Before we were together.
Before my husband died.
Horrible, sickening sensations slither through my belly as I remember that day. All of my thoughts and emotions are tangled together with my feelings of grief over Clay’s death. My guilt over my inappropriate feelings toward Rock at the time.
I end up not hearing much of the two-hour class.
In a hurry to leave afterward, I don’t bother to say goodbye to Damon. He’s surrounded by sycophant attorneys peppering him with questions, and I don’t have the patience to get in line.
I want to go home and crawl into bed.
To my utter confusion, I find Rock waiting outside for me, casually leaning up against my car. His gaze flicks up and down the street, keeping an eye out for me, I assume.
Is this a coincidence?
Whatever it is, I’m already so rattled from the Tony Cain sighting that the first thing I do is snap at Rock. “What the hell are you doing here?”
A frown settles over his face as he turns to look at me.
“What’s wrong, Hope?”
No, I’m not going to be dissuaded by his handsome face or his sexy damn mouth. “Why are you here?”
He cocks his head as if it’s an absurd question. “I wanted to see you.”
“How did you know I was here?”
He pauses. Something flashes in his eyes, but I can’t fathom what it is.
Finally, he reaches out and pulls me to him. “Your calendar,” he answers.
My head is aware this can’t be true, but my body is distracted by his lips on mine. Before I can question him further, I’m wrapped in his arms, snuggled against him. The lingering bad feelings from the lecture melt away as I take shelter in his arms.
“Rock?”
We’re rudely interrupted, and I jump back. It finally dawns on me how embarrassing it is to be making out with my boyfriend when about forty of my colleagues are about to empty out of the building behind me.
Why do I have so little self-control around him?
The unease on Rock’s face surprises me. I’ve never seen him look uneasy in any situation.
I turn to see who interrupted us, and almost fall down when I realize it’s Tony Cain. His eyes skip right over me as his mouth breaks into a grin. They perform a manly handshake ritual that suggests a certain familiarity. The kind of handshake people who know each other in a personal, friendly way do, immediately setting off alarm bells in my head.
“Hey, Tony. How are you?” Rock asks evenly.
“Good, man, just got done teaching a class. What the hell are you doing down here?”
Rock jerks his chin in my direction, and Tony finally glances over. He’s having trouble placing me. I haven’t seen the guy in at least two years, so that’s not surprising. The Capital Region is, after all, crawling with attorneys.
Finding some glimmer of professionalism, I stick out my hand. “Hope Kendall. I just took your class, Mr. Cain.”
Now he seems to recognize me, and his gaze darts back to Rock.
“Nice to see you again, Ms. Kendall. I hope you got a lot out of the class.”
“Oh, absolutely,” I answer with a straight face. “It’s been quite an education.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tony motherfucking Cain.
Fuck me.
Of all the times to run into my childhood friend, now is the least appropriate. Hope seems ready to murder my ass, and I am not looking forward to the questions she’s going to fire at me the second we’re alone.
He slaps me on the shoulder. “Call me so we can catch up. Things are good?”
I nod. “Yeah, things are good.” Or they were good until this whole situation happened.
We wrap up our conversation, and as he walks away, Hope starts edging toward her car. Away from me. From where I’m standing, I see she’s shaking.
This time, it’s not from desire. Not even fear.
It’s rage. I see it in her wide green eyes that are drilling into me with a million accusations.
“Hope—”
“Don’t,” she spits out.
I didn’t have the good sense to park my bike in front of her car this time. She’s inside and gunning the engine within seconds. Deciding this isn’t the best place for a scene, I let her go.
But I’m not far behind.
I track her down at her office. Thankfully, it looks like Adam is gone for the day. I don’t have a key for the back entrance, so I jog down the front steps and ring the bell. I end up leaning on it for quite a while before Hope’s furious face appears on the other side of the glass.
The door swings open, and she lets me in.
Well, really, I push my way in. “Let me explain.”
She folds her arms over her chest and takes a step back. “How do you know Tony?” She shoots at me.
“We grew up together. He lived down the street from me.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Her voice zips up a few octaves. “Why was he prosecuting your case?”
I shrug, not quite sure how to explain. I’ve given her a vague outline, that I fired her as my attorney publicly so the Vipers would lose interest in her. I never got into the fact that Tony rigged the case at my request. After everything we’ve gone through since then, it seemed pointless to go into the whole mess.
“Hope—”
“Tell me something. Did Tony renege on the deal because you asked him to?”
“Yes.”
She blows out an irritated breath. “Do you know how many times I used to go over that whole horrible day in my head? Wondering what I did wrong? How I fucked it up so royally bad that you had an excuse to fire me on the spot in front of everyone? You know I stopped practicing criminal law because of that day?”
Shit. “I know, honey. I’m sorry. I told you—”
“Yeah. You told me about the war with your rival and cutting ties with me. I get that part. I didn’t realize you were responsible for tanking the deal, though. I didn’t realize the whole damn situation was a set up. I still doubt myself all the time because of that. Shit.” She focuses her eyes on me, and they’re so full of pain I caused, I can’t stand it.
“Hope. I asked him to help. Originally, I’d asked him to dismiss the whole thing so it would look good for you and give your practice a little boost.”
That was perhaps the very worst thing I could have said, because she goes nuclear. “Do you think my career is some sort of fucking game? Who the fuck do you think you are?”
I thought I’d seen every side of Hope by now. I thought I’d seen her angry before. I was dead wrong.
“My God, all this time, I thought I did something wrong. Missed something big. On top of that, I had all that fucking guilt and shame because of my feelings for you. But it was nothing more than some elaborate game of chess for you and Tony. Holy shit, am I stupid. Did you guys have a good laugh when you were done?”
“Hope, it wasn’t like that at all. I hated doing that to you. I—”
“Get out.”
“Hope—”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out. I can’t even look at you, let alone listen to any more of the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, Rock. Get out.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. The last thing I want to do is leave, but she’s only getting more enraged and not willing to listen to reason.
“Okay, we’ll talk later.”
“No. We won’t.”
She slams the door behind me hard enough to rattle the glass.
Fuck.
I’m shaking so hard after I finally get Rock to leave that I stumble. Kicking off my heels and hurling them down the hallway doesn’t make me feel any better. I manage to stagger into my office before I dissolve into a puddle of tears. Deep, ragged sobs tear out of my chest. I’m so damn hurt and confused. I sink onto the floor and replay that day in my head. The bits I haven’t blocked out. Rock giving me shit the day before about the one year of probation. Tony giving me that long lecture about
Rock’s motorcycle gang.
All of it gimmicks and lies.
I snort at the irony of Tony Cain being just as much of a crook as Rock. I gotta admit, my faith in the criminal justice system and my entire profession has taken a huge hit today.
Give my practice a boost. More like some scheme to get in my pants. Damn, I’m an idiot.
Christ, were those charges even real to begin with? Or was it more manipulation to “help” my career? I remember the day outside of family court when Winter’s ex assaulted me. One of the cops knew Rock pretty damn well.
Rock has friends everywhere.
After the tears stop, I realize what’s driving my anger is how humiliated and stupid I feel.
That’s going to take some time to get over.
It seems like forever before I finally pick myself up off the floor. A quick step in the hallway and I retrieve my shoes. I sit behind my desk and enter in my CLE credits so I don’t forget about them when the time comes to renew my license. The sound of the front door opening startles me.
I swear to God if it’s fucking Rock, I’m going to choke him out.
Why didn’t I remember to lock the damn door?
I was too busy having my pride stomped on by a pair of size thirteen steel-toed boots, that’s why.
Since I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s Rock, I don’t bother slipping my shoes back on. Instead, I tear ass into the hallway.
“Rock, I can’t deal with this now. You need—”
It’s Mr. Greybell.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, Mr. Greybell. I thought you were someone else.”
He cocks his head, and his eyes roam over me in a distinctly creepy manner I don’t care for. He stops at my bare feet. The intensity of his gaze makes me wiggle my toes into the flat, industrial carpet.
“Uh, Adam isn’t here right now.”
His eyes finally leave my feet, but travel back up my legs before answering.
“That’s okay. I came to see you.”
“Me?”
“I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me.”
I bite down on the tip of my tongue to stop the “hell fucking no” from escaping. The guy creeps me out something fierce, but I don’t want to be rude. “Oh, Mr. Greybell, that’s very nice of you to ask, but I think I mentioned I have a boyfriend.”
A boyfriend I am dearly wishing I hadn’t chased away at the moment. Where is his overbearing, caveman ass when I need it?
Hope’s screams of “get the fuck out” keep echoing in my head, yet here I am, still sitting out in the parking lot. Waiting for her. I tell myself it’s only to make sure she gets home okay since she’s so upset. Hell, maybe that’s even the reason. Who knows?
I do know that the flimsy building did a lousy job of concealing the sounds of her crying after I left. Her gut-wrenching sobs nearly tore me apart as I stood with my back against the wall of the building and listened. Everything in me said to go comfort her, but the small part of my brain that actually functions knew it was a bad idea.
So, I wait. She quieted down after a while, and I went and sat on my bike next to her car. The spot gives me a prime view of the back entrance to the building, so I can spot her as soon as she comes out. Maybe we’ll talk when she leaves. Maybe she’ll yell at me some more. Maybe I’ll just end up following her home to make sure she gets there okay. I don’t know.
I should have seen this coming. She’s told me plainly that she wants to hear the truth from me. Many times. There’s a lot of fucking truths I can’t give her. I could have given her this one.
Honestly, it never occurred to me.
Tony and I grew up together, sure. We keep in touch. We have a precise sort of give-and-take relationship. Sometimes we reminisce about the old days. Although we’ve got history, we’re polite, distant friends. He’s not someone I’d ever call “brother.” That title is reserved for my fellow Kings. When I need to call in a favor with Tony, it definitely costs me.
I don’t trust him with my life.
The fact that Hope still wrestles with that day burns me. I had no damn clue. That she’s still suffering some guilt and grief about our relationship and her husband’s death doesn’t surprise me. That she connects all of it together does.
My explanations for my behavior apparently only went so far. I’m really not sure how to fix this.
A short, sharp scream interrupts my thoughts, and my head snaps up. My eyes focus on the building, as if that’s going to help me hear what’s going on inside any better. A crash and another short scream. Definitely Hope.
The fuck?
I tear ass to the front of the building, where there’s a sedan parked right in front, blocking the entire driveway. No fucking way for me to see it from where I’d been waiting. Rushing down the stairs, I muscle through the door, then pause.
“Mr. Greybell? Did you hear me? I appreciate your invitation, but I have a boyfriend. I actually need to meet him in a few minutes.” Somehow my fear makes that lie come out very smooth.
Greybell is freaking me out with his blank stare and stiff posture. He seems to be contemplating something. I’m not sure what. Most likely I’d rather not know. Without tipping him off, I glance at my desk, trying to spot my cell phone. Not there. Did I leave it in my briefcase? I don’t have a phone at my desk, and I can’t easily make it into Adam’s office.
After staring at me for much too long, he slips his hand in his pocket, withdrawing a folded up piece of paper.
“I wanted to give you this,” he says with a slightly unhinged laugh.
“What is it?”
He holds it out to me, but I don’t really want to get any closer to him. Instead, I edge back into my office. My briefcase is on the floor, propped up against the side of my desk. I’m almost positive that’s where my phone is.
Holding up one finger, I say, “Give me one second, David.”
I dash into my office, plunging my hand into the outside pocket of my briefcase. Just as my fingers curl around my phone, David wraps his hand around my arm, yanking me to my feet.
“Ow! Get off me!” I screech at the top of my lungs. For once, I’m grateful for the shitty soundproofing in this old building. Someone upstairs should be able to hear me screaming.
“Shh. Shh. I just want to talk to you. I wrote this for you.”
Why did I have to be so damn nice to this asshole? I should have thrown him out.
For a slender guy, he’s got an iron grip on my arm. He yanks me and then slams me into my desk. The front of my thighs dig painfully into the lip of my desk. My breasts and face are mashed into the hard wooden surface. I wish I kept my desk neater. There is definitely a ballpoint pen poking into my boob. I just know it’s going to leave a mark, ruining my shirt.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Greybell slides a piece of paper next to my face. My cheek is pressed so tight against the desk it’s hard to form words.
“It’s kind of hard to read from this position, Mr. Greybell.”
He doesn’t seem bothered by my sarcasm.
“It’s a poem I wrote for you.”
Oh geezus.
I’m not sure what he plans to do with me. I’m not even sure if he has a plan. Despite the obscene position he’s forced me into, he hasn’t touched me inappropriately.
Who am I kidding? Appropriate left the building a couple minutes ago.
This guy needs psychiatric help. Like, locked up away from society kind of help. Locked up far away from me type of help.
Harmless my ass. I’m going to kill Adam when I see him.
I realize I’m making a whining noise. “Please stop, you’re hurting me.” The begging quality to my voice really ticks me off.
He bends over me, pressing me even more painfully into the desk. I don’t even want to contemplate what is prodding my ass. If I ignore it, maybe it will go away.
God dammit. Haven’t I been bitching to Rock repeatedly that I can take care of myself? Why am I letting this skinny little
wacko do this to me? He doesn’t seem to have a weapon. Didn’t I take a self defense class once upon a time? The memory of which body parts to hit is fuzzy. Maybe that’s lack of oxygen.
Foot stomp—yeah, that was definitely one of the spots.
Damn, if only I had my shoes on.
I make an attempt to stomp on his instep, but it’s futile. I can’t get enough leverage to raise my foot and end up banging my knee into the metal side of the desk and hurting my foot. For all my trouble, I don’t even think he even noticed.
A noise reaches my ear. Someone’s in the office.
Please let it be Rock.
I’m so, so sorry for yelling at him. I hate that if I never see him again, that’s how we left things.
No!
“Get off me!” I scream with renewed purpose. At the same time, I throw my elbow back and connect with his soft gut. He jumps back enough for me to wriggle free.
Then Rock is there, throwing Greybell to the floor.
“Rock! Thank God!”
I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life.
Pulling the pistol out of the holster at my back takes a second. I flip off the safety and hold the gun at my side.
A thump. Sounds like a struggle.
Hope’s voice. “Please stop, you’re hurting me.”
I see motherfucking red.
It takes every ounce of control I possess not to storm down the hallway and murder whoever made my girl say that.
All sorts of thoughts go through me.
Viper? How’d they connect me to Hope? Why here? Why now?
One of the guys from the fight?
Fuck.
Does she have a tarp I can wrap the body in? Because there is no way this motherfucker is walking out of here alive. All these things race through my head as I inch down the hallway. Adam’s office is dark, but light pours into the hall from Hope’s office. Shadows waver over the carpet.
Corrupting Cinderella Page 21
