Past…

I grit my teeth. “I was eighteen the first time we had sex. But even if I wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. The age of consent in this state is seventeen. And trust me, I consented. Therefore, this little interrogation of yours is useless.”

Detective Trejo sighs. “It’s not useless. Your teacher is being charged with the murder of a student she had sexual relations with. You are also a student she had sexual relations with and most importantly, a friend of the victim. You can give us the information we need to help us understand what happened to your friend, Damien.”

My hands clench at my sides. I have Cain’s back, but it doesn’t mean I like the idea of sending Mrs. Miller further down the river. She didn’t deserve to be arrested in the middle of classes two days ago and she sure as shit doesn’t deserve to be sitting in a jail cell right now.

But it’s either her or Cain.

And I’ll always choose Cain. I’d do anything in the world for him. Including going along with his ridiculous story that frames an innocent woman for a murder she didn’t commit, but he did.

However, I’m not throwing Mrs. Miller under the bus completely. I’m going to stick to Cain’s story…but I’m going to plant some breadcrumbs of my own and steer them in another direction.

And if everything works out in the end, I’ll make someone else pay for Caleb’s murder.

Someone who deserves to suffer for their sins.

I glare at him. “Sorry, Detective, but I don’t keep a ledger on the women I fuck. I barely even remember their names.”

He gives me a smug smile. “Lucky for you, I have that information handy. Now, can you recall how many times you had sex with your teacher, Mrs. Kristy Miller?”

“I don’t know.” I smirk, sizing him up. “If I had to take a gander, I’d say…a lot more than you and your wife.”

He slams his hand on the table. “Listen to me, punk. You think your shit doesn’t stink, but I will toss your ass in a cell the next time you mouth off.”

I lean forward. “And my father will bail me out before the end of the day.” I look around. “In fact, maybe I should call him and tell him I need a lawyer—”

“No.” He straightens in his seat. It’s hysterical how much officers hate lawyers getting involved with their interrogations. Especially the kind of lawyers my father has access to. They eat officers like him for breakfast. “That’s not necessary. For once, you’re not in any trouble. I just need you to answer a few questions.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, so let’s try this again, shall we?”

Before I can retort, he clicks his pen. “Can you recall how long you’ve been having sexual relations with your teacher?”

Since the first day of classes. “I don’t know, a few weeks.”

“Did you ever have sex on school property?”

“What does that have to do with Caleb’s murder?”

“Answer the question.”

“No, we never had sex on school property.”

His eyes become tiny slits. “Dami—”

“Once or twice in a storage closet, okay?”

He jots something down on his notepad. “Did you ever exchange telephone calls, texts, or emails with her?”

“Nope.”

Smoke is practically coming out of his ears. “I can petition a court for your phone records.”

“Why would you bother doing that? Last time I checked, phones work both ways. Therefore, you already have a record of every text and phone call between us. You say you want me to help you get to the bottom of Caleb’s murder, yet you’re wasting our time asking me questions you already know the answers to.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” He jabs a finger into the table. “In my experience, people are only hostile when they’re guilty of something.” He stands. “Is that it? Is the guilt finally settling in and making you lash out, Damien?”

“No, because I have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“Are you sure? Because according to Mrs. Miller’s phone records, you two have been sexually involved for quite some time. A lot longer than a few weeks and a lot longer than she and Caleb have.” He starts circling me. “Caleb’s brother claims you were friends, but you know what I think?”

“I don’t really care.”

He gets so close to my face I can smell the coffee on his breath. “Well, you should care because I think you were jealous that your friend started having sex with the teacher you fell in love with. Jealous enough to kill him. Stupid enough to try and make it look like an accident. And bitter enough to set up the woman who hurt you to take the fall for it.”

“Wow, that’s quite the story there, Detective. There’s just one problem with your theory.”

“What’s that?”

“Cain was sleeping at my house the night of the fire. We were up the whole night drinking and playing video games. I’m pretty sure he would remember me leaving my house to set fire to his.”

His jaw works. “Fine. If my story isn’t what really happened, tell me what did.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

With a grunt, he starts circling the room again. “According to Mrs. Miller, she never slept with Caleb. She said she slept with you and Cain. She also said you both liked to tie her up and would participate in sexual acts together. All three of you. So that, Damien King, tells me you know quite a bit more than you’re claiming you do.”

Shit.

He pauses behind me. “And you know, I didn’t want to believe her. I really didn’t. But then you come in here with your smug attitude refusing to answer questions that could clear some of this up. And suddenly? She starts looking innocent. And you and Cain start looking really guilty.” He leans down. “Especially since there is no record of her ever talking to Caleb on the phone. Yet, you and Cain keep insisting she was sexually involved with him. Why is that?”

“Because she was.”

I take a deep breath. I was ready for this. I’m known for giving the local police a hard time, and if I walked in here too friendly today, he’d know something was off.

But if I let him think he cracked me open, and I’m finally starting to cooperate because I have no other choice, he’ll feel like he won the golden ticket.

“I think I need a lawyer.”

“You don’t need a lawyer if you tell me the truth.”

“If I tell you the truth, Caleb’s reputation is destroyed, and I don’t think that’s fair to do to him since he’s no longer here to defend it.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy to care about someone else’s reputation.”

“You’re right. I’m not.” I pull my old phone—the one I gave to Cain—out of my pocket—and the current one I use. “But Caleb is. He never used his phone to talk to her. He used mine.”

“There are two phones on the table.”

“I know. Caleb didn’t want anything being traced back to him.” The best lie is the one closest to the truth. “Not only did he get accepted to Harvard and was on his way up the political ladder, but he had a girlfriend. He didn’t want her to know he was cheating on her. So, in the spirit of friendship, I gave him my old phone and told him to use it to talk to Mrs. Miller and whoever else he wanted to. I got myself a new one.”

“So, Mrs. Miller was right. The three of you were sexually involved.”

“We messed around with her together, yes.” I grin. “I’ll leave the explicit details up to your imagination.”

He sits back down in the seat across from me. “It didn’t bother you to watch him have sex with the same woman you were having sex with?”

“Hell no.” I lick my lips. “I enjoy watching the people I fuck, fuck other people…while I fuck their brains out.” I flash him some teeth. “However, that’s where all the excitement ends for me. I didn’t get emotionally attached to her like Caleb did. Relationships aren’t really my thing. Never have been.”

His forehead wrinkles. “According to his brother, Caleb became jealous when he found out you two were involved. Yet, you’re saying he was comfortable watching you sleep with her.”  

“I’m not sure why Cain would say that when Caleb’s jealousy was directed toward Mrs. Miller’s husband.” I swallow. “But you’d be surprised what someone would do…what rules they would break for the person they’re infatuated with.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, Caleb probably never told Cain about it because he didn’t want his brother to know he was having threesomes with a guy. Not everyone is a free spirit when it comes to sex, and most people aren’t comfortable talking about their sex life with their family members.”

He brings his pen to his lips. “Thank you for your insight. However, there’s still one more thing that doesn’t quite add up.”

“What’s that?”

“Why is Mrs. Miller insisting that she was sleeping with Cain…not Caleb?”

I smirk. “Come on, Detective. You’re a smart man. Caleb and Cain are identical twins. Why would she admit to sleeping with Caleb when she can claim she slept with Cain? In other words—the twin she’s not being accused of murdering.”

He blinks rapidly as though the thought never occurred to him before he furiously jots something down on his notepad.

“And earlier when you said Caleb got emotionally attached, you mean—”

“Obsessed. Mrs. Miller was all he would talk about. Her leaving her husband consumed his every waking thought.”

“Did Caleb ever threaten to harm Mrs. Miller?”

“Not unless she asked for it.” I wince, preparing to steer this boat in another direction. “Her husband, the part-time electrician, on the other hand…”

He stops writing. “What about her husband?”

“Let’s just say Mrs. Miller was into rough sex with me and Caleb because she liked to turn all the pain her bastard husband caused her into pleasure.”

“Her husband hits her?”

“Hits. Punches. Chokes. Sometimes all three.”

“Did you ever urge her to report him to the authorities?”

“She’s a twenty-nine-year-old woman with a degree, Detective. She knows she can report him if she wanted to. She, like most people in her situation, fear the repercussions.”

His gaze turns scrutinizing. “And yet she found the time to cheat on her husband regularly. Most women in abusive situations are far too scared to do something like that.” The judgment in his tone is apparent. “Not to mention, her husband took out a second mortgage and a loan to pay for her bail at the courthouse this morning. Doesn’t sound like someone who would want to har—” The sound of his phone ringing cuts him off mid-sentence. “Excuse me, I have to take this.”

I start to stand up, but he points to the chair and mouths, “Sit.”

Reluctantly I plop back down.

“What?” he exclaims, dropping his pen. “When?” He turns ashen. “I see. I’ll be there shortly.”  

A strange feeling claws up my spine as he hangs up the phone and stands.

“You’re free to go.”

I stay rooted to my seat. “Why? What happened?”

His pompous expression from before is now one of sorrow. “It seems you were right.”

My stomach twists and my chest becomes heavy.

I already know the next words out of his mouth before he says them.

“Shortly after they arrived home from the courthouse, Mrs. Miller’s husband beat her to death, and then shot himself.”

“Congratulations, Detective,” I bite as I walk toward the door. “You were so busy blaming her for a murder she didn’t commit, and questioning me about my sex life, the real killer got away with it.”