by Katie May
I tell Roman everything.
Everything.
His jaw is clenched so tightly I’m afraid it’ll break. I gloss over my past as a Dragon’s Girl, especially when Roman inhales sharply. It’s no secret that Gerald, my old pimp, had no qualms about forcing underage girls to work.
Say, a thirteen year old runaway.
That story is best saved for a different day.
When I describe the abuse, Roman’s eyes flash so darkly I would worry for Jared’s life...if he wasn’t already dead.
“So both Byron and Phillip were with you at the club?” he asks once I finish my speech. His voice is a hushed murmur.
Honestly, I’m surprised that’s what he focused on. Not the abuse. Not the rape.
But Byron and Phillip.
Until I remember…
He’s a lawyer investigating the murder of my abusive husband, and I just handed him two suspects on a silver fucking platter.
“Do you think one of them did it?” I ask, aghast. I try to picture sweet, gentle Byron hurting anyone, but the image constantly eludes me. Even Phillip wouldn’t hurt, let alone kill, Jared.
No matter how much they might want to.
Roman ignores me, bobbing his head as he thinks through something. His teeth worry the plush skin of his lower lip.
Finally, he releases a prolonged sigh.
“I don’t know Phillip at all, but I don’t believe Byron is capable of murder,” he replies at last, and I nod my head eagerly.
Wait.
“How do you know Byron?” I exclaim, straightening in the car seat. The seatbelt pulls taut over my chest, and I pluck at it absently. We haven’t started driving yet, but it’s ingrained within me to always wear a seatbelt when in a vehicle. Gerald’s crazy ass driving taught me that.
Ignoring me, Roman backs the car onto the street.
“Your house is currently an active crime scene,” he says, the wheels in his impressive mind turning. “I would offer you a place at my apartment, but…”
“That would be inappropriate considering you’re my professor,” I deadpan, my mind still stuck on the revelation that Roman knows Byron. Well enough, apparently, to judge his character.
“Because I’m your lawyer,” Roman corrects. “I don’t trust anyone else to do the job.” His long, tanned fingers tap against the steering wheel as he pulls into traffic. Snow flurries around the vehicle, turning to liquid when it reaches the window. The grounds are no longer icy. Instead, snowy sludge covers the city grounds.
Roman pulls his phone out of his pocket, one-handed, and dials a number. Balancing it between his shoulder and ear, he puts his hand back on the wheel.
“Yeah, I agree. I’m bringing her now,” he says without preamble to whoever’s on the other line. I don’t hear their response before Roman hangs up and tosses his phone in the cup holder.
“Where am I going?” I query.
His mind still seems to be pulled in a dozen different directions. He reaches one hand out to intertwine with mine on my thigh. The pad of his thumb rubs soothing circles into my skin, and goosebumps travel down my arms.
We’re both silent as we pull into a familiar neighborhood. Wrought iron fences. Tapestry of skeletal branches weighed down with snow. Magnificent houses.
I straighten indignantly as my home for the last five years comes into view. In the bright sunlight, it appears almost cheery and aesthetically pleasing. No one would know the horrors that took place right behind that silver fence. Yellow police tape threatens trespassers, and numerous cop cars are still loitering in the driveway.
My heart ratchets up a notch, and my hands feel clammy. I squeeze Roman’s until he lets out a grunt of pain.
“What am I doing back?” I whisper. “I thought you said I didn’t have to go back. Why am I here? Why did you take me here?”
My husband is dead. Murdered.
In this house.
How did he die?
Does his blood still stain the walls and windows? Is his body still inside the gothic manor, rotting away?
And Aurora…
I’ve never particularly liked my step-daughter. She’s the same age as me but has the maturity level of a twelve year old girl. At the same time, I understand her. How difficult must it be for your father to marry a girl the same age? I know I’d be bitter. Angry. Vengeful.
But Aurora didn’t deserve this. She lost her father, and she may lose her life. If she survives, I’ll make an effort with her. Not as her mother—fuck, no—but as a friend. I’ll have to find time to visit her in the hospital.
“I’m sorry, Baby. I didn’t want you to see this, but you need a place to stay, and until this is over, your funds are suspended.” He bypasses my house, pulling into my neighbor’s driveway.
“Roman, why am I here?” My head is reeling trying its damndest to catch up.
Jared’s dead.
Aurora’s injured.
The police are investigating and think I’m the murderer.
Roman called me Baby.
And we’re driving up the twining gravel driveway of Mrs. Lumber’s house. If Jared’s house resembles a gothic mansion, Mrs. Lumber’s reminds me of a farmhouse. Sun bleached white paint decorates the walls and accents the window panes. Flowers flank the walkway, and rose bushes line the perimeter.
It’s beautiful and welcoming…and I instantly hate it.
How am I supposed to stay at the home of the woman who’s fucking Byron? If that is Roman’s intentions, of course.
“Roman…” I warn as we stop in front of an ornately detailed marble fountain. It’s turned off in this weather, the pool beneath the stone gargoyle empty. When Roman steps out of the car, I hurry after him. Unbidden, my eyes travel to the thick bushes separating Mrs. Lumber’s house from my own...from Jared’s. I wrench my gaze away, eyes blurring. I don’t know where the tears are coming from. Certainly it’s not sadness...right? I shouldn’t mourn that man.
Or should I?
My turbulent thoughts are interrupted by the front door opening and Mrs. Lumber stepping onto the front porch. Her silver streaked hair is braided away from a face surprisingly devoid of wrinkles. She wears a simple flannel shirt and form-fitting blue jeans. When she spots us, she lifts her hand in a wave.
Roman bounds up the steps and presses a kiss to the woman’s cheek, hands resting on her shoulders. My brows furrow, momentarily shaking me out of my depressive stupor.
“Mallie, dear.” Mrs. Lumber pushes past Roman and hurries down the stairs. Immediately, her bony arms wrap around me in a tight hug. Unsure of how to respond, I settle for awkwardly patting her back. “I’m so sorry about everything.”
Finally untangling myself from her arms, I flick my eyes between Roman and the woman. My professor/lawyer/secret crush stands on the front porch, his hands in his pockets and expression soft. How does he know her?
What the fuck is going on?
Is he…?
My throat clogs with an emotion I don’t want to name.
“Come inside. You’re freezing.” As she speaks, she wraps her arm around my shoulders and drags me towards the door. Roman opens it for us, stepping back to let us through. He moves with familiarity and ease around the cute home.
Slightly bewildered, I follow them into a retro kitchen with wooden flooring, wooden cupboards, and white appliances. Mrs. Lumber points to a counter seat, and I reluctantly sit on the stool.
“Would you like tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate?” she asks, moving around the kitchen. She procures a pink mug. “Actually, you’re a coffee girl, aren’t you? That’s what Byron told me.”
Before I can object, she moves the cup to the single-serve coffee maker. I flash a confused glance at Roman who smirks, leaning against the fridge with a glass of water in his hands.
I wait until she hands me the steaming cup of liquid goodness before whispering, “Thank you, Mrs. Lumber.”
“Call me Susie, dear.” Her smile shows laugh lines around her mouth and eyes, demot
ing her from intimidating to approachable. I smile back warily.
“Of course. Susie.” I flick my eyes towards Roman. “How do you two know each other?”
It’s Susie who answers, despite my eyes being trained pointedly on Roman, gauging his reaction.
“He’s my nephew,” she explains cheerfully, and my shoulders droop as immense relief crashes through me. Roman’s grin grows wider as if he knows the reason for my reaction...and is pleased by it. “My late husband—God rest his soul—founded the law firm Roman works at.”
“Rob was a good man,” Roman agrees.
So if Roman is her nephew, that explains how he knows Byron.
Once more, the thought of Byron and Mrs. Lumber—Susie—together causes icy dread to slither down my spine and steal the remaining warmth from my body. I taste bile in my mouth.
Turning towards me, Roman says, “You’re not under arrest as of yet, but you should expect the police to be stopping by at least one more time. But Mallie, I don’t want you to be worried. I’m going to take care of you.”
“You can stay at my house for as long as you like,” adds Susie, sipping from her mug of coffee. Her eyes roll back in her head in pure bliss. “Unless you have somewhere else to go. A friend, a boyfriend, whatever.” At boyfriend, Roman’s face scrunches up and his hands fist. I watch him curiously for a moment before turning towards Susie.
“My friend, Nat. I could stay with her.”
“Does she live in town?” Roman cuts in, finally coming out of his daze. “I would highly recommend not leaving until this investigation is over.”
I frown. “She lives in the next town over. Would that be okay?”
Before Roman can respond, Susie takes my hand in both of hers. The wrinkles absent from her face are etched into the skin of her hands. “Sweetie, I don’t want you to think you can’t stay here. I know you don’t know me well, but I promise I have your best intentions at heart. It’s why I put up with Byron practically living here.” Both her and Roman chuckle, but my stomach tightens painfully. Yup. Did not need that visual. “Byron already cleared out his room. When he comes to visit, he can sleep on the couch. We want you to feel comfortable here.”
“Or can he sleep in your room,” I murmur bitterly, too low for Roman to hear. Susie, however, did hear and blinks at me rapidly.
And then she bursts into raucous laughter. Tears spring into her eyes, and she clutches her stomach. I watch her, bemused, as she continues to laugh, nearly falling to the floor.
“What did you say to her?” Roman asks, lips twitching with amusement.
I shrug helplessly, not wanting to admit to my own pettiness and jealousy.
Finally, Susie swipes at her eyes, moving to sit on the stool across from mine.
“I’m afraid he outgrew that twenty-some years ago,” she replies, amusement still evident in her voice.
My eyes widen.
“Are you—?”
“His mom? Yes. In all the ways that matters, anyway. I took him in when he was four.”
My cheeks burn hotly, and I grimace.
Way to stick your foot in your mouth, Mallie.
“Since we never officially adopted him from his birth parents—despite them practically throwing him at us—he became emancipated at sixteen. Traveled the world. Lived life. Went to college.” Her eyes emanate nothing but love and warmth. “He never took our last name which is why the rumors circulated when he returned.”
“You know about the rumors?” I ask, awkwardly scratching at my neck. Because yup. I was one of those people who believed said rumors. Way to make me feel like an asshole.
Susie rolls her eyes.
“I know everything. Perks of being an old lady.” She places her now empty cup in the dishwasher before turning towards me with a conspiratorial smile. “Besides, I much prefer a different anatomy for my lover, if you know what I mean.”
I choke around my sip of coffee, the liquid erupting from my nose.
“But you were married,” I point out, accepting the napkin Roman offers me.
“Yes. To my best friend. My life partner.” Her tone turns sad, wistful, and her eyes lower to the wooden countertop.
“Rob and Susie didn’t have a traditional marriage,” Roman explains. “They loved each other very much, but never felt sexual attraction for each other.”
Shit.
Mouth, two. Mallie, zero.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask such intrusive questions…” I trail off when Susie waves a hand dismissively.
“You didn’t ask. I told you. There’s a difference.”
“We both agreed you needed to know about our family dynamics if you were to live with Susie until we can get you settled somewhere permanently,” Roman explains, rubbing a hand through his dark hair. “We didn’t want you to get upset or feel betrayed if you discovered Susie’s...sexual preference.”
“I wouldn’t,” I assure Roman quickly. “Never. People love who they love.”
Roman’s smile grows on his face before quickly dropping. He sighs heavily, once more scrubbing at the dark hair grazing his eyes. Grabbing the leather jacket he draped over the counter when we entered, he kisses Susie on the cheek.
“I need to get to the college. I have a class tonight, and then I need to go to the office.” His pointed look in my direction tells me exactly what he’s doing at the office. Moving to me, he places one large hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “Be careful. Be safe. We don’t know who the murderer is and what their intentions are. We don’t know if you’re their next target. And don’t talk to anyone without me present.” His lips briefly touch my forehead, and white hot pleasure cascades through me. I tremble delicately, grabbing his hand still on my shoulder and interlocking our fingers together.
“Roman?” He waits, an eyebrow raised. “How are you so certain it’s not me?” When his eyebrow lifts even further, disappearing into his hairline, I quickly elaborate. “It’s not me. I know that, obviously. But how are you so sure? Why are you defending me?”
He leans closer until our foreheads touch. His distinct, masculine scent of leather assaults my senses in the best possible way. I want to inhale him, bottle him up.
Not in a creepy way.
But in a completely normal and sane way.
“Because I see you.” His hot breath fans across my face. “I’ve always seen you.”
As if it physically pains him, he pushes himself away from me and moves briskly, purposefully, towards the front door. I watch him go, confusion and arousal battling for dominance within me.
Susie smiles at me brightly, a knowing glint in her eyes I can’t quite read.
What the hell is happening to my life?
Chapter 7
Susie leads me to a bedroom on the second floor, stepping back to allow me entrance first.
I can tell immediately that this had once served as Byron’s bedroom, the room holding hints of his high school years. Posters on the wall display some football players I’ve never heard of before, and golden trophies line a display case. The bed itself, flanked by two nightstands, is devoid of any blankets or pillows, consisting of only a mattress and bed frame.
“I need to grab some blankets from the closet,” Susie explains, noting the direction of my gaze. “I know it’s a little small—”
“It’s perfect,” I cut in, moving further into the room. The blinds are opened, bright sunlight illuminating the stagnant particles of dust in the air. Even from this distance, I know the window will show my...Jared’s house. Wrenching my gaze away, I flash Susie a timid smile. “Thank you, Susie. I mean it. Thank you.”
Her responding smile is just as warm.
“Of course, darling. Let me grab you some blankets while you explore the house. Mi casa es su casa. Dinner will be ready in an hour. You like spaghetti, correct?” When I nod, her smile brightens. “Good. I wasn’t going to change it anyway.” Her voice is muffled as she moves across the hall, shuffling through a closet. “I was thinking we could
do meat sauce. Homemade, of course. None of that crappy canned kind.” She reemerges with her hands full of blankets and sheets. I move to help her, but one glare has me backpedaling quickly.
She makes quick work of making my bed, smoothing out the wrinkles, before straightening, her hands going to her bony hips.
“Dinner. One hour. Don’t be late.” With that, she turns on her heel and stomps down the stairs, a merry tune being hummed beneath her breath.
Alone at last, I allow my thoughts to wander. To say the day has been long is a vast understatement. It feels as if I’m drowning. Wave after wave tosses me around until I can't differentiate up from down.
I squeeze my eyelids shut to stop the lone tear that threatens to escape. I need to be brave; I need to be strong.
My mind immediately begins sifting through everything I know.
I went to the club last night. Afterwards, my husband was murdered.
I’m the prime suspect of said murder.
I don’t blame the police for blaming me: a young woman married to a man three times her age? Abused and neglected? Raped? If I was watching a murder mystery television show, I would totally blame the spouse too.
But what about Phillip and Byron? It’s no secret that they hated my husband. Was this the help Phillip promised me so many years ago?
Jared’s death?
As soon as I think this, I dismiss it.
Phillip and Byron are a lot of things, but murderers they are not. I’m pretty sure Byron catches bugs inside and sets them free.
And what about Aurora? What role does she play in all this? Was she merely in the wrong place at the wrong time?
Heaving out a breath, I sprawl out on the bed.
I need to get my emotions under control. Currently, they’re a chaotic mess, and I’m unable to focus on articulating the numerous questions running rampant in my mind.
“Mallie,” a quiet voice says, and I burst upright in bed, ramrod straight. My heart hammers in my chest as I meet Byron’s piercing gaze.
“By,” I reply just as softly. He moves towards me, thinks better of it, and sits backwards on his desk chair. The position puts him level with me, but I still feel unnaturally vulnerable. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be capable of holding myself together that way. “Why are you here? Wait. Don’t answer that. I know why. Why didn’t you tell me Susie was your mother?”
