Red & Wolfe Part 4: An Erotic Fairy Tale by Ella James Page B

might do too much blow but I’m the smartest. No one ever knew.”
“Knew what?” Race says.
“Her ass was tight.” Bob laughs. “She wouldn’t spread her legs for me so I had to wait until she went to sleep.”
Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down. I can see Race’s body trembling.
“Are you saying you killed Cookie?”
“Ding, ding, ding! Oh yes . That bitch didn’t want me. She wanted you maybe, not you,” he shakes his head like he’s confused. “She wanted that dipwad Bryson Paige.” Bob laughs. “It was easy to do. I’m good at the covert . Follow her, follow him… Sometimes I would watch but that never got my dick hard. I’m a one-man—” His eyes roll back a little as he speaks. “I’m a one-girl sort of man. It’s all in the commitment . I’m committed, I’m a nice guy. Loaning money to people. Managing his money. Linn’s in debt, big time. That fucking lawyer.”
Bob waves the gun at Race and mimes pulling the trigger. Race ducks, and I swear my heart stops.
Race rises up from behind a wing-backed chair with his arms out. “Listen, Bob. I understand—you’re very smart. I couldn’t have survived the last—”
Bob points the gun at Race and pulls the trigger. I watch as the bullet sails through Race’s arm, explodes behind me. I lunge for him, wrapping my arms around his waist, screaming.
Bob fires again. Race throws me down. I slide along the hardwood floor, my mouth coming in contact with something hard.
“Oh fuck, the gun!” Hell yes! The gun I brought from Race’s house is right here on the floor.
I grab it and turn around to find the two of them locked in a struggle on the rug. Race is on top, but Bob is pointing a gun at his head.
Nothing—nothing in my entire life has ever scared me more than that. I guess it’s true what they say about itchy fingers. I feel a flush of heat bloom all over my body, but especially my palms. Suddenly I have no choice—I have to move. I point the gun at Bob, pinned down under Race, and I fire without a second thought.
     

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    THE BOSTON JOURNAL
Nine days later
     
A Charleston, South Carolina hospital today released Robert Bennett into the custody of federal agents. Bennett is the first cousin of James Wolfe, falsely accused almost seven years ago of murdering his wife Cookie Smythson and her lover Byron Paige.
Bennett’s transfer from a medical facility to an arm of the FBI follows a series of dramatic events on an island off the coast of Charleston—a family showdown in which Bennett appeared at Wolfe’s home with a gun, threatening Wolfe and girlfriend Sarah Ryder before confessing to the murders of Smythson and Paige. Bennett has also been implicated in a New York State drug-smuggling ring. Recently, according to police reports, Bennett had been abusing cocaine and prescription drugs.
In 2008, Wolfe endured a grueling trial for double homicide and only narrowly avoided conviction. He was widely condemned in the court of public opinion, and has spent the last six years living in seclusion.
Three days ago, the Journal found out James Wolfe is the popular contemporary nature artist known as “W.” His most recent painting, Fox and Stallion , sold yesterday at auction for $8.4 million.
     
     
     
     

EPILOGUE
    RED
     
Have you ever fucked your boyfriend under a palm tree on the beach? I have. And guess what? I’m doing it again—sometime today, if history is any indicator.
The private island Race rented so we could escape the media frenzy is only about half the size of our island off the coast of Charleston, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in beauty.
We’re somewhere in the Virgin Islands, somewhere so rural I don’t even know the name, but believe me, it’s breathtaking.
It took us three and a half days to get here. There was a lot of chaos after what happened with Bob, and Race had to get his bicep patched up. I’ll admit, I was pretty much a wreck that first day. After I shot Bob, I passed out