricia Avanla Maxwell Blunt.

Avanla is her late mum’s name and Maxwell is her maiden name. I usually call her Avanla when we’re arguing and I’m pissed as hell right now.

”You haven’t called me Avanla in years.”

”That means you need to start talking, right now.”

My tone leaves no room for argument and she sighs. ”I’m not going to rat you out to the cops. Did you or did you not kill him? Because the pictorial evidence is here.”

I need a confession from her.

”I didn’t do it.” Her face contours in pain but I don’t release her arm. ”You’re hurting me, Jason.”

”I don’t fucking care,” I spit back. ”Why did you kill him?”

”I told you I didn’t do it,” she says, on the verge of tears. ”I didn’t fucking do it.”

”Then why do you have pictures of his execution?”

”I hired someone to do it,” she finally confesses. ”Yes, I said it. I hired someone to do it. Now, let me go or you’d break my fucking forearm.”

I release her hand abruptly and she winces in pain whilst rubbing the spot I grabbed. It’ll probably leave a red mark and some bruising but I’m too pissed to care.

”Who did you hire?”

”None of your business.”

”Why did you do it?”

No response.

”I won’t ask you again, Avanla.” My voice is lethally calm and I see the fear in her eyes but she tries to push it back. ”Why did you do it?”

”Easy. I wanted revenge,” she shrugs. ”He killed the love of my life and it’s only fair I repay in kind.”

I was right.

The one with the strongest Vendetta against Vladmir is my sister. I can’t believe she would do this. She isn’t the nicest person on the planet but I never thought she’d be capable of murder. What changed? I thought the point of her moving to Paris was for her to have a fresh start. Since when is holding a grudge and acting on it classified as a fresh start?

”I can’t look at you right now,” I say, not even trying to hide my disgust. ”Now that you’ve killed him, are you happy with yourself?”

The Siddeno’s  no doubt have a bounty on her head.

”It was sweet revenge.” Her lips curl into a sinister smile and her look is unlike something I’ve ever seen before. Her aura is radiating pure evil and I don’t like it one bit. I repeat, this can’t be my sister.

”I can’t believe this is you, the real you.” I whisper, coming to the realization that she fooled me, along with everyone else. Now that I know she’s a murderer, I’m going to treat her differently.

”Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she scoffs as she attempts to put all the items back into the box but I stop her. ”You’re not a saint so don’t go Mother Theresa on me. You’re a gangleader and in case you haven’t noticed, you deal in weapons and ammunitions.”

”I don’t kill people.”

”It’s the same difference,” she shrugs again. ”You supply people with the weapons to kill people.”

While this may be true, I won’t let her try to flip this on me. She’s the guilty one not me.

”They need weapons. I need money. Call it a trade.”

”Besides,” she continues. ”We both know that you didn’t like him. I did you a favour. You should be thanking me.”

I never liked him for my sister because back then, he was an underboss for the Siddeno’s  and they were-still are-a dangerous mafia. I didn’t want her getting mixed up in shit especially because he was a client. When he sent his goons to threaten me back at Sylvia Street and they did a number on me because of some delayed shipment, I marked him with red ink in my book. Did I wish he’d drop dead and die? Definitely. He was too prissy, particular and a certified perfectionist. If things don’t go the way he planned it or the way he orders  it, he’d throw a fit.

His version of throwing a fit isn’t whining and throwing a tantrum in a bedroom, It’s sending his goons to teach you a lesson you’d never forget. I still have a scar as a reminder of that night.

I should have dropped him as a client but I didn’t. The Siddeno’s paid good money, even more than the Floretini’s so I was willing to keep my mouth shut and pretend like nothing ever happened.

Anyways, I wished him dead at some point in my life, but I never thought he’d actually die in the hands of my sister-or in the hands of someone hired by her.

”You’re sick.”

”You are too, baby bro.” Her face shows no hint of remorse. It’s almost like she’s gloating about it and waiting for me to award her a medal of freedom.

”Why do you have pictures of Melody and her family? You got your revenge, what has she got to do with any of this?”