Page 7

With that, he pressed play, and I watched myself get stabbed—over and over as the footage played on a loop. “You can pause it. Once was enough.”

“Did you see something?” Whisker asked eagerly.

“No. Like I said last night, there wasn’t much to see.” But Ididsee something—I saw myself casually checking out a report from security instead of acting like the motherfucking enforcer for the club.

“Did he say anything?” Whisker asked.

I shook my head. I’d already answered that question, but I did again. “No. Not a word.”

Whisker paced the length of the room. “Okay, we know a male dressed in all black stabbed my enforcer on my mom’s property.”

I nodded in agreement.

His pacing abruptly halted and his gaze locked onto mine. “You got anything to tell us?” His voice held a hint of accusation.

My hackles instantly rose. “What the fuck, Prez?”

“He’s questioning your dick, not your loyalty,” Bean clarified.

“Wouldn’t be the first time a pissed off husband got brave,” Whisker added.

I shrugged. “I don’t ask many questions after I get a yes.”

Whisker tilted his head back and inhaled deeply. “Well, that narrows it down to every male on the island between five-four and five-six.”

“They weren’t targeting me,” I said. “They were trying to get into room four.”

“Why do you think that?”

My forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Because they had a lock picking set.”

“Why room four?”

“Because we only had two rooms occupied and room four is on the ground level.”

“Or is that what they wanted you to think?” Whisker countered. “How many times has Hamster called in something that turned out to be nothing? Maybe it was something—or someone—and they were watching how we handle things.”

I looked at Bean to make sure he was hearing what I was. Whisker had been different since he became president. He ran a tighter ship, and he was watchful, cautious, analytical in ways he hadn’t been. I assumed it was part of being the president, but for the first time, I wondered if his personality changes had more to do with his dad going to prison.

FIVE

KALANI

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I chanted as I turned out of the parking lot. I didn’t know what to do. Stabbing the wrong person wasn’t on my list of potential problems to troubleshoot. “I stabbed the wrong man! Holy fuck!”

At least I already have an insanity conviction; getting the second one should be easy.No, I can’t think like that. I’m not going to get caught. Yes, I am.

I argued with myself until I reached my driveway. Then I had a new problem to deal with. Birdie was home.

If she was awake, I was screwed. Birdie was the only one there for me after I killed my uncle—her son. My father turned his back on me after I was sentenced. Well, he turned is back on me long before that, but he continued visiting me while I was awaiting trial, which I later learned was to keep up with his public appearance. He didn’t want the community to look down on him if he turned his back on his mentally ill daughter. But the moment I was locked away, he disappeared.

When I was released, Birdie was the one who picked me up. She took me to our new home in California and helped me get my life started.

We lived there for seven years, until my father died. To my surprise, I inherited my childhood home in Makani, Hawaii and everything in it.

After a lot of discussion, Birdie and I decided to relocate to Makani on a trial basis. If we could afford it and it was good for my mental health, we’d stay. Something told me Birdie wouldn’t consider stabbing a man within the first six months of being back in Makani good for my mental health.

But I couldn’t keep it from her. She was the only one who could help me, and she deserved to know the truth.