All Chapters of How To Love A Murderer.: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Chapter Ninety One: Too Blind to See. “I’ll be gracious. I’ll let you watch him die first.”The Ghost’s voice was a cold sneer. He turned, the barrel of his gun shifting from Ian’s temple to point directly at Zhedya’s chest. His finger tightened on the trigger.Ian’s heart hammered against his ribs. Then he remembered it…the cold, small vial Zhedya had pressed into his hand back at the hotel.“A neuro-inhibitor. It works fast. If he gets his hands on you, don’t hesitate. The neck or a major artery.”Zhedya’s calm instructions played in his head. The Ghost was focused, his eyes locked on his real target. I can’t let him kill Zhedya.It was pure instinct. Ian spun, the movement hidden by the Ghost’s own body. He drove the tiny needle deep into the side of the man’s neck and pressed the plunger.“You little…!” The Ghost gasped, his hand flying to the spot. His eyes went wide with shock, then confusion. His muscles seemed to lock up for a second, the gun wavering in his grip.Ian didn’

Chapter Ninety Three: The Business of Love Ian walked through the sleek, marble lobby of The Sixteenth Hour Foundation with a paper bag of lunch and a small bouquet of sunflowers. His heart was doing a weird, fluttery thing. Was this part of the act? Or was he actually just… happy to see Zhedya? The line had gotten so blurry he couldn’t see it anymore. The receptionist gave him a bright smile. “Go right up, Mr. Parker. He’s got a meeting soon, but he’ll be thrilled to see you.” Ian nodded, heading for the private elevator bank. Just as he reached for the button, a man in a cheap, rumpled suit came barreling out of a hallway, head down, face red and sweating. The name tag on his lapel said Mr. Briggs. Wham. The man slammed right into Ian’s shoulder. The lunch bag crumpled, and the flowers nearly flew from his hand. “Watch where you’re going, kid!” the man snapped, not even stopping. “It’s fine,” Ian said quickly, stepping back. His polite instincts kicked in even though the g

Chapter Ninety Five: Feeling Exposed. Ian was dozing on the sofa when he heard the key in the lock. His heart, already a tangled mess from the meeting on the bridge, clenched tight. Soren’s words about cages and framed men and dead sons swirled with the memory of Zhedya’s laugh, his careful hands, his possessive kisses.The door opened. Zhedya stepped inside, looking tired but sharp, still in his suit from whatever late meeting he had been at. Despite looking tired, Zhedya always managed to look angelic.Ian didn’t think. He just moved and was on his feet and across the room before Zhedya could even toe off his shoes.He didn’t say a word. He just walked straight into Zhedya’s arms, burying his face hard against his chest, wrapping his own arms around him like a vice.He held on like he was drowning and Zhedya was the only solid thing in a crashing wave.Zhedya was surprised. He stiffened for a split second, then a soft, pleased chuckle rumbled in his chest. His arms came up, wrapp

Chapter Ninety Seven: I Believe You, I Lied. The nightmares wouldn’t stop. For days now, Ian woke up gasping, his sheets soaked with cold sweat. Visions of gunshots in the dark, the sickening crack of a neck, the feeling of falling endlessly into water below. He looked exhausted, with deep purple shadows under his eyes that even Zhedya’s expensive skincare couldn’t fix. Zhedya noticed, of course. He’d become extra attentive, extra gentle…bringing him tea, running him baths, touching him like he was a porcelain doll. It should have felt comforting. Instead, it felt like being smothered. And Ian was keeping a secret. A big one. He hadn’t mentioned the bookstore. He hadn’t mentioned the frantic man who’d called him Ian, who’d hugged him with tears in his eyes. John. The name was a stone in his gut. He didn’t know why he was keeping it from Zhedya, only that a deep, screaming instinct told him he had to. Tonight, Zhedya sat behind him on the massive bed, his stron

Chapter Ninety Nine: The Trap The front door opened and closed with a heavy, final thud that echoed through the quiet glass house. Ian found Zhedya in the foyer, not standing tall like he usually did, but leaning heavily against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up. His tie was undone, hanging loose, and his usually perfect blonde hair was a messy, disheveled halo around his head. He smelled like expensive whiskey and cold night air. He wasn’t falling-down drunk, but the cracks in his perfect armor were wide open for anyone to see. “My angel,” he slurred, a soft, wobbly smile touching his lips. His grey eyes were glassy, fixed on Ian with a desperate kind of worship. “You’re awake.” “You got drunk, Zhedya,” Ian stated flatly, walking over to him. He slipped an arm under Zhedya’s shoulders, taking his weight. The man was solid, heavy with more than just alcohol…heavy with something dark and sad. Ian helped him up the grand staircase, each step a strug