Unable to take it anymore, I broke down and went to her apartment. As I climbed the four flights of stairs I cursed her for not renting in a place with an elevator. The cold wind seemed to rip right through the building. I didn’t understand why she lived the way she did. I could tell she was a rich girl from the beginning.

She might be working as an assistant, but she had money. Growing up as a scholarship kid in a place filled with kids of the rich and famous, you got pretty good at identifying who was like us and who was like them. The money she tried to hide radiated off her and she couldn’t hide it under no label clothes and bags. Everything from the way she spoke and carried herself to how enjoyable she found the mundane told me she was taking her first jaunt outside of the playground she’d grown up in.

When she first came to me I wanted to use her like I’d been used. She was using me for information and I was more than happy to use her right back. Use her in ways she couldn’t imagine and would love every minute of. She had enjoyed herself, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, so had I. She wasn’t like every other nameless fuck I’d had over the years. Her moans, cries, and begging chipped away at something in me. Something I’d locked up a long time ago.

And now I saw how my father twisted everything in my life for his own benefit. To carry out his own vendetta and I’d fallen for it. I’d used her like he used my mom. Broken something in her like he had my mother. It nearly brought me to my knees to know that after all this time, as hard as I’d tried not to become him, that was exactly what I was. A phone call to the parole board in California confirmed what I suspected. He didn’t have permission to travel to New York and he’d already missed three of his probation officer meetings back in California. I was only sad I wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing his face when those bars closed behind him for the last time. But there was so much more I needed to fix.

I needed to find her. I needed to find her now. I knocked on her door and Dahlia, her resting bitch face firmly in place, answered the door. The daggers in her eyes added another layer to my guilt. Apparently, the face was no longer resting, it was a fully animated bitch face.

“What do you want?” she demanded, blocking my way.

“I’m here to see Rachel.”

“She’s gone,” she said, glancing behind her. I wasn’t going to let Rachel hide from me.

“Then I’ll wait,” I said.

“You’re going to be waiting a long time because she’s not here.”

“Dahlia, if you just let me speak to her. Let me explain. I can…I can explain it to her.”

“You can explain nothing to her because she’s not here,” she said, like she was speaking to a small child.

I wasn’t going to let her stand in my way. I shouldered past her and into the apartment.

“Hey,” she said as I made it past her. Nothing looked out of place, everything was still here. “I said, ‘she’s gone’.”

“If she’s gone, then why is all her stuff here?” I said, gritting my teeth.

“Because she left it. She gave me a check for the rest of the lease and took her purse and left. Said she needed to get out of here fast. I’m guessing that has something to do with you,” she said, her arms crossed over her chest.

“She left everything?” It didn’t make sense. I burst into her room, throwing open her closet. Everything was still there, every hanger, every sneaker and shoe, all sitting at the bottom of her closet. And then I looked at her dresser. Who moved out and didn’t even take their clothes? Then I saw it or better yet, saw what was missing. The music box. It was gone. I still remembered how happy she was, winding it up and telling me the story.

“I never go anywhere without it.” And then it hit me. She was really gone.

“I told you. She’s gone. Best friend I’ve ever had and you chased her out of the fucking city,” she said, tears in her eyes, and her voice wobbled through her gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry, Dahlia. I’m more sorry than you can know. If…If she gets in touch with you can you just let her know I’m sorry and I’d like to talk to her.”

“Get out,” she said, stabbing her finger at the front door. I left, even more adrift than when I’d come. I needed to find her. I called in every person I had and Frankie too to help me find her. That was where the mystery got deeper. I couldn’t exactly go to Rhys and ask him for her hiring papers. I had her name, but all the searches came up with no one who matched her. She’d used a fake name. Perhaps I underestimated her. Did I really know this woman at all? I thought she was a little rabbit stuck in my trap, but maybe I’d been a bigger part of hers.

* * *

I staked out her apartment, and no one other than Dahlia came in or out. Even though she wasn’t there, I wanted to be a little closer to her. A few nights later, I saw Dahlia out on the street. Her hands tucked into her pockets as she stomped down the street in heels so high I didn’t know how she balanced on them. Everything about her screamed don’t come near me, but I’d never been good at doing what other people wanted.

“Dahlia, I need to talk to you,” I said. She jumped and wobbled on her feet. I reached out to steady her and she ripped her arms away from me.

“Don’t touch me,” she shouted, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground. My lip was split open, again. Warm liquid was covering my face when I realized I was bleeding. Someone screamed, but my vision was so blurry I couldn’t even tell who. My bell was completely rung. Next thing I knew I was in the air, picked up by my coat.

“Put him down,” someone shouted. My vision cleared and I was face to face with the man from the gallery opening. His face was a mask of rage. Dahlia tugged on his arm to try to get him to put me down, but even leaning her whole body into it he didn’t budge one bit. He wasn’t even wearing a coat in the freezing, nearly midnight air. My blood dripped down into his hands.

“Ivan, put him down. Please,” she said, pleading. He glanced over his shoulder at her. She had tears in her eyes and only then did he loosen his grip. I slid out of his grasp and stumbled, trying to catch myself on the ground. I righted myself and the heated conversation with Ivan drifted to my ears. He stomped off, but not before glancing back at me and letting me know just what he promised to do if I screwed with her ever again. I held my hands up in surrender. I didn’t intend on doing anything to Dahlia.

“I just wanted to talk,” I called after him. He just shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged off.

“Fuck. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, motioning for me to follow her. When we got back to their apartment it was the same feeling I got before. Rachel was gone. Whatever warmth and smell that existed when she was here was long gone.

Dahlia came back with a first aid kit. She snapped on a pair of black rubber gloves and cleaned my cut with alcohol. I winced and sucked in a sharp breath as she aggressively cleaned my wound. It felt like she was taking more pleasure in this act than she should when she cracked a smile at my discomfort. I took a deep breath. It was now or never. I didn’t think she wanted me to bleed all over the apartment or get her giant friend in trouble, so now was my chance to speak, with a captive audience.

“Do you know where she is?” I asked, clasping my hands together in front of me.

“Do you mean Rachel? The woman who you screwed over to destroy the life of a man who’s practically a saint? That ‘she’?” she asked, angrily jabbing at my cut with some gauze. I winced again, taking it. I deserved it. I deserved it and so much more.

“Yes, that’s who. I need to know, Dahlia. I need to know where she is. That she’s okay.”

She whipped out some butterfly bandages and started taping me back together.

“I don’t know where Rachel is.” The way she said it was funny.

“Is she safe? How can I get in touch with her?”

“I can’t tell you. She sent me a message a little while ago to let me know she’s safe.” She stared down at the bloody gauze in her hand. “You destroyed her, Killian.”

“I know,” I said, hanging my head. I knew. I knew the moment I walked into that office that I was trying to hurt her. Prove that I could put my ‘family’ first. The sonofabitch.

And I was scared. I wanted to hurt her before she could hurt me, but that backfired. More like left me a charred mess sitting in the middle of the ruins of my life.

“I had my reasons.” She glanced up, glaring at me. “Reasons that don’t justify anything, but reasons she’d probably like to hear.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that one. I’m pretty sure she’s not coming back and if she did, she wouldn’t want anything to do with you.”

I’m sure she wouldn’t. Who would? My reputation preceded me and there weren’t too many people who wanted to get mixed up with me at this point. But I needed to talk to her. I needed to explain everything. I needed her.