Killer (The Company Book 2)

VANESSA

A few days later …

When the doctor comes to my bed, I’m already wide awake. I demanded his presence because I’m tired of being forced to stay in this bed. I lift my gown like always and show him the scar on my hip, which healed quite nicely with the stitches, and the cuts on my arms and belly have almost disappeared. I’m so lucky my face was spared. Just a few bruises here and there and a swollen lip, but nothing too bad.

I’ve not yet looked in the mirror. All the things I know, the female nurses have told me. The men … well, they don’t prove to be of much use. All they say is how healthy I look compared to the day before. Some even call me pretty. I think they’re just interested in buying the meat that just got onto the market.

Tsk. As if I’d ever allow that to happen.

I like my men like I like my wine; powerful and overtaking. Of course, flirting and casual sex are great, but nothing that involves more than a one-time kind of thing. Besides, it’s not like that’s going to work, with me being in a hospital. I have other things on my mind right now, like my dead husband, for example.

To flirt with a guy now wouldn’t be … kosher.

“Looking good, Mrs. Starr,” the doctor says.

“Oh, call me Vanessa already. Let’s drop the pretenses.” I chuckle to lighten my words.

He nods. “Your wounds have healed quite nicely; I’d say you’ll be out of here in a couple of days.”

“A couple of days? But it’s already been a couple of days. I feel fine.”

“I’d prefer not to take the risk, so just to be sure, I won’t discharge you yet.”

I frown, sighing out loud when a man walks in who makes my eyes widen.

“Father?”

“Vanessa,” he says as he comes closer and hugs me tight then lets me go again.

“Oh, darling, your father and I were so worried about you. We couldn’t get here any sooner, but I was so worried about you. Give your mother a hug.” My mom busts in, pushes my father aside, and wraps her arms around my neck, almost choking me.

“I’m fine, Mother.”

“No, you’re not, and don’t you dare say that! You were in a car accident. You should be glad you’re alive.”

“I am,” I say. “But I’m one of the more fortunate ones.”

“Poor Phillip,” she says, and then she sighs. “It wasn’t his time yet.”

“I find the accident quite unusual, however,” my father says. “I never expected something like that to happen.”

“Me neither. Phillip is normally a great driver.” I lie to keep up the image my parents had of him. It comes easily to me. Besides, I don’t want to come across as foolish for stepping into the car with him, knowing he was that intoxicated.

“Well, there must’ve been something wrong. Aren’t they investigating it?” my mother asks. She looks directly at the doctor, as if he would know.

“Yes, I believe so,” I say.

“The police have actually requested to speak with you, Mrs. Starr.”

“They have?” my mother says.

The doctor clears his throat. “I told them that you weren’t well enough yet.”

“I am now,” I say. “Do they know anything?” I’m getting anxious already.

“Yes, I would like to speak with them as well,” my mother says.

“Mother!” I make a face at her. “I can handle this myself.”

“Nonsense. You’re not fit enough.”

“Oh, darling. Let her decide on her own,” my father says, sighing. “Let’s just go grab a cup of coffee.”

My father drags her away from my bed, but she sputters, “Coffee? From this place? I wouldn’t dare touch that gunk!”

And then they disappear through the door.

The doctor nods at me and smiles. “Not easy, huh?”

“Ugh, they bore me to death,” I say. “So overprotective and not in a good way.”

“They seem to care a lot about you,” he muses.

“No. That’s just charades. We’ve learned to play well,” I retort.

The doctor frowns. I don’t think he gets it. Nobody does. That’s why our family works the way it does, why it’s so successful; we are perfect liars. We shroud ourselves in an aura of compassion, love, and tenderness while plotting to kill the people around us with our bare hands. Well, maybe not literally, although I could never know. My parents are, after all, the perfect liars, even to me.

They don’t love me.

They just pretend they do.

Love is just a word thrown around to make us look good, but underneath the surface, it rots.

My parents raised me in such an environment where looks, appearance, and attitude were all that mattered, and real emotions were better kept hidden. They didn’t serve the grand purpose; the quest for power.

That’s what it’s always been about. No matter what the subject was, whether it was getting the highest grades in high school, being at the top of the class in college, landing the best job, or marrying the richest man in town … it was always about achieving the very best. Simple satisfaction wasn’t worth it, and my parents wouldn’t accept anything less than perfection.

Money and power. Those are the only things that matter to them.

I am just a tool for them to acquire more power. How? With my marriage to Phillip, who they adored so much. Not because of his looks or intellect. No, because of his influence in the movie business. That, and his money, of course, which my father spends on his campaigns. Their perfect daughter married one of the biggest directors in Hollywood. Well, isn’t that just perfect?

I crumple up the sheets covering my body and take a deep breath.

Even when everything seems perfect, life isn’t always a fairy tale.

“Well …” the doctor murmurs, interrupting my flow of thought.

“Yes?” I ask.

Someone knocks on the door. It’s the police.

“Is it all right?” they ask the doctor.

The doctor throws me a glance and then looks at them over his shoulder. “I believe so, yes.” He smiles at me. “I will see you again later, Mrs. Starr.”

“It’s Vanessa, for next time.” I throw him a wink, which makes him smile even more. Charming.

The police step in and nod at me. “Glad to see you’re well, Mrs. Starr.”

“Thank you,” I say. “It’s been quite the ordeal.”

“Our condolences for your loss; it must’ve been terrible to wake up with that news.”

I nod, unsure how to answer.

One of the officers clears his throat and grabs a notebook. “If you’re okay with that, we’d like to ask you some questions.”

“What for, if I may ask?”

“We just want to know what happened. Can you tell us what you remember?”

I dig into the back of my mind. Bits and pieces have come back, mostly from the party, but I don’t remember everything from the actual accident. Except that Phillip was feeling ill when we drove back home, and then suddenly, I was lying on the asphalt, injured. And those eyes … those dark, soulless eyes. They bore into me like death.

“Ma’am?”

“Huh?” I shake my head. “Sorry, I was a bit lost in my thoughts.”

“No worries. We’d just like to know if you saw anything weird. Did your husband act strangely?”

“Well, he did have a nasty cough at the party,” I say.

“Anything else?”

“Why are you asking?” I ask.

“We want to know every bit of detail so we can piece this together. Did you catch your husband talking about something odd or to someone you don’t know?”

Ah, my husband and his infamous charm. I guess everyone knows. No point in hiding it then. He did have a thing for the ladies, and it wasn’t just talking. Oh no, I wish it was just talking that I caught him doing.

***

Hours before the party

When you come home from dinner with a friend, you don’t expect to find your husband in bed. Not at four in the afternoon with another woman.

I watch them through the small opening in the door. They haven’t noticed me yet. I wonder if they ever will because they’re so enraptured with each other. The way he fucks her, no-holds-barred, facing each other, shows an intimacy that even we don’t have.

Phillip rarely fucked me, and when he did, it was always from behind. It wasn’t for love. It was always just sex. Mostly for his pleasure. I just went along with it. Gotta please the husband so he’s happy. At least, that’s what they tell you when you marry someone. Make them happy. I think it only works if it goes both ways.

Luckily, those days are long gone.

I take off my necklace and place it on the small cabinet in the hallway. I’ve seen her before, that whore he brought in. She stepped into his car the other day after he left home. I saw it through the window. My husband thinks I don’t know, but I’m not blind. It’s good that he believes that, though. Easier to keep the fakery up.

My earrings go next as I hear her scream and moan out loud like the whore she is. I don’t know her name. They come and go like cheap wine swallowed by that swine of a husband. I ponder if I should clear my throat and walk in at the moment he blows his load. Just the look on his face and the ruined orgasm would be worth the price I’d have to pay. Although, tonight wouldn’t be a good night to taunt him. A big, red bruise on my face wouldn’t look good at the party. Imagine what people would say.

Besides, it’s not like anything I do will make him stop cheating. His sexual appetite is different from mine, and I will never be able to please him the way he desires. Nor can he please me. I like my men rough, demanding, and emotional with a strong imagination. Phillip likes his girls the way he likes directing a movie; quick, to the point, and without fuss or difficulty. I’m the opposite of what I just described. We were never a match made in heaven. However, when I agreed to marry him, I didn’t think I’d be witnessing my husband loving other women more than me.

What girl in their right mind would have said yes to that?

Exactly. But I did.

Some would spur me on to divorce him. As if it was that simple. When you come from a family like mine, there is more to a marriage than love. There is an obligation. Money. Power. Deals. Agreements. Signed papers. Lawsuits. Lies.

Even death.

If I fail to uphold the vow, the world wouldn’t be a small enough of a place to hide. Not from him or my parents. Not everything is as simple as it seems. There is no black and white. There are many shades of gray, and my shade is the kind that stopped believing in fairy tales, stopped living her life, and stopped breathing entirely.

Instead, I’m just a mold of the perfect wife, who ignores her husband’s cheating and forgives him for bringing a whore into their home.

This home. My home. My perfect home.

It is a beautiful home, though.

I smile, sighing to myself. So happy together, living a perfect lie.

Then I turn and tiptoe down the stairs without making a sound.

We’re expected at the party in a few hours. Better make sure I look prim and proper. Time for my pedicure.

***

Present

I frown, thinking about all the things I could tell them … or not. “Well, if you consider touching someone’s ass weird behavior, then yes, he might have been acting strange.”

The police officers are quiet for a moment, their lips parted, and their brows furrowed. “Uh, okay. Can you tell us who it was he was flirting with?”

“Her name’s Cordelia. They work together.” I look straight into the eyes of the officer who’s so privy to my private life. “My husband likes to cheat. He does it all the time.”

Slamming their lips together, they nod slowly while one of them pens it down.

“Thank you, ma’am. Anything else you thought was particularly off about the party? Some other guests, maybe?”

I think about this for a second. If I should answer or not. Anything I say can and will be used against me. The first suspect in homicide cases is always the next of kin. And truth be told, Phillip was acting weirdly. Who knows, this whole thing might’ve been set up.

Someone might’ve wrecked the car. Or worse … someone might have killed Phillip on purpose.

And then it dawns on me.

This might actually be the truth.

I swallow away the lump in my throat. That car crash was no accident. My husband has many enemies, which makes him an easy target. However, my biggest concern is the fact that I’m his wife, and wives are always one of the prime suspects.

Especially when the husband and wife are both cheating bastards.