“Up and at ‘em, Miss Lone.” The deep voice is quickly followed by my covers ripping off me.
“What the hell!” I bolt upright, chill bumps spreading across my exposed skin as I glare at Sebastian standing over my bed.
Freshly dressed in an impeccable charcoal business suit and deep purple tie, he has a stoic, all-business expression on his face. “If you’d like time for breakfast, I suggest you get moving. I need to grab some paperwork from the business office.”
Noting the time is barely eight, I pull the covers over my white boy shorts and matching tank top. I glance at the door, knowing I’d pushed the lock button on the doorknob before I went to bed. “How did you get in here?”
His face hardens. “I told you not to lock the door.”
“A hairspray can thrown at your head should tell you what I think of your order,” I snap before rolling back onto my stomach and pulling the covers over my head. “I don’t have to be up for another two hours. Go run your errand.”
The covers are yanked off me again, followed by a resounding smack on my ass. Before I can react beyond gritting out, “I’m going to kill you,” he quickly presses his hand to the center of my back as he bends close to my ear.
“Apparently that sounded like a request, so let me rephrase. If you don’t get your sweet ass out of this bed and in the shower in the next five seconds, I’ll strip you down and put you in there myself.”
“Ugh! Why are you being such an ass—?”
He puts his cell phone in front of my face, his voice a harsh command. “Read.”
As he removes his hand from my back, I cut my narrowed gaze from his face to the typed words on the screen.
Blindside is nothing but lies. I will make you suffer for everything you’ve done and then the truth will be revealed
My attention jerks to Sebastian, my heart thudding hard. The other two notes didn’t directly threaten me. “When did you get this?”
He straightens and slides his phone into his inside jacket pocket. “This is a scanned copy of the letter that arrived at the Midtown Central offices this morning. Someone from my team has already confirmed it’s from a different printer.”
My eyes widen. “This is someone else? Not the original person escalating?”
“No this is someone new. The pattern of the words is different.” His gaze focuses on mine. “Is there anything you’d like to share? Any reason someone would think you’re lying about what happened at Hawthorne with Tommy Slawson?”
I furrow my brow. “It sounds far more personal, doesn’t it?”
When he nods solemnly, I shake my head. “I don’t have a clue. I told the truth as it happened.”
He scowls. “Who would think you’re not telling the truth?”
I shrug. “An angry family member who doesn’t want me to ruin the Slawson family name?”
“Tommy didn’t have any family. His mother is dead, and there aren’t any other living relatives.”
“Are you sure?”
When he gives me an insulted look, I wrack my brain trying to come up with an alternative. “Don’t serial killers sometimes have followers? Maybe it’s someone who believes Tommy was innocent of the other murders or somehow justified in his murderous rampage?”
Sebastian’s expression shuts down. “We’ve been checking on all leads, message boards that mention Tommy and any cult-like followers who’ve made comment about you. So far, nothing on that front. One thing we have going for us is that this letter was printed in red, which should help us narrow it down to the actual printer that was used.”
“Why does that matter?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Get your shower and I’ll tell you on the way down to the lobby.”
As we walk toward the elevator, Sebastian’s gaze skims over my black suit jacket, emerald silk shirt, then to my pencil skirt and black pumps. “You could’ve changed into your signing clothes later.”
“What?” I button my jacket closed, then push the down key on the wall. “You don’t approve of my look?”
His gaze moves in a predatory glide from my head to my toes, then back to my face, his eyes turning a deeper crystal blue. “My preferences in your attire haven’t changed, Miss Lone.”
My stomach flip-flops and my face flames as I remember his last words as to what he preferred seeing me wear: Him. Wrapped around me. On me. In me.
God, help me. Cass would love this! I clear my throat to shove her pleased giggling out of my head. “You were going to tell me about the letter and how a color copy matters.”
The elevator arrives and he holds the door for me to enter, then follows me inside. As we slowly descend, Sebastian says, “Every color printer since 2002 now puts a unique set of invisible dots on any color copies made. It’s invisible to the eye, but can be seen under blue light. Each set of dots identifies a specific printer, which will then allow us to trace who purchased it.”
“Why are printer companies putting spy dots in their color copiers?”
He shrugs. “Those ‘spy dots’ are one way to help our government combat against counterfeiters.”
I nod my understanding, then mumble, “How Big Brother-ish.”
“Be glad or we’d have nowhere to start looking for the culprit.”
I sigh. “Point taken. So after you pick up what you need to in the business office, I’d like to go for a bagel. I saw a bagel/coffee stand a block away.” And along the way, I’ll get to see the Christmas decorations. I bet they’re amazing in this area.
“Not a good idea. You’ll eat here in the restaurant.”
Straightening my spine, I lift my chin. “Oh, did that sound like a request? Let me rephrase. I’m going to get a bagel once you’re done picking up your paperwork. You can either come with or not.”
Sebastian scowls. “Your stubbornness puts you at risk.”
“And here I thought you’d said my stubbornness is what saved my life the last time it was threatened.”
He turns to face me, a deep frown bracketing his mouth. “To be clear, I saved your life back then. Same as I’m doing now. And why is it that you’re, yet again, in someone’s crosshairs?” He quickly scans my face, his assessment detached, methodically calculating. “Is that gorgeous face hiding layers I’ve yet to uncover?”
My stomach bottoms out; he hasn’t mentioned my past and I’d foolishly hoped he’d leave it alone. I’m not the person I was back then. My gut response is to instantly defend myself, but knowing Sebastian, he’ll drill in on anything I say. The man doesn’t miss a thing. Redirecting him is best. “What’s so important about this paperwork you need?”
He holds my gaze for a split second longer, then answers, “It’s a ballistics report from my mom’s case.”
My eyebrows elevate. “That wasn’t already in the police file you had on your mom?”
Sebastian’s jaw tenses. “I told you they thought she was involved in drugs. Why bother looking for her killer? I’m sure they shoved the paperwork aside and moved on to the next case. It took me five months to convince one of the officers to have the ballistics run on the bullets that killed her. No one wants to admit to making a mistake, especially on a case almost twelve years old. The officer who asked for the report is retiring in a month, so he had nothing to lose by helping me. The guy’s old-school and insisted on faxing me the results.”
“I’m sorry, Sebastian. I hope the report gives you more to go on.”
He nods briskly. “It’s a step forward on a case that went nowhere.”
The lobby is quiet as we walk through it toward the business office. A few businessmen are checking out at the main desk, and a couple of middle-aged ladies are checking in with two massive suitcases. Cars are starting to line up out front, where the valets are blowing on their hands, their breath pluming in the brisk December air.
“Wait here,” Sebastian says, gesturing to an arrangement of cushioned chairs next to the main desk.
Once his broad shoulders disappear behind the business office door, I don’t bother to sit down. He didn’t sound like he’d be long.
While I watch the two ladies bickering with the front desk about their room not being ready, even though they’re checking in before eleven, a tall man dressed in a nice suit steps up beside me and says in a cultured accent, “Do you have any meetings you must attend soon, Miss Lone?”
“Not for a couple hours,” I say, taking in the striking combination of his dark skin and light brown eyes, set off by amazing bone structure. Even his close-shaved hair adds to his arresting features. His accent sounds a bit different, not exactly British, more like New Zealand maybe? When I realize he’s not wearing the hotel’s discrete gold bar on his lapel, I stop trying to place his accent. “Excuse me, who are you?”
“I work for Adam Blake. He’d like a word with you in private. If you’ll come with me please.”
The only thing multibillionaire Adam Blake and I have in common is his estranged, illegitimate son, Sebastian. I glance back at the door where I expect Sebastian to walk through any moment. “Please tell Mr. Blake I’ll be happy to make an appointment with him next week—”
“I’m afraid he insists on today, Miss Lone. It’s a matter of utmost importance to him.”
How did he even know to find me here? Probably because of Sebastian. Does Mr. Blake think I have something to do with Sebastian deciding to throw away his inheritance by taking the Blake family name? There’s obviously no stuffing that cat back in the bag. But what else could Adam Blake possibly want with me?
Once I nod, I expect the tall guy to lead me to a quiet boardroom somewhere in the hotel. Instead, he quickly escorts me outside and into a sleek black car with dark tinted windows.
When he slides in beside me and calls to the driver, “Blake Tower,” I glance his way as we pull away from the curb.
“I can’t go directly there. I have a stop to make along the way.”
“That wasn’t Mr. Blake’s directive.”
I ignore his comment. “If Mr. Blake wants me to come when I’m called, like an obedient dog, then he’s going to have to accommodate my schedule. Give your driver this address, please.”
“That’s on the Lower East Side,” he says, concern creasing his brow.
“Yes, it is. I’ll need you to walk me inside the building too. Hope you’re packing.”
When his eyes widen, I can’t help but grin. “I’m just teasing. You shouldn’t need a weapon, but I would like your very intimidating height standing behind me while I ask the building manager a few questions if you don’t mind.”
He lets out a deep laugh. “That I can handle, Miss Lone. I’m Dennet, but you may call me Den.”
“I’m Talia,” I say, smiling. “Where are you from, Den? At first I thought England, but I can’t quite place your accent.”
A quick smile spreads across his face. “You’re partially right. I was born and raised in London. My father is from Kenya and my mother is Irish.”
Ah, that’s where your light eyes came from. I start to ask what brought him from London to the U.S., but my phone buzzes with a text from Sebastian.
PainInMyAss: One simple request and you can’t even follow that.
Me: How do you know that I haven’t been kidnapped?
PainInMyAss: Because you’re texting. Tell me where you are.
Me: I need to run this errand on my own.
PainInMyAss: Where are you? I’M NOT FUCKING AROUND!
Me: I have backup. Don’t worry.
PainInMyAss: A Taser in your purse isn’t backup.
How does he know about the Taser? I press my lips together, then realize he must’ve gone through my whole purse that night he bugged my phone at the Hawthorne resort. At least he’d kept his word about not bugging it this time or he wouldn’t be asking where I am. I’d left the Taser at home. It’s certainly wasn’t going to fit in my evening clutch purse. Shaking my head, I type my response.
Me: THIS backup is the living, breathing kind. And I won’t be anywhere near a bookstore, books, or tour-related stuff.
PainInMyAss: I don’t trust anyone else to watch over you. WHERE!
“Who is that?”
Den can’t see my screen, but he knows I’m responding to someone. “My bodyguard flipping out.”
He frowns, his gaze snapping to mine. “Why do you need a bodyguard?”
I eye him in surprise. Then it hits me that Adam Blake wouldn’t know about my author drama. Though he apparently knows I am an author, since Den had called me by my penname earlier. Now I’m even more intrigued by this out-of-the-blue summons.
Den points to my phone and says in a gruff tone, “Send him your safe word.”
My eyes widen. There’s no way he can possibly know about Sebastian and my sex life—correction, past sex life. “Safe word?” I squeak.
He nods. “Your bodyguard must’ve discussed that if you were ever separated, you should include a word if you rang him, or some other signal in a text to confirm that you aren’t being coerced.”
Relief quickly washes through me. “Oh, that word,” I say, like Sebastian and I had totally set up the protocol he’s talking about. Then again…hadn’t we?
Me: I’ll be back in two hours tops. Promise. #Rainbow.
A few seconds later, Sebastian responds.
PainInMyAss: Can’t-Sit-For-A-Week, fire engine red. Promise.
If he’s firing off innuendo punishment texts, he has stopped freaking out and is just royally pissed. That I can deal with. I don’t want to think what a rampaging Sebastian would be like. His normal domineering demeanor is intense enough.
As we enter the Lower East End, Den glances at my purse. “You turned it off, right?”
“My phone?”
He nods. “If you don’t want your guard to follow you, you need to turn it completely off. If he’s worth what you’re paying for his services, he’s already pinging its location.”
Damn it. I’m sure Sebastian is hot on my trail. “Oh, I didn’t even think about it.” I hesitate before I turn it off. What if I’m being played, and this guy’s taking me straight to my stalker? Then again, no one knows my connection to the Blake family except me. There’s nothing on-line, no paper trail to follow. There’s no way anyone other than a Blake could know that their name alone would be enough to convince me to agree to this meeting. Feeling assured, I switch my phone off.
Den gives the sorry, dilapidated apartment building we’ve pulled up to a disapproving look, his accent becoming more pronounced. “Is this the proper address?”
I nod and start to open the door on my side, when he says, “Exit this way and I’ll escort you in. You weren’t exaggerating about needing backup.”
Smirking at him, I follow his line of sight to the trio of rough-looking teens who’ve stopped talking while sitting on the hood of a car down the street to stare at us getting out of the sleek car.
“Keep your attention sharp, the doors locked, and the engine running,” Den says curtly to the driver before he grips my elbow in a protective manner. “Lead the way, Miss Lone.”
I stare at the building as I approach. It doesn’t look any different than the one I lived in with my aunt, Amelia, and Walt. Same dreary, pollution-coated brick. Same cracked cement stairs leading to a broken buzzer at the main entrance door. The only difference was that our building had been dingy brown brick instead of red. And ironically resided just seven or so blocks from this one.
I knock on the building manager’s door. His name is Mr. Snitch, according to the scratched-through sign next to the main door. Den never lets his golden eyes rest, his muscular neck craning upward at the sudden sounds of a couple fighting a floor above us.
Just as I start to knock again, the door rips open. A balding, middle-aged man, sporting a pink bathrobe and a raised metal baseball bat, growls from the doorway, “What!”
Den instantly steps in front of me, scowling. He doesn’t have to say a word; his menacing expression is enough to make the man stumble back a little. Screwing up his face, the building manager holds the bat higher. “Back off Zulu Warrior or I’ll take this to you.”
“Excuse me.” I barely resist rolling my eyes at the man’s ignorance as I nudge Den to the side. “I just want to ask you a couple of questions about some past tenants, Mr. Snitch. How long have you worked here?”
“That’s Fritch. Assholes keep marking up my sign,” he spits angrily, then gives me a wary look. “I’ve been here fifteen years. Nobody’s gonna do a better job collecting rent from these shit-for-tenants, so tell Mr. Harmon I said to fuck off. No one’s getting my job.”
“Mr. Fritch. I’m not here on Mr. Harmon’s behalf. I’m here for my own purpose.”
He tilts his head. “And what might that be? You sure as hell—” The fighting couple above us have gotten so loud, the manager pauses to hit the bat three times on the ceiling. “Pipe down or I’m calling the cops!” Turning back to me, he continues as if he’d never stopped talking, “—don’t look like you belong here.” His gaze skims from my silk blouse down to my heels. “Those fancy clothes probably cost more than my rent.”
I take a breath and ignore his resentful comment. “I’d just like to know if you remember a couple of tenants, a woman named Brenna Slawson and her son Tommy?”
“Nope, don’t remember.” He starts to close the door, but Den puts his leather shoe out to block it at the same time he rips the bat from the man’s hand.
“Answer the lady’s question truthfully, or I’ll happily demonstrate what an S.I.S.-trained Brit can do with this bat.”
Fritch glares at Den, then shifts his squirrely gaze to me. “Yeah, I remember the scrawny kid and his bitch of a mother. Why?”
My stomach tenses. At least I’m getting somewhere. “Do you know if they had any relatives?”
“What do I look like, a family reunion rep? How the hell should I know?” His gaze narrows suspiciously. “Are you some kind of reporter? I heard the kid turned out to be a freaking serial killer. That true?”
I shrug. “I’m not here about that. I’m just doing some research for a project I’m working on. So no one else lived with them?”
“Bet he’s the one who killed his mom all those years ago. Left a fucking bloody mess, whoever did it,” he murmurs, then waves his hand, answering my question dismissively. “Just her freeloader boyfriend.”
I latch onto the possible lead. “Can you tell me the boyfriend’s name?”
“Asshole,” he deadpans, then snorts as he digs spindly fingers into his armpit, his nails leaving trails against the robe’s velour nap. “The lease was in her name, so I didn’t give a damn who else stayed there as long as she paid. Though, now that I think of it, he stopped coming around after a while.”
I suppress a sigh of frustration. “Can you at least tell me what he looked like?”
Fritch holds his hand a couple inches above my heeled height of five-nine. “He was about here. Average height for a guy. Brown-ish hair, regular build. Constant scowl. That pretty much covers it.”
“No tattoos or anything else that stands out?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Like I said. Just your average, clompy Joe-Asshole. I couldn’t pick him out of a crowd if I tried.”
“Clompy?”
“Yeah, I sure as hell don’t miss hearing his footfalls dragging up the stairs at one in the morning. Bastard always woke me up.”
Picking out a heavy walker in a crowd won’t be easy either. I sigh inwardly. “Thanks for your help.”
The second Den removes his foot from the doorway, Fritch grunts and slams the door in our faces.
Once we drive away from Tommy’s apartment, I give Den another address. “Please have the driver take us here. It’s on the way and should only take a few minutes.”
Den shakes his head. “We’ve delayed enough. We’re going straight to Blake Towers.”
“Have you ever had something you needed to do?” I say to Den. He unlocks his gaze from the driver’s in the rearview mirror to look at me. “Something you’ve avoided because it was too painful?”
When sadness briefly scrolls across his features, I say softly just for his ears, “This is my ‘thing’, Den.”
He slowly nods, then tells the driver to head to the address I gave him.
Once we arrive at the address, Den steps out of the car to allow me to exit. I put my hand on his chest when he starts to follow. “Stay here. I’m not going inside.”
He glances around the sketchy neighborhood and his gaze zeros in on a couple of teens tagging a car parked on top of the curb further down the street. “Not a good idea, Miss Lone.”
Light drizzle pings my face, the chill reaching all the way to my bones. Or maybe it’s just being here that makes me feel cold and numb. I told myself I would never return after the explosion put a huge hole in our apartment, yet here I am, quaking on the inside. I hold myself perfectly still as I look at Den’s towering height. I’m pretty sure he has a couple inches on Sebastian. Clenching my teeth to keep them from chattering, I finally speak as I point to the alley beside the drab building. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going there.”
He scowls, a displeased look forming on his sharply defined features. “Alleys are unacceptable.”
I shrug and wrap my arms around myself so I won’t visibly shiver. “Check it out if you must.”
He grunts, then shrugs out of his jacket. Before I can say anything, he drops the suit coat over my shoulders. “Put this on then to keep you warm.”
His suit jacket is so big it hits midway down my thighs and the sleeves cover my fingers. Even though his shoulder harness and gun are now completely exposed, I can’t help but smile a little as I follow behind him while he walks ahead of me to check the alley. A gentleman with a gun. Obviously Mr. Blake hires more than muscle.
After he’s certain the space is empty, Den moves to the top of the alley and refuses by a terse jerk of his head to leave me alone all together. My heart races as I walk over a shredded bike wheel, a baby doll head with its hair lopped off, and a garbage can’s worth of trash strewn about, my gaze scanning for the one place on the brick wall I’m looking for. It takes me a few minutes, since someone had moved the Dumpster from its old place against the opposite wall, but just past the Dumpster I find it.
A place on the wall where the brick looks slightly off.
The Dumpster blocks me from Den’s view as I hold my breath and pull the loose brick out. Reaching inside the hole, my fingers scrape for something I’d hidden in the spot over eleven years ago. I quickly pull it out, bittersweet relief flooding through me.
Hunching my shoulders to protect the crisp paper from the light rain, I open the paper and remember the last time I spoke to my little sister, Amelia.
“Draw with me, Talia,” she demands, dropping her little hands on her hips like she’s seen me do a million times.
I sigh and set my math book on the table. “I can’t Amelia. I have to study. I have a test coming up.”
“Pleeeeeze,” she begs. And just for effect she tilts her blond head to the side and pouts.
I can’t help but laugh at her curls flopping to one side of her head with her exaggerated movements. She really is very cherubic and adorable when she wants to be.
“Okay, fine. But this time. I get to pick what we draw.”
“Uh.” Amelia folds her arms, totally not okay with that suggestion.
I grin. “Go get your markers and a piece of paper. You’ll like this one.”
Squealing, she retrieves the requested items, then quickly climbs into my lap at the kitchen table. “Draw something magical, like a unicorn.”
When I start to write out her name across the paper in black ink, she quickly interrupts. “That’s not magical. That’s just my name.”
Snickering, I nod. She can’t read, but knows the alphabet and now recognizes her name. “I know, but you have to watch for the magic.”
She bobs her head, wiggling on my thighs.
Then I write my name under hers. “This is how my name is spelled. Talia. Do you see the magic yet?”
Amelia looks up at me, her eyes bright. She shakes her head, but she’s totally trusting I’m going to deliver on my promise.
I put down the black marker and pick up the red one, then draw a heart around the last three letters in our names. “Do you see it now?”
Her eyes light up like it’s Christmas and she claps her hands. “Our names have the same letters!”
“Yep,” I chuckle and then write, “The 2 Lias!” across the top of the page.
Giggling in delight, Amelia picks up the hot pink magic marker and thrusts her tongue past her lips as she attempts to trace her heart around the outside of the heart I’ve drawn. Hers is jagged and shaky and looks more like an oval than a heart, but she’s proud by the time she’s done, announcing excitedly, “Two Lias, two hearts.”
I smile, thinking about the two floating hearts on my necklace. One for me and one for her when she gets older. “Yep, two Lias, two hearts. How’d you get so smart?”
Giving my neck a big squeeze, she says, “You,” then jumps down and runs off toward her room, her new artwork floating behind her like a kite.
My heart clenching, I tuck the paper into my purse, then continue toward the end of the alley. With each step I take, the years strip the confidence I’d gained, slowly cracking and peeling it away, like a chameleon’s skin sloughing off.
I finally reach the back corner of the building and stare up at the fire escape.
Throughout my young years I saw that metal platform as a way out of my world. All I had to do was climb down its ladder to freedom. “I was so naïve,” I murmur.
Thoughts of the night I fled, the night Amelia died, rush back. While we were together in Martha’s Vineyard, I told Sebastian what Hayes did to me, but I didn’t tell him everything…
Walt had been locked in the adjoining apartment with Hayes and Jimmy for hours, which was fine by me. I needed quiet time to study for my math test, so after I drew the “2 Lias” picture for Amelia, I settled her on the couch with her favorite doll in front of the TV and turned on the one program I knew would keep her enthralled until it ended.
Fifteen minutes into my study time, Walt stumbles into the small kitchen and sits down in one of the extra chairs we have pushed against the sidewall a few feet away from the table. We only pull it up to the table when we’re all eating at once.
“Make me some eggs and toast, Talia,” he slurs, his eyes half-mast.
I’m ticked. It’s the first time I’ve seen him coming down from a high right in front of me. In the past he at least tried to hide it. I heard him being hyperactive earlier, laughing and talking extra loud next door. I knew that he had started using the Ecstasy he helps Hayes package, but he’s taking more now. I can tell by the crazy hours he’s keeping, the excessive sweating, and sudden bouts of extreme exhaustion. How he’s hidden his habit from my aunt is beyond me. I really hate that she’s pulling a double shift and won’t be home for several hours. Does that mean she’s making enough money now that we can leave? A part of me thinks Walt might actually be relieved if we took Amelia with us, that he’d never even notice she was gone or bother to report her missing. No way I’m leaving without her. At least Amelia’s occupied in the other room and won’t see him like this. “Why don’t you go sleep it off,” I say in a low, sarcastic tone.
“I said for you to cook me something,” he grates, waving his arm.
Maybe if I cook him some food, he’ll decide to take a nap. I get up and by the time I set the pan on the stove, he’s slumped over in the chair snoring.
Ugh! Rolling my eyes, I sit back down at the table and try to focus on my math once more.
I’m so focused on my homework that I don’t hear Hayes step through the door connecting our apartments until his hot breath rushes across my neck.
“What are you working on, Talia?” Before I can respond, he straightens and kicks Walt’s outstretched foot, and when Walt slumps over even more in the chair, he lets out a low laugh.
I tense when he turns back to me and bends over my shoulder, his closeness and creepy voice sending a shiver of revulsion down my spine. Heart racing, I glance at Walt, then snap, “I’m trying to concentrate and you’re not helping.”
Hayes’ hand lands on my notebook, covering it completely as he leans over me. “How about you concentrate on me for once.”
He smells of smoke and beer. I want to hold my breath, but panic mode overrules. “Walt…” I call out in a warning voice.
Hayes is blocking me in, and at this point with Walt not responding, I’m just done. “I’ll study somewhere else,” I say in a snotty tone. Slamming my book closed with an annoyed huff, I stand, then push the chair hard under the table.
Before I can pick up my book, Hayes grabs my arm and yanks it behind my back. Hooking his other hand on the crook of my neck, he shoves me over the back of the chair and presses my cheek against the table.
“After today, you’re never going to talk to me like that again,” he grates in my ear. Releasing my neck, he twists my wrist even more. His tone is hard and angry, his actions the most violent he’s ever been toward me.
As soon as I hear him yanking at his belt buckle and then the zipper of his pants coming undone, I call Walt’s name again. I stare at his slack face, hoping the panic in my voice will rouse him. I don’t care about Hayes’ earlier threats concerning Walt’s future. All I care about is what’s happening right here and now.
“Shut up if you don’t want the brat wandering in here,” Hayes says, his breathing changing to ragged pants.
I’d forgotten about Amelia in my haze of fear. His comment is sobering, and it takes everything inside me not to scream as he grabs my other hand and yanks it behind my back too. When he folds my fingers around his erection, disgust rolls through me. He lets out a deep groan and grinds his hips against my butt.
Bile rises in my throat and I gag. I try to pull my hand free of him, but his fingers are locked around mine, holding his cock in a vise hold. “Don’t you dare let go,” he warns, as he rolls his hips and moans deeper.
All I can do is lay there as the bastard uses my hand to jerk himself off along the back of my jeans while Walt sits right there next to us, completely oblivious. When he’s done, he smacks my ass, then rubs his cum along my jean-covered butt and then down between my legs. Grabbing my crotch, he fists his other hand around my pinned-up bun and yanks hard as he leans over to pant in my ear, anticipation in his satisfied tone. “You’re going to be the best fuck. I can’t wait to have you.”
Hayes casually walks over to the sink and washes his cum off his hands before he strolls past me, saying, “I’ll be back later. Better be on your best behavior, Talia.”
As soon as he walks out, I clench my jaw and swallow the words I want to scream in Walt’s ear. He wouldn’t hear them right now anyway. Silent tears stain my cheeks as I race upstairs and strip out of my clothes, stuffing them in an old grocery store bag I find in the corner of my room. Tomorrow I’ll burn the whole thing in the alley and let ashes take my prayers up. Maybe someone will hear. I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone, especially not my aunt.
I can’t get in the shower fast enough or make the water hot enough. I use the entire bottle of liquid soap and scrub my skin raw, trying to wash away the disgusting memory. I want to stay in the shower forever, but I can’t leave Amelia alone much longer. Her show is almost over.
Choking back a sob, I dry my hair, braid and re-pin it, then step into clean clothes and tiptoe back downstairs. Once I sit down at the table like I’d been before, I kick the hell out of Walt’s foot, which sends him flying off the chair and onto the cheap linoleum floor.
“What the fuck?” he roars, jerking upright with his fists clenched.
“You fell asleep,” I say tightly, flipping my pencil toward the chair he’d been passed out on.
Rolling to his feet, he stumbles a little as he straightens, then directs his annoyance at me, his tone accusatory. “My foot hurts, like I was kicked.”
I shrug and look down at my book, my tone snarky to cover the raging anger inside. “Probably slept on it wrong. You’re the one who passed out on a chair.”
“Watch your mouth,” he snaps. Glancing around, he looks at the stove. “What happened to my eggs and toast?”
“You fell asleep.” You failed ME.
“Daddy!” Amelia squeals and comes running into the kitchen, the picture I’d drawn earlier clutched in her hand. “Look what Talia drew. Two Lias! Does your name have those letters too?”
Walt winces and puts his hands to his head. I narrow my gaze and hope it hurts like hell, but the last thing I expect is for him to sweep his hand out and shove Amelia back, growling, “Quit that shrieking.”
As soon as I see Amelia stumble and lose her footing, I jump up to catch her, but I’m not fast enough. She slips past my fingers and hits the side of her head on the table on her way down.
“You’re such an asshole!” I yell at Walt as I bend over Amelia crumpled on the floor, my stomach knotting at the bit of blood I’d seen on the table. When I tilt her chin, I see she’s split her head open. “Are you okay, Amelia? Talk to me.” But she doesn’t flutter her eyes or move at all.
“Is-is she okay?” Walt says from behind me, his voice a bit panicky. “You know I didn’t mean to hurt her. It was an accident.”
Warm blood coats my hand as I touch her head and then her cheek, trying to wake her up. “Amelia, you’re going to be okay, sweetie,” I say and wonder how fast an ambulance can get to our apartment. But the second I touch her chest, and realize it’s not moving up and down, my own breathing halts. My hands shake as I quickly check for a pulse at her throat. Nothing. A wail escapes my lips and my burning lungs finally force me to breathe, but my heart starts to crumble as everything inside me goes numb.
I slowly stand, tingling everywhere at once. I feel like I’m in a slow-moving nightmare. Clenching my hands by my sides, I hammer a fist against my thigh to wake myself up, but all I feel is pain. I turn to Walt and spew my anger. “She’s not breathing!”
“No.” He shakes his head back and forth, his eyes wide as he falls to his knees beside Amelia. “It was an accident. You saw.”
“We need to call an ambulance. Maybe there is something they can do.” I’m shocked by my calm tone, when all I want to do is scream and cry until my throat is raw. I know in my heart that she’s gone. That she’s never going to wake up and smile at me again.
“Not yet.” Walt jerks his gaze to me, and when I realize that I see fear in his eyes and not remorse, unimaginable fury whips inside me. While Walt leans over Amelia and fruitlessly tries to shake her awake, I run into the room next door and grab one of the two plastic containers of Ecstasy sitting on the counter, waiting to be packaged. It’s the largest supply I’d ever seen and the sight of it sickens me.
Returning to the kitchen, I shut the door and scream at Walt as I dump the whole container over his head. “She’s dead. All because you got mixed up with this stuff!”
“What the fuck have you done?” Walt rails, his face turning bright red. Rage engulfs his entire body. He tries to stand, but the pills slide under his feet, making him trip and fall back to his knees.
As he growls his anger, I yell at him, too angry to be fearful. “You’re so weak! You were supposed to cherish and protect her. You promised to protect us,” I finish in a lower hiss.
“Protect you? You little bitch. I don’t even think I can protect you now. Do you have any idea how much money you just destroyed?” He huffs out at the same time he grabs the edge of the table.
“Like you ever protected me. And now I’ve just lost my sister because of these stupid drugs. When the police test your blood, at least someone will finally know the truth and—” My voice cracks but I force myself to continue. “At least Amelia’s death won’t have been for nothing.”
Shaking with fury, Walt slits his gaze, his voice low and deadly. “You’re going to help me clean all this shit up and get rid of it. And then we’ll tell the police that Amelia getting hurt was an accident…which it was.”
I lift my chin higher. “I’m going to tell them to test your blood for drugs.”
When he takes an unsteady step toward me, his foot sliding on the pills, the murderous anger in his eyes finally registers in my brain. I quickly run to the desk in the hallway where I saw him hide a handgun for protection not long after he started working with Hayes.
Grabbing the gun, I hold it up as he approaches, my hands shaking. “Don’t come anywhere near me.”
“You’re not going to shoot me. You’re the one who’s weak,” he sneers. “You’ll do as I say and tell the police what I want you to. Not one thing more! And…then—” he glances around frantically before his gaze snaps back to me, full of clarity. “We’ll kick open the other apartment door, and I’ll tell Hayes someone broke in and got away with half the drugs before I could stop them.”
“Don’t you even care that she’s gone?” My voice quivers as tears blur my vision. I angrily blink them away and tighten my grip on the gun.
“I didn’t mean to hurt Amelia.” He tenses for all of a second, then hardens his jaw, refusing to look down at his daughter. “We’re all dead unless I fix this. Now give me that goddamn gun.”
The moment he lunges and grabs my hands, the gun goes off.
I watch in horror as Walt stumbles back, then falls to his knees, his hands gripping his chest, blood oozing past his fingers from the gaping wound.
As the gunshot continues to reverberate in a shrill high pitch in my ears, Walt collapses on the floor on his side, sightlessly staring at me. Oh God! I killed him. I drop the gun and take a step back, shocked by what just happened. Did I really pull the trigger? I look down and my stomach heaves at the sight of Walt’s blood splattered on my sweatshirt and hands.
Proof of my guilt.
I can’t stay. What if Hayes comes back before my aunt? The thought of facing her is hard enough—she’ll probably hate me for letting something happen to Amelia—but Hayes… I start to shake. He’ll kill me with his bare hands. My gaze lands on the drawing that had slipped from Amelia’s hand when she fell. My shoes slide in Walt’s quickly pooling blood as I step around him and bend down to kiss Amelia’s sweet forehead one last time. Holding back my sobs, I shake the pills off the drawing and carefully fold it.
“Hey, lady. You planning to do some parkour or something?”
The sarcastic comment yanks me back to the present. A young dark-haired teen is standing on the fire escape a floor above my old apartment, staring at me like I’m crazy.
I blink away the sleet on my lashes. I hadn’t even noticed the cold drizzle had switched over. “The ladder can stick. Jiggle it to the right and it’ll slide all the way down.” I don’t acknowledge his surprised look before I turn and head back down the alley.
My gaze snags on the brick I’d pulled out earlier to retrieve my drawing. It’s crooked. That night as I climbed down the fire escape, the sky opened up. I put the drawing behind the brick to keep it dry. Stepping up to the wall beside the Dumpster, I reset the brick more firmly in place. This hiding spot has kept a happy memory safe for me all these years. What I wouldn’t give to be able to shove all the bad memories inside that same hole and lock them away forever.
I glance across the alley and close my eyes, my stomach churning. I try not to think about everything that happened that night, but the guilt rises up regardless. That hole isn’t large enough for my sins. There’s a twisted part of me Sebastian has never seen, and as far as I’m concerned he never will.
Opening my eyes, I take a breath and pat the brick once more, then walk back up the alley. “I’m ready to go now, Den.”
“Did you get what you came for?” he asks softly, seemingly unaffected by the cold.
I slide out of his coat and hand it to him. “Thank you. Yes, I got what I came for.” And I relived memories I wish I hadn’t.
When Den settles into the seat beside me and we drive off, I watch the building fade in the distance. Over the years I’d convinced myself that all the good I’d done had meant something. That I’m not really a bad person. Coming back was a gut-wrenching reminder that my past actions can never be overridden. Like dust under a rug, they’ll remain hidden but always present. But having someone else there quietly in the background—who won’t pressure me for answers—gave me the courage to finally face my demons. The memories still hurt like hell, but it was worth it to retrieve a physical reminder of Amelia when she was happy. I hate that her features are fading from my memory. At least now I’ll have something of hers to hold onto and remember her by.