Smug Bastard - Stacey Marie Brown Page 0,82

utter disbelief. Would Kinsley believe her so easily? Without even asking if it were true? “How could Kinsley even believe that?”

“I showed her newspaper articles of when you were arrested and later sentenced. And the sonogram of the baby.”

My gaze went back to Becca. Anger bubbled up from the depths of my soul, recalling things Kinsley had said after she came out with Becca, when she said go take care of my family. I lost the woman I loved all because of Becca’s manipulations.

“You lying deceitful bitch,” I fumed, stepping for her, every bone and muscle shaking with rage.

“I did it because I love you. I saw how you looked at her… I wanted her gone. Nothing between us.”

“Is that why you tried to sleep with me every chance you got? To tell me the baby was mine. Trap me in guilt and obligation to stay with you? Lie for you? You thought the trusting sap who fell for you once would protect you again?”

“I do love you, Smith. That’s never been a lie. Please.” She sobbed, her body bending in distress. “I want this baby to be yours.”

I fucking hated her. Wanted her to burn, but I wouldn’t be the one turning her in.

“You are on your own, Becca. Get the fuck out of my sight and never—I mean, never—contact me again.”

“Smith.” She clung to me, and I shoved her away. “Don’t do this.”

“You have the fucking audacity?” I seethed, my anger stacking on top of me like bricks. I was going to explode.

“I-I love you,” she whimpered.

Right then a wail pierced the air, sirens sounding only blocks away.

“Oh, look at that; they do come faster when you’re an ex-con.” Chance’s voice swiveled me around. He leaned against the fence, a smirk on his face as he twirled his cell in his palm.

I blinked at my friend, his gaze meeting mine. I got your back, mate. Always.

He knew I would never call, so he did. The truest friend I ever had was the one I met in prison.

“What?” Becca screeched, her head jerked around, then back to me, her eyes saucers filled with pain and terror. “You didn’t!”

“I’m not the liar, sweetheart,” Chance replied, cocky and full of Chance charm. “That’s you.”

“No!” Panic spun her around like she was going to run, but in six-inch heels, a short tight dress, and no place to really go, she sputtered around, wailing like a banshee.

Lights and sirens came around the corner, coming to a halt, boxing in her car.

“Word of warning.” Chance moved, standing next to me, his attention on Becca. “The itching you feel when you try to sleep is bedbugs and mites. Find the biggest and toughest gal there to be her bitch. Don’t eat the mushroom pie, gives you the runs for a week, and don’t ever pick up the soap if it drops.”

“Rebecca Blackburn. You are under arrest.” Four cops got out of their cars, surrounding the sobbing woman, treating her a lot kinder than what I got. When I had been arrested, my face was slammed into the floor while my friend pointed the finger at me, looking smug when they put me in the back and hauled me off to jail. They both played the victims in court, showing I had been the one “cooking” the books, not them.

They would have probably still been conning me if Bryan hadn’t gotten so greedy. One night heading to my truck after working on site all day, a group of mafia type of men attacked me, spouting I owed them money and next time I would be killed. Instead of going to the hospital, I went to the office, discovering my accounts and books were off. They showed meetings our company never had, businesses we never interacted with, accounts I didn’t know, and shuffled money I wasn’t aware of. I called Bryan to meet me at the office. I was planning to confront him. But he must have known the gig was up and called the police right before he came to the office.

“Smith.” She heaved out my name in a guttural plea as they read her rights, steering her to the back of the car. “Don’t do this,” she cried as they stuffed her in, her eyes black with mascara.

As much as she had done to me, I could feel my strings still being pulled on.

“Don’t.” Chance shook his head. “This is on her. You didn’t call the cops; I did. No need to feel any guilt.”

I