My head throbbed worse than a New Year’s hangover against the pillow. Considering last year I’d woken up on January 1 in a stranger’s bed, this year wasn’t much different. Wherever I was smelled strange and old and was twice as warm as I kept my apartment.
Who had I gone home with this time? Some cologne salesman? God. This guy must treat his atomizer like it was a tube of body wash and he’d just returned from a week in a country lacking showers.
I bolted upright, remembering what had happened right before I’d blacked out. Someone had punched me. Right after that same someone had kicked Davis in the head. Fuck. Where was I? Was Davis okay?
Stupid question. He’d been shot, twice. Of course he wasn’t okay. But was he still alive? I lifted my hand to where I thought my mouth was and covered a whimper. This was bad. Worse than before. And I’d thought before was pretty damn dire.
A trio of green digital numbers to my left gave me two bits of information. First that I wasn’t blind—phew! And second that it was twenty-two past six. PM? I hoped to fuck.
I patted myself down, looking for wounds and my phone. The crisp fabric between me and my skin hadn’t been there before. And it had the same cologne scent the rest of the air did. Someone had changed my clothes? What the fuck! Fortunately, my jeans and bra remained intact. That didn’t make the violation much better.
The pat down of my pockets proved I was phone-less. On the upward path, my fingers hit a sensitive spot on my forehead and I almost screamed. No more touching of that.
Slipping to the edge of the foreign bed, I got to my feet. They sunk, bare into plush carpet. I tapped the edge of the surface holding the clock until I found a switch. Light flickered on, forming a cone of golden glow at my feet. Yes, those were my jeans and someone else’s shirt—a plain white dress shirt that billowed around me as if made for a broad-shouldered man.
I pivoted for a look around. A monstrous, silk-covered bed perched on a carpeted dais, both serving as the centerpiece. Two steps made of a gray and pink veined pale stone led from the dais to the room’s floor. My memory foam insole sneakers waited side-by-side at the bottom. Looking more like the inside of a mausoleum than a room, the marble continued along the floors, walls, and a wardrobe-shaped structure across the room. The weird almost barbershop scent that filled the place didn’t fit with a mausoleum or bedroom.
Several doors, open and closed, gave me options. Of the open ones, I spotted a mirror and counter—an en-suite I assumed.
I made myself walk for my shoes, and then check the other doors. The other opening featured built in drawers, shoe cubbies that held loafers and glossy wingtips, and two bars of hanging items consisting of suits and suit pieces much like the shirt I wore. The pungent cologne scent increased as I neared the clothing. All the rich, dark silks tailored and pressed in perfect lines had me stumbling backwards.
Bespoke suits. Handmade wingtips. Barbershoppy cologne.
Had the would-be mayor rescued me?
No, this wasn’t a rescue. How had I not put two and four together and come up with completely fucked? The would-be mayor had reminded me of a gargoyle when he’d spotted Brian the rookie at the office. And he’d told me he would keep an eye out for me. Eugene Genovese, the oily would-be mayor was the mafia boss who was trying to kill me!
So why was I still among the living?
My location told me a lot—a lot I didn’t want to consider nor did I want to consider the shirt on my back. Time to get answers.
I tried the other doors, finding a personal gym in one and a sauna in another. The last one led into a marble-floored corridor. Hesitating, I listened for voices, footsteps, or anything that could help. Nothing beyond the low hum of the heating system was audible from where I stood. My only choice was to move.
I tiptoed through the corridor between the oil paintings and floral arrangements atop accent tables. Several closed doors broke up the space. I didn’t dare try opening any.
The first open entrance led into a carpeted sitting room complete with a flickering fireplace flanked by identical sofas facing each other. Reclined on one with his ankles crossed, reading a newspaper was Mr. Would-be Mayor Eugene himself. Clad in charcoal slacks and a lavender shirt rolled up to his elbows, he looked perfectly at ease after a long day of kissing babies. I hated to admit it, but he was attractive in a politico kind of way.
He glanced up from the newsprint, gaze sliding along my body far too leisurely to be called polite, and then he spread his lips, revealing disturbingly straight teeth. “You’re awake.”
Awake ? As if I’d merely been asleep instead of unconscious. I clamped down on the response.
He waved me forward. Though I didn’t want to get any closer than necessary, I needed answers. I entered the room, keeping an eye on him and while maintaining my distance.
Like his wardrobe and bedroom, everything in Eugene’s living room looked expensive and potentially handmade, from the carved marble mantle to the silk shantung sofas. Despite that, the place had a museum-like feel as if it wasn’t safe to touch anything. Least of all him.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“No.” I forced a pained half smile. “Thank you though. Where is Ed?” The nickname would have to do because reminding Eugene of Davis’ position on the police force probably wasn’t a good idea.
One hand clawed through the flimsy paper. Eugene’s eyes went dark and squinty. “Detective Davis is resting there.” He flicked his other hand to the right.
I faced that portion of the room, only just noticing the bank of windows because they’d been dark. Below them, on another marble dais atop two steps, was the supine figure of Detective Davis. Slick dark spots soaked Davis’ clothes where he’d been shot at his side and leg. Still just the two spots, though two spots were two more than was safe.
Clearly Davis was resting in the same way that I’d been asleep. But resting wasn’t dead, right? Given Eugene’s nonchalant attitude, I couldn’t be sure.
“I’d hoped to bring you here under better circumstances.” Eugene gave a half shrug and folded the newspaper, setting it aside. “But I’ll take what I can get.” He got to his feet, giving me his Day-Glo bright smile.
I made myself remain where I’d ended up—too far to dart out the door. “Asking me out when you saw me at work would have been easier on all of us.”
“I’d hoped you’d call me on your own.” He flicked his fingers at nothing in particular. “You’re here now. That’s the important thing.”
No, the important thing was Davis bleeding out like a sacrifice to Eugene’s mayoral campaign.
“I’m here,” I said. “So perhaps you could let Detective Davis see someone about his bullet wounds?”
Eugene snorted and pinned a frightening squint on Davis’ limp figure. “I will see to his wounds when I’m finished with him. But first he has much to answer for.”
“Like what?”
“Shelby.” He waved dismissively and faced me. “Dear, sweet, Shelby. You have gotten yourself into a bind, haven’t you?”
I swallowed around the lump of fear developing in my throat. “Wrong place, wrong time seems to be my modus operandi.”
Eugene breathed in a laugh. He strode to a sideboard I hadn’t seen and flipped over two cut crystal tumblers. Without asking my preference, he poured two fingers of a pale liquid into each. He swiveled and continued the trip to me, offering a glass.
His barbershop scent would forever be etched on my memory as evil. I pulled in air through my mouth to avoid it as much as I could. His eyes glinted dangerously, and his lips firmed. I grabbed the glass and gave a fake smile before he grew angrier.
Eugene sipped his drink, watching me over the rim with a predatory gleam. He made swallowing a production of thick, perfectly shorn neck muscles. “I’d like to think of the situation we find ourselves in as an opportunity.”
I’d like to think of it as the worst mistake of my life . But if I hadn’t gone to that party and become a witness to murder, I might not have met Nick. Each minute that passed, no matter how bad they were, made me happier I’d met him. Too bad I’d had to meet this dickhead, too.
“Every moment life gives us is an opportunity, Shelby.”
Was he reminding me that he was currently in control of how many more moments life would give me? Probably.
I lifted the glass and pretended to sip. The harsh, alcohol fumes eclipsed Eugene’s scent.
He cocked his head to the right with a fluid move that spread his unbuttoned collar, giving glimpses of a toned chest. “An opportunity to appreciate, to be grateful—to be happy. And if we don’t rise to the occasion during this moment, we’re often given another. And another. So many opportunities. This is something to be happy about. Don’t you think?”
My eyebrow wanted to twitch up. I didn’t let it. Instead I nodded and actually let the alcohol in my mouth. The room temperature liquid slicked down my throat. And then the burn hit. I closed my eyes against it.
“The more opportunities I’m given, the more my gratitude builds.”
I didn’t want a lesson in how to be happy given by a guy who had killed people. Especially not when someone who had been trying to help me bled out nearby.
“I want to share my gratitude with someone who needs it more than me.”
Something touched my cheek. I jerked back, gasping in surprise. Eyes wide, I discovered Eugene smirking and hovering with his fingers near my face.
“You, Shelby.” His voice went soft and eerie. I held back a shiver. He breathed out audibly. “You should be grateful for the moments you’ve had. The moments you might not have had if events had unfolded differently.”
I wanted to gape at him. To scoff. To scream. This guy was pure evil and he meant to become our mayor. From there he could become governor. And from that perch? President would be in reach.
“I can show you how to be grateful. I can teach you to cherish.” He settled his palm against my cheek. His alcohol-soaked breath warmed my face. “I’ll start by cherishing you.”
Last night’s pizza threatened to come up. Somehow I didn’t gag. What did come out was a nervous chuckle. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be cherished.”
“I’ll help you.” Eugene indulged me with a smile, rubbing one finger over the line of my jaw. “Like I did with your things—when I discovered you were the witness, I had my people return everything they took out of your apartment. I’ve demonstrated I’m not an uncompromising man. There’s just…one little thing.”
Oh there was a fuck of a lot more than one and none of them were little.
“I can’t have you talking to the police about me or my associates.”
Finally . I’d begun to think he’d never get to the actually threatening me part of this little scene.
He set his glass onto a nearby table and then lifted a free hand to my collar. Smoothing his fingers into the shirt he’d dressed me in, he all but wrapped them around my throat. The other hand slipped further down my face so he could rub his thumb over my lower lip. I had no idea if I was supposed to be aroused or fearful. Given the darkness in his eyes, I suspect he’d intended both.
“I could make it good for you, Shelby. So good. Or…” He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine. “Or I could make it very,” another light kiss made me want to burst into frustrated and terrified tears, “very bad.” He drew back without removing his hands. “Do you understand?”
I nodded sluggishly.
“My deepest wish is that you’ll accept the good.”
“What about Davis?” I bit back a curse at my own stupid mouth.
The moment his eyebrows crimped into a sharp V and his grip tightened on my throat I knew I was screwed. Not the answer he wanted. Of course.
“Davis.” He relaxed his grip. “He and I have a complicated past.”
I remained quiet as I hunted my brain for a way out of this—for me, for Davis, for all involved. But even if I got away, I wouldn’t be safe. He knew who I was, where I lived, and if he’d discovered the location of the safe house, he likely still had crooked cops on his payroll.
“I made him an offer and he refused.” Eugene stroked his fingers inside my borrowed shirt, dangerously close to my bra. “No one refuses me, Shelby.”
No one, including me, he meant.
“I need to make an example of him. And clearly everyone in my organization is a complete fuck up. I have no choice but to do it myself. But this is another opportunity so I’ll do it right. I’ll take my time and enjoy the moments granted me.” Eugene curled his index finger beneath the lace lining my bra. “There’s just one thing I need first—your answer.”
Eugene let his digit slip down, grazing one nipple. Pizza had to be inches from my esophagus because I felt as if I’d hurl if I breathed wrong.
“Choose gratitude, Shelby.”
The words he didn’t say hung on the air. Choose gratitude or choose death.
I needed more moments of opportunity—opportunity to get Davis help and to get the fuck out of there. The only way I could get those would be to play along. But damn my expressive face. He’d never believe me unless I shared some of the truth.
“I’m scared,” I said, letting my breath pour out in a shaky rush.
The indulgent smile was back. “I would lose respect for you if you weren’t.”
Hah, as if he respected me.
He lowered his head until the heat of his skin prickled against mine. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
So. Fucking. Cliché. With lines like that, maybe the White House was out of reach after all.
“But hurt is still on the list,” another, deeper voice said.
I gasped and backed away, dislodging his hand from the shirt. He swung toward the voice and growled. That’s when my brain provided extra information. Eugene hadn’t said that last bit even though we both knew it’s what he’d meant.
The figure that had spoken the words reclined atop the dais, leaning on one elbow and holding his side with the other arm. A pained smirk cut lines around Davis’ glistening mouth. He was alive, though sweating buckets and far worse for the wear than before. “Tell the lady the truth, Geno. You’ll kill her unless she becomes your woman.”
Eugene regarded Davis with chilly eyes. He lifted his arm and rolled his left cuff up one more time. He arranged the other with sedate flicks of his long fingers, gaze never leaving Davis’ face. Tilting his head, Eugene cracked his neck—first to the left and then the right.
“I’m going to enjoy every hour of this, Eduardo.” Eugene sauntered across the carpet, wing-tips disappearing into the high pile. He tapped up the two marble stairs and paused, giving us both a chance to see what was next. Arm lifted back, he made a fist and let it fly.
The resulting crack of flesh against…something echoed through the room. Davis’ eyes rolled up into his head and his body slumped. I craned my neck, trying to see if Davis was at an odd angle. The sound Eugene’s blow made couldn’t have been as a simple punch as it had looked. Something broke.
“Madre di Dio!” Eugene spat at the ground. “Even my greatest rival is a fuck up. Can no one hold their own in this blessed world?” He pivoted on one wingtip and straightened when he saw me. “Shelby. I’m sorry that you had to see that.”
Remaining in my spot as he closed the distance took courage I didn’t know I possessed. He took my elbow and turned me, guiding us to one of the sofas. There he not-so-subtly pushed me onto it and lowered beside me.
Eugene stroked a finger over my cheek. “Your strength throughout this ordeal has proven you to be an ideal candidate.”
All I could see was the reddened knuckles that had just hit Davis. I focused on looking neutral. “Candidate? I’m not running for office.”
His finger slid over my bottom lip. “But I am. And a candidate’s companion must be as strong as he is.”
A shiver wound up my spine and bile filled my mouth. My distaste must have shown because he drew back, frowning.
“You still haven’t given me an answer,” he said. “Pick gratitude, Shelby. Choose being cherished.”
I glanced at Davis’ limp body and swallowed down the sour taste.
Eugene’s fingers dug into my jaw and jerked my attention back. “Choose, Shelby.”
Wincing, I attempted to grab onto the strength Eugene thought I had. “What are you going to do to him?”
“He isn’t your concern.”
“He tried to help me.”
“But he didn’t. Did he?” Eugene released my jaw so he could jab a finger toward Davis. “He released your name to the media. He put you in danger. And then when it came time to protect you, he failed to do his job. He did nothing but fuck things up. Now, choose.”
Swallowing over the last of the bile, I considered how to respond. The truth would get me hurt. I needed time—for what, I didn’t know. Maybe for the police en route to Davis’ grandparent’s house would find us.
“I…” I licked my lips. “I want more opportunities.”
A vein pulsed at Eugene’s temple. “I’m so glad.” Though his eyes glittered malevolently, he smiled. “I knew the moment we met this was fate. Sweetness, strength, and fire—you’re the complete package.” He grasped the top most button on my borrowed shirt. “Now let me cherish you.”