by Katie May
“Anything for you,” he replies quietly. His expression clears—as if he had only now realized he had said too much, given too much away—and he nods his head in acknowledgment once more. “I’ll be back.”
With that gruff statement, he exits the office, slamming the door shut behind him.
Alone at last, I take the time to appreciate the room I’m in. Surprisingly enough, the room is devoid of any memorabilia. The white walls are vacant—no framed pictures, no college degrees ready to be flaunted, no decorations. The desk itself has a closed laptop, a bundle of papers, and two folders. No picture frames. No weird pig heads or whatever the hell professors use to decorate their desks. There’s a coat rack in the corner displaying a leather jacket, and I notice with mild curiosity that the sleeve is ripped. He’ll need a new coat when the winter weather progresses from gentle flurries to snow storms.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I drop the blanket and hurry towards his desk. The last thing I’ll do is go through his drawers—talk about an invasion of privacy—but I allow my eyes to wander over the papers on his desk. Essays. Tests. And…
Pictures?
Against my better judgement, I open the folder all the way, eyes fixed on the picture halfway hanging out.
No, not a picture.
A drawing.
It appears to be a young woman. Dark hair cascading in loose curls around her face, eyes bright with excitement, lips curled up as if she’s prepared to tell a secret. My finger trace her gorgeous, dewy face, almost as if I can feel her. The drawing is incredibly life-like.
Who is this girl?
And why is Roman drawing her?
I can’t deny the sting of jealousy mixing with the initial curiosity.
I sift through the pictures, each one intricately detailed. There are a few landscapes, one that appears to show an old couple sitting in the park, but the majority are of this young, beautiful woman.
Until I reach the ones shoved into the back of the folder.
My breath catches, and I rub my finger over the magnificent, life-like drawing. It comes away dusted with gray.
The drawing must’ve been done recently.
The woman’s hair is dark and curled away from her face. Her lips are pulled into a sensual smirk, plush and full. But it’s her eyes that give me pause. They’re...haunted. This is a girl who has faced more demons than she could count.
And it’s also me.
Feeling like an asshole for betraying his trust and snooping around his office, I slam the folder closed and move back to the couch.
Roman’s...drawing me. I have no doubt those skilled drawings were done by his hand. And who’s the other girl? An ex-girlfriend? Current girlfriend? Wife? The thought settles in my stomach like a ball of lead. It’s physically painful.
Breathing deeply, I reach down to grab my blanket just as the office door opens once more. I look up with a surprisingly timid smile, but the smile fades when I realize Roman isn’t alone. His face is tight, muscles clenched. When he notices my confused and wary look, he smiles softly.
Standing beside him are two police officers. Both are in their mid-forties, overweight with a receding hairline. They glare at me, and the one on the left takes a step into the office.
“Mallie FaCent?” he asks.
“Yes?” My voice quivers, and once more I glance at Roman, wondering if he knows what the hell is going on. He purses his lips.
“Can you come with me, please?” The officer takes another step closer, and I move to my feet.
“What’s going on?”
“Just come with us,” the second officer replies, stoned-face. “You’re not in trouble. We just need to ask you a few questions.”
I hear what he doesn’t say. You’re not in trouble yet.
“What’s this about?” I ask with a confidence I sure as fuck don’t feel.
“We’ll explain when we get to the station,” Officer One says snidely. “Now, are you going to come willingly, or do I have to force you?”
I’m trembling, overcome by a fear I can’t quite put into words.
“She’ll come,” Roman cuts in briskly. He flashes me a warning look I can’t decipher. All I know is that I’m fucked. And not in the good way. “And as her lawyer, I’ll be accompanying her too.”
“Lawyer?” I screech. What the fuck would require me to have a lawyer?
Officers One and Two exchange grim looks before gesturing me to walk in front of them. Roman takes a step beside me, and I don’t even bother asking him about his classes today. I can’t think of anything coherent actually.
One word reverberates in my head like an annoying song on repeat. You know the type. One they always play on the radio that makes you want to stab out your eyes with a rusty metal spoon.
Fuck.
Chapter 5
I’ve never been to a police station before.
Hell, I’m pretty sure I have an irrational fear of these brick buildings. Gerald was adamant that I needed to stay clear of them. And Jared? He repeatedly told me that cops were corrupted, incapable of saving me.
A real joy, my husband.
As I pull open the heavy door, I can’t help but note how similar it is to the police stations I see in movies. There are numerous cubicles visible through two windows stacked in a vertical alignment on a second door. Directly in front of me sits a single receptionist desk where a young woman types on a computer. She’s dressed in the standard blue uniform, blond hair slicked back into a high ponytail.
She nods at Officers One and Two.
“Griffin,” she addresses Officer One before turning to Two. “Moder.”
The two men nod back respectfully before leading me through the door, past the cubicles, and into a simple white room. A large glass mirror expands the length of the left wall, and a single table with two chairs sits directly in the center of the room. It’s there the men lead me, waiting for me to sit down before sitting across from me. Well, Griffin sits. Moder stands behind him looking intimidating as fuck with his bulky arms crossed. Roman stands behind me, but I don’t dare avert my attention from the two police officers to gauge his reaction.
A fucking interrogation room.
Icy dread skates down my back, and my hands fist.
“What’s going on?” I ask at last.
For a long moment, no one answers. Griffin and Moder continue to stare at me, expressions calculative.
“So, what did you do last night?” Moder asks with feigned casualness. My brows furrow.
What did I do last night?
“I went to the club to go dancing. Then I left and went to school.” My face flames when I remember how Roman found me...huddled on the bench, snow flurries melting in my dark hair, and my hands blue.
Moder and Griffin both nod slowly, the action almost synchronized. Before they can question me again, the door to the interrogation room opens and a third man walks in, shutting the door softly behind him.
My breath catches, but I quickly try to school my features.
The new arrival is gorgeous. He has dark, sepia skin that almost seems to shine in the artificial lighting. Broad shoulders lead down to a tapered waist and thick, muscular legs. He’s not as large as Byron—that man’s a giant—but he’s bigger than Phillip and even Roman. The blue uniform accentuates his muscles.
Moder and Griffin keep their faces impassive, almost as if they were expecting him, except for the slightest tightening of their eyes in annoyance.
“Sorry I’m late,” the new man says easily. He flashes me a blinding smile and extends a hand. “I’m Officer Deluca. You must be Mallie.”
I take his proffered hand hesitantly. So this man is obviously the good cop to Moder’s and Griffin’s bad cop. Noted.
Turning from me, Deluca flashes another smile at Moder. “Why don’t you grab a second chair for...Mrs. FaCent’s friend.” He eyes Roman pointedly.
“Lawyer,” Roman corrects.
Moder glares at the handsome cop before moving out of the roo
m. He returns a moment later with two folding chairs under either arm. He hands one to Roman, gaze scathing, before handing the other to Deluca.
After we’re all situated around the table, Moder choosing once more to stand, Griffin continues his interrogation with a vengeance.
“So you were at a club last night,” he says, leaning back in the chair and steepling his hands together. Honestly, the man is so fat I’m afraid the chair’s going to fall back all the way and break.
“Correct, sir,” I respond. He reaches into his pocket and grabs out a small notepad and pen.
“What’s the name again?”
I answer him, but my mind has wandered.
What the everloving fuck is going on?
My mind reels, desperately trying to catch up. I’m afraid my head is going to explode from the lack of information.
Roman, apparently on the same wavelength as me, cuts in, “Can you tell us what this is about?”
Deluca casts a glare towards the two officers, as if pissed they hadn’t explained sooner, before turning to me with a sad smile.
“You’re not in any trouble. I’m sorry, ma’am. I assumed the other two had told you. At approximately two AM this morning, Jared FaCent was found murdered in his home. His daughter, your step-daughter, Aurora was attacked as well. She’s in a coma. I’m so sorry you had to find out like this.” He continues speaking, continues offering his condolences, but I have gone numb. My heart shatters inside my chest, cleaving me in two.
Jared. Dead.
Aurora. Coma.
My brain is only capable of saying one word at a time. Thinking one thought. There is a distant roaring in my ears, almost like I’m standing in front of the ocean. I can’t process anything, my stomach and mind both somersaulting.
Jared.
Dead.
Aurora.
Coma.
I’m distantly aware of Roman putting a hand on my shoulder, the touch more platonic and comforting than sexual. Deluca is leaning forward, eyes bright with concern.
Moder and Griffin watch me silently, expressions impossible to read.
Finally, finally, I find my voice. It’s rough and scratchy, as if I’ve been screaming with my mouth closed.
“What…” I break off. “What happened?”
Should I cry? Scream?
It’s my husband they’re talking about, but I only feel numb. I’m plunged headfirst into icy water desperate for a pocket of air, slowly losing feeling in my arms and legs.
“I’m sorry to tell you—” Deluca begins, but Griffin cuts him off. The scary man leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. Everything about him is intense and terrifying.
I suddenly wish Roman kept his hand on me. I need his strength and comfort. I need him in a way I never allowed myself to need anyone before.
“So you have witnesses to confirm your story about the club?” Griffin holds my gaze steadily.
“Yes! Of course! My best friend was there, as well as…” I gulp, fidgeting, before continuing, “Byron and Phillip.”
Griffin asks me their last names, and then asks me to tell him exactly what happened in the club. I repeat how I went with Nat before she left me to go flirt with the bartender. I hesitate, only briefly, before telling them about my sensual dance with Phillip and Byron. I have nothing to hide, and I hope my cooperation proves that.
Roman goes rigid beside me, and something akin to jealousy flashes in his dark gaze. When he catches me looking, he smooths his features over with a subtle nod of his head.
“A witness claims that you got into an altercation with Aurora FaCent. Is that true?” Moder asks.
Deluca’s lips purse, but he waits for me to respond with bated breath. Taking a deep breath of my own, I nod slowly.
“I guess. She has a crush on Phillip and was mad that I danced with him. She threatened to tell Jared.”
“And that would be bad, correct?” Griffin cuts in. There’s something malicious in his smile. Shark-like. Prowling these oceans in desperate need of blood.
I swallow, remaining silent.
I may not want to be a lawyer, but I’m not stupid. These men…
They think I murdered my husband and attempted to kill my step-daughter.
“Is it true that your husband beats you?” Moder asks without preamble. He taps a pen against his lips, eyes predatory.
“How is that relevant?” Roman cuts in with an angry glare.
Both Moder and Griffin shrug.
“We’re just talking,” Griffin replies at last.
“As my client told you, she went straight from the club to the school. I can vouch for that myself,” Roman adds snidely. I’ve never seen my meticulously groomed professor so disheveled. His eyes flare brightly with barely contained anger.
“And what time did you see her?” Moder counters. “Around six or seven in the morning, correct? And if Mallie’s telling the truth, she left the club in the middle of the night. So what was she doing during that time?” He sounds like the fucking cat who ate the canary.
How can this be happening?
My hands are shaking, grief and fear warring within me. I don’t know why I’m grieving my abuser, only that I am. Emotions are never logical.
“I told you the truth. I went straight to the school and slept on the bench.”
“Because you didn’t want to go home?” Deluca pipes up for the first time in awhile, expression sympathetic.
I nod slowly, gauging his sincerity.
“Yes.”
“Because your husband scares you?” he adds.
This time, I nod without verbal confirmation.
“If you need any more proof, the school has security cameras,” Roman butts in with a scalding glare. “I know for a fact there’s at least two pointed towards the square where I found my client.”
Deluca nods his head eagerly, almost as if he’s happy there’s proof to back up my claim, but Moder and Griffin remain unconvinced.
“We’ll check it out,” Moder says reluctantly.
Another tense, electricity-charged silence settles over the room.
“Now, are you arresting my client?” Roman asks, and I shoot him a wide-eyed stare. What the fuck is he doing? When he remains facing straight ahead, tight-lipped, I turn back towards the officers.
Deluca’s glancing at Moder and Griffin, and the two older officers appear almost despondent.
“No…” Moder begins, but before he can finish, Roman jumps to his feet and extends a hand to help me up.
“If that’s all, then we’ll be going.”
I once more volley my gaze between Roman and the cops, unsure what the fuck is happening. Trusting Roman, I allow him to lead me out of the interrogation room and back to the receptionist area. The blond officer smiles and nods at Roman, no doubt recognizing him, before we’re blasted by the chilly air.
“What’s going on?” I whimper, wrapping my arms around myself. Goosebumps have appeared on my skin, though I don’t know if it’s because of what I just heard or the cold weather. The sunlight belies how cold the day has become.
Jared is dead.
That revelation settles heavily in my gut like a bowling ball.
“Not yet,” Roman hisses, pulling me onto the street. He drove separately from me and the cops, and his car is parked on the curb. He opens the door for me before settling into the driver’s side. He immediately cranks the heat on full blast, breathing on his hands to conquer the chill.
Expression blank, he turns to face me.
“You’re going to tell me everything that happened, Mal. And I mean everything.”
Chapter 6
I remember when Jared beat me so badly I was forced to hide in my room for weeks. My skin was a canvas of bruises, some an onyx black and others a light blue. A few were still green and yellow. I had been married to my husband for only a year, and it was the first time he had nearly cost me my life.
But it wasn’t the first time he’d hit me.
Body
stiff and aching, I moved mechanically around the manor. Sweeping, dusty, ironing. The perfect housewife.
Everything hurt. It felt like I was shoved head first through a meat grinder. But the pain was tolerable, and I knew from experience that complaining would only intensify Jared’s anger. I kept my lips pressed together, teeth gritted, and continued to work diligently. Once in awhile, Jared would follow around behind me like an annoying, relentless shadow. His eyes would slice through my clothes and strip me bare. And his hands…
They didn’t just hit me. Revulsion skirted through my veins with each stroke of his finger, each caress.
But I let him, and I didn’t complain.
I didn’t know which of us I hated more.
It was during that time I first met Phillip. He was nineteen and had just graduated high school. Aurora, at the time, was dating his roommate, and Phillip was dating some chick named Lindsey.
When they ambled into the kitchen, Aurora purposefully ignoring me and my existence, I felt the world stop. One glance into Phillip’s dark eyes, and something deep inside of me clicked into place. It wasn’t just mutual attraction thrumming between us like a live, electrical wire. It was almost understanding. He saw me and understood me in a way no one else ever had before.
When the others retreated to the living room, he crouched beside me. His hand rested on my bare shoulder, the only part of my body that wasn’t bruised, and tears filled his eyes.
“Let me help you,” he whispered. “I’m going to do whatever I can to save you. To free you.” Approaching footsteps had him scrambling to his feet, and his expression contorted from sympathetic to dismissive. When Jared returned, ushering me to my feet and to his bedroom, I could feel Phillip’s eyes burning a hole in my back. The fury he emitted was almost tangible.
He dumped his girlfriend the next week.
And I, stupidly, believed his promise to save me.
I waited. The weeks dragging on. The minutes lengthening.
But no help came from the tattooed prince. He continued to show up at my house, offering me teasing touches and heated glances, but never once did he fight the beast.
I knew, then, that I had to kill my monster myself.
