Pretty Little Accomplice, page 1
Gigi Meadows
Pretty Little Accomplice
Copyright © 2026 by Gigi Meadows
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities is entirely coincidental.
Gigi Meadows asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
First edition
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Contents
Trigger Warning
Dedication
Chapter One
Kira
Chapter Two
Kira
Chapter Three
Kira
Chapter Four
Kira
Chapter Five
Kira
Chapter Six
Jax
Chapter Seven
Kira
Chapter Eight
Jax
Chapter Nine
Kira
Chapter Ten
Jax
Chapter Eleven
Kira
Chapter Twelve
Jax
Chapter Thirteen
Kira
Chapter Fourteen
Jax
Chapter Fifteen
Kira
Chapter Sixteen
Jax
Chapter Seventeen
Kira
Chapter Eighteen
Jax
Chapter Nineteen
Kira
Chapter Twenty
Kira
Chapter Twenty-One
Jax
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kira
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jax
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kira
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kira
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jax
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kira
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jax
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kira
Chapter Thirty
Kira
Chapter Thirty-One
Kira
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jax
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jax
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kira
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jax
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kira
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jax
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Kira
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Kira
Chapter Forty
Jax
Chapter Forty-One
Kira
Chapter Forty-Two
Kira
Chapter Forty-Three
Kira
Chapter Forty-Four
Kira
Chapter Forty-Five
Jax
Chapter Forty-Six
Kira
Chapter Forty-Seven
Jax
Chapter Forty-Eight
Kira
Chapter Forty-Nine
Jax
Chapter Fifty
Kira
Chapter Fifty-One
Kira
Chapter Fifty-Two
Jax
Chapter Fifty-Three
Kira
Chapter Fifty-Four
Jax
Chapter Fifty-Five
Kira
Chapter Fifty-Six
Jax
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Kira
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Kira
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Kira
Chapter Sixty
Jax
Chapter Sixty-One
Kira
Chapter Sixty-Two
Jax
Chapter Sixty-Three
Kira
Bonus Content
Trigger Warning
This book contains dark themes and sensitive topics as it is a spicy dark romance. Read at your own risk.
Dedication
To the girls who work too hard and just want a morally gray hero to make all their problems go away.
Chapter One
Kira
Idig my nails into the skin of my chest, trying to counter some of the violent pounding in my heart as my gurney is hoisted into the ambulance. I’m flanked on either side by paramedics, my sister just behind them, tears in her eyes.
But she needs to get it together.
Because I am having a fucking heart attack, and she can’t let the police officers inside.
The two badges are shooting the shit by their cruisers, lights flashing but sirens off. They’re required to show up when all I needed was an ambulance, and I cannot believe my luck. Any other time, I would love to have them patrolling our shitty neighborhood so I don’t have to worry about leaving Nix all night while I work graveyard. But tonight? Tonight of all nights? I need them far, far away from our hovel of a home.
I can’t believe my twenty-six-year-old body has decided to have a heart attack at the worst possible moment.
“Kira,” Nix whimpers my name, her voice trembling.
But I can’t answer her around the merciless cinching in my chest. My heart feels like it’s literally about to explode, making every breath a struggle. Goddamn it. I try to convey to my younger sister what I want to say with just my eyes.
Stay here.
Wait for me.
Don’t touch anything.
And for the love of God, do not let the cops in.
But by the way she starts climbing into the back of the ambulance, it’s clear she gets none of this.
I give a single, fierce shake of my head, and she freezes.
“St—stay,” I choke through gritted teeth.
“But…” Her bottom lip quivers like a child, even though she’s freshly eighteen.
Angry tears spring to my eyes. Is she fucking stupid? Has she already forgotten what’s in the house? Does she think me having a heart attack magically erases the body lying on her bedroom floor? I shove her, hard as I can, with what little seized-up strength I have left. It’s not much, but it’s enough to get her attention. I glare at her, pouring every ounce of desperation into my gaze. Stay here. Hold it down. For once, just listen to me.
She gulps, wringing her hands, and for a second, I think she’s going to ignore me again. But finally—fucking finally—she nods and backs out of the ambulance.
“You coming or staying? ‘Cause we have to go,” one of the paramedics barks without looking at her, pulling down my shirt to attach something.
Her gaze flicks to me, checking for confirmation, and if I weren’t on the brink of death, I would scream at the top of my lungs. Does she not get it? She can’t come with me. We have a fucking dead body in our house. I love my sister. I love her more than anything. But fuck if she isn’t thinking right now, and I want to throttle her.
“She—” I try to speak, but another bolt of pain tears through my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. Oh God, I am going to die.
“I’m staying!” she cries. “I’m staying! Just go! Please, hurry!”
The other paramedic wastes no time as he pulls the doors closed and cuts off my view. I can only hope that she runs inside and locks the door, that the officers are assholes and don’t check on her, that I’m not actually dying and can get us out of this somehow.
But I don’t know how to get rid of a body, and I can barely think about it around the pain. It hurts like a bitch, like some fucker has their fist around my heart, trying to prevent it from beating. Any hope I had of it just being a panic attack vanished when I crumpled to my knees in front of the corpse. I’ve had a couple panic attacks in my life, and the pain that followed was nothing like them. This is much, much worse. I crawled out to the porch only so no one would step inside and find the crime scene.
“Just try to relax,” the paramedic says.
I would scoff if I could, but he places an oxygen mask on my face and guides my head back.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he placates me.
But it’s not. And it never has been. I’ve been taking care of my sister all on my own since I was eight years old. Does this guy know what it’s like to hold a crying baby at eight years old and not have anything to feed them? Does he know what it’s like to work two after-school jobs on an hour-and-a-half sleep? Does he know what it’s like to fight tooth and nail to finish high school only to end up bartending because choosing college meant losing her to CPS?
He doesn’t; otherwise, he wouldn’t be telling me how okay everything’s going to be.
But I guess I should be thankful that I managed to hold it all together until she turned eighteen. She may still have a couple months left of her senior year, but she’s an adult now. She can—
Oh God.
She’s an adult.
As in, she can be tried as an adult.
The monitor beside me erupts into shrill alarms.
“She’s spik
Hot tears slip from the corners of my eyes. If I die, what is Nix going to do? She can’t drag a body by herself. Let’s be real; I don’t think I could either. But together we could. Together, we could hide it. Bury it. Together, we’ve gotten through everything.
But I have to survive for there to be a together.
“Please,” I croak, trying and failing to reach out and grab the paramedic.
“Just hold on,” he says, already prepping another syringe. “I’m going to give you something for the pain.”
I want to tell him that I don’t care about the pain, that I just need to live, but he’s already putting the syringe into the IV attached to my arm. Everything suddenly tilts, fades, and then goes black.
Fuck.
Chapter Two
Kira
Iknow instantly that I’m in a hospital. The scratchy gown and bright lights are annoyingly present. My body feels heavy, like someone has strapped bricks to my limbs, and my head is throbbing. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. I peel my eyes open against the brightness as best I can. My fingers fumble blindly around the edge of the bed until I find the button I’m looking for—the one that alerts someone I’m awake.
Because I lived.
Which is… great.
I think.
But now I need to get out of here.
Surviving just means I’m conscious enough to deal with the disaster waiting at home. How long have I been out? An hour? A day? A week? Oh, God. The body is probably already decomposing. The smell. Nix. She’s alone with a body. I hold the call button down until my knuckle turns white and force myself to sit up. Pain spears my chest, sharp and insistent, but I grit my teeth and ride it. I’ve pushed through worse with less reason.
“Whoa there, take it easy,” a plump nurse says as she bustles in, adjusting the rails like she expects me to fall. “Do you know where you are?”
“Yes,” I croak, my voice dry and raw. “Can you, uh…” I tug at the IV in my arm. “Can you take this out? I need to go.”
“Oh, no, dear. You won’t be going anywhere,” she speaks to me like I’m a child.
But I haven’t been a child for a very long time, and her tone grates on my nerves.
“Like fuck,” I scoff.
Her eyes go wide, jaw falling a bit, and a twinge of guilt hits me. She didn’t deserve that. She’s just trying to do her job. I get it. I really do. How many times have I been cussed out because I had to cut someone off at the bar? But this isn’t just another round. I have shit to handle.
“Sorry.” I try to rein in my impatience. “Can you just take this out, please?”
She purses her lips, clearly unforgiving. “I’ll get the doctor.” Her tone is clipped now, and she roughly locks the guard rail back into place.
I groan as she turns her back on me. I’m really not trying to ruin this woman’s day, but I have a sister who needs me.
Once the door shuts, I try and fail to lower the rail myself, becoming winded almost instantly. A weakness I’ve never felt is heavy through my body, and I involuntarily slump back against the pillow, humiliated and furious.
This is bad.
This is worse than I thought.
Desperate tears begin to pool in my eyes. How am I going to do anything in this state, let alone move a body? And where do I move it to? My mind spins with options, and the machine that’s attached to me starts to beep a bit faster.
We don’t even own a shovel, do we? Am I supposed to buy one? How much do they cost? That’s going to cut into this week’s groceries. Nix better not even try to complain. This isn’t her fault, but God if I wish things didn’t play out differently.
The doctor comes in quicker than expected, and I realize it’s probably because the nurse warned I’m a flight risk. He’s older than God, with frail shoulders under his white coat and heavy bags under his eyes. He’s most likely who they allocate to the welfare patients.
I don’t bother with any niceties.
“How long have I been here?” I ask, forcing myself to sit up again.
“Kira Noland?” he flips through a chart with painful slowness. “You came in early this morning at four a.m., and it is now,” he checks his watch, “seven p.m.”
My chest tightens. That’s over twelve hours. Twelve hours of Nix sitting with a corpse, or panicking, or doing God knows what. Fuck. I wish I had thought to grab my phone before the ambulance came. Did Nix actually go inside, or did the cops force their way in? I would assume everything is fine, or I would be cuffed to the rails right now, wouldn’t I?
“Can you unhook me, please? I need to leave.” I start tugging at the rails again.
“Ms. Noland, are you aware of why you are in the hospital?” the doctor asks from the center of the room, making no effort to stop me.
“Yeah,” I huff. “I had a heart attack.” I give him a quick look as I continue rattling my cage.
He places the clipboard under his arm, brows lifting subtly. “To be more precise, you had a spontaneous coronary artery dissection,” he says. “It is a tear in your artery, possibly brought on by your birth control or stress. Have you been under significant stress lately?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “That a real question?” I shake my head. “Can you undo this?! I think it’s stuck.”
He seems unfazed. “I cannot, in good conscience, release you, Ms. Noland.”
“Well, it’s not on you, pal. So, if you could just—”
“The tear needs to heal,” he cuts me off. “And we need to monitor you. A few days, and then if all looks well, you can go home. But you will have to take it easy. I know you are young, and you think you are invincible, but this is quite serious. You will have to follow up with a private cardiologist. We have you started on a statin and beta blocker, which—”
The rail finally gives, sliding down with a clatter.
“Just send it to a pharmacy,” I say. “I’ll pick it up.”
“Ms. Noland, I really do not think you understand…”
“Look, man,” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, “I get it. I’m fucked. But I’m leaving. Consider your conscience clear. I’m signing myself out. But if you could get this thing out of my arm, that would be great.”
In one painful sweep, I manage to gather all the wires from my chest and yank them off. “Where are my clothes?”
He sighs, and it’s the sigh of a man who doesn’t have any more patience or energy. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hope whatever is so urgent is worth your life, young lady.”
Worth my life?
My sister rotting in prison for the rest of hers?
Yeah, that’s worth my fucking life.
Chapter Three
Kira
Memorial Hospital isn’t too far from home, and my first instinct is to walk. My beat-up Chevy breaks down enough times that I end up walking more than driving anyway, so I’m no stranger to having to hoof it. But I make it half a block before I’m panting, leaning against a grimy light pole as black dots prickle in my vision.
The doctor said if I took it easy, I could recover and gain back all my strength, as if that’s something I can just pencil in. I don’t have time to take a fucking medical sabbatical. I have a sister. I have bills. I have a corpse in my house. And I need to get home.
I don’t have my wallet or my phone. I had only just come home from my shift at Bell’s, tossing my shit onto the counter when Nix dragged me into her bedroom. I got maybe five minutes of disbelief at the body on the floor before I hit the ground myself. I wasn’t thinking of my phone or money. I was thinking of how the fuck I was going to get an ambulance and not have them see the dead body.
With a sigh, I eye the bar across the street. It’s a lowlife kind of dive, and most likely filled with all the same types I serve at Bell’s. Ugh. Steeling myself, I push off the light pole and make my way to it.
I cross the street in slow, careful steps, my legs unsteady. Every inhale makes my chest twinge, and when my hand closes around the bar’s handle, I have to take a second to steady my grip before I pull.
The smell hits me first.
The thick cigarette smoke is jarring compared to the sterile air of the hospital. It’s probably no different than Bell’s, but everything feels a bit surreal right now, and it takes me a moment before I can focus in on the sorry bastards seated at the bar.
There’s a guy who’s definitely an axe murderer, another who looks too drunk to stand—the bartender sucks for not cutting him off—and, at the far end, a man in a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tie loose, with the kind of middle-class misery that screams fired or divorced. Maybe both.
