On occasion, I must have fallen asleep because I jolt awake several times. I still feel his lips on mine, his breath on my ear, his body pressed into me, and the agony over his threats against Myles. I’ll use the business card the detective gave me. I’ll make the call first thing in the morning. I need to tell them about what Eric said. I know I shouldn’t mess with the mafia. I’m crazy. But I can’t just stand by and watch it happen. I have to act, or I’m just as bad as him.
Why does the only man who makes me feel so alive have to be so bad? Not only ‘bad boy’-bad, but a fucking hitman, someone I should run from, not to. My insides clench again at the thought of him. I gasp and jump out of bed. Rushing to the window, I fumble it open and inhale the chilled night air. In my thin pajamas, I soon develop goosebumps, but I don’t care. The discomfort is a welcome distraction from the turmoil inside me.
The street is silent. In a house across from us, a lonely light shines in a window. Perhaps another poor insomniac? I lean on my elbows and squeeze my eyes shut. Tasting my lips, I still feel him, his kiss lingering. I close the window and go downstairs. Huddling in a throw blanket on Dad’s couch, I glare at the twinkling decorations. Christmas day is tomorrow, and I realize it won’t have the same meaning to me. There’ll be no peace this year, no happy laughs. Instead I’ll sit in a cold, gray office, trying to help them stop the man I—
The man... Nothing!
He’s nothing. I have to prevent him from killing my boss. I clench my fists and close my eyes, fighting to stop the onslaught of memories. I don’t know why that thought doesn’t feel as right as it ought to.
“Are you already up?”
My father’s worried voice penetrates through the deep mist of unconsciousness I finally slipped into. I twitch awake, and at first, I have no idea where I am. Then it all comes back, and I wrap the blanket tighter.
“Dad, I’ve been thinking.” He was here! I want to scream it but fight down the agony. “I need to call the detective. There’s more I need to tell them.”
“Can’t it wait, honey? I’m making us some breakfast, and I think you should try to take a day off from all this. They can’t continue to squeeze more out of you every day. It’s Christmas.”
My stomach revolts at the thought of food, but I know taking care of me makes him happy. “Thanks, Dad.” I smile. “I’m starving.”
An hour later, I sit next to my dad in his car with a thick lump in my chest. I ate and showered, but I don’t feel renewed at all. I frown and stare out the window, feeling hollow. The burden of what Eric told me is too heavy to carry alone. Being the only one who knows that Mr. Myles’ life is still in danger eats away at me. I occasionally skirt the memory of the kiss, of his hand on my breast, and how it did unmentionable things to my body, then my thoughts dart in a different direction. Any different direction.
‘What makes you think I got what I came for?’
I shiver and pull my dad’s jacket tighter. We approach my apartment where I’ll finally change into clean clothes that fit me. Clothes that aren’t torn and have never been touched—by him.
My home feels empty. It lacks the warmth I need. I haven’t had time to decorate it for Christmas and so much has changed since I last set foot in here. Suddenly, I’m more vulnerable than I ever was. Suddenly, I have feelings.
I don’t want them. They hurt.
‘When you let someone close, you get hurt.’
Wasn’t that how he said it?
I change into a pair of dark gray pants and a simple white blouse. Tying my hair into a ponytail, I then throw tissues and a lip balm into a handbag. I have no purse, and no phone, and I don’t know where they are. Thank God, I left my spare keys at my dad’s. The police said they’d call as soon as they have my bag, but it’s a crime scene and it can take a few days. With heavy limbs, I close and lock the door behind me, a feeling of doom hanging over me and an insane feeling of betrayal.
We pull up in front of police headquarters where detective Dan Johnson is meeting me. I step halfway out of the car when a hand lands softly on my arm. “Are you going to be okay, Anna?”
I smile, trying not to twist it into a grin. “I’ll be fine, Dad.”
“Are you sure, pumpkin?”
I sigh and frown. “Dad. I—”
“Honey,” he interrupts. “I’m not trying to be an annoying father. I love you so much, as does your mother, and I… I know something happened to you, but I don’t know what. I don’t know if it’s work, or a man, but I’ve seen you suffer so much during the last year. It hasn’t hurt only you.” He looks down at his lap. “And now this bastard on top of that!”
I gape. Has it been that obvious? Why on Earth didn’t I tell my dad? I smile again, more genuinely this time. “Dad, I love you too.”
He nods and squeezes my arm before letting it go. “I know, pumpkin. I’ll be back here in half an hour.”
“It might take a lot longer than that, you know.”
“I’ll wait. I’ll have a coffee and a newspaper. I’ll be good.”
I watch him drive away. Glancing around me, I then climb the gray marble stairs that lead up to the police building.
“Detective.” I give him my hand as I grit my teeth, my heart thudding wildly in my chest.
Detective Johnson gives me a once-over, and I have a feeling he sees right through me. “Miss Raymond. If you’ll come with me.” He swipes his card and holds open a heavy glass door, letting me through first.
In a cold gray room, much like the one I sat in yesterday, I tell Detective Johnson that Eric Reed paid me a nighttime visit. I avoid the intimate details, but it’s hard when the detective keeps probing and refuses to budge.
“But I don’t understand, Miss. Walk me through this again. He was in your room when you woke? Where was this?”
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, fighting to quell the worried butterflies in my chest. They flutter about, making it hard to focus. “At my dad’s.”
“So, how did Mr. Reed enter?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t ask.”
“Wouldn’t that have been a natural question?”
“Maybe people are different?”
He nods. “Fair enough.” Tapping his pen on his notebook, he glances at whatever he’s scribbled there. “Why do you think he came to tell you that he was going to kill Mr. Myles?”
“I have no freaking idea.”
“Do you have any theories?”
I throw out my hands. “How would any fantasies of mine help you?”
“You’d be surprised what can help. If there’s anything you can think of…”
“I think he came to fuck with me. Not like that,” I add quickly. “I mean to rattle me. I don’t know why. Maybe because I got away? Maybe he wanted to punish me? I don’t know.”
“Why is it he didn’t kill you?”
“We went over this a hundred times yesterday,” I moan. “It doesn’t have anything to do with why he came last night.”
“Let me be the judge of that, Miss.” He scribbles something. I hate that I can’t see what he writes. I have a feeling he doesn’t trust me.
I sigh. “I didn’t ask why he didn’t kill me. It’s not something you ask. It’s like scraping a scab off a wound, making it bleed again. I felt like I’d remind him that maybe he should. So I didn’t.”
Johnson nods. “And what did you talk about all those hours before his associate came?”
In a flash, I’m thrown right back into the dark, cold cage, all the shared little intimacies, how he made me feel so paradoxically safe. There are things that will stay between him and me. No matter what.
“He barely said anything about himself, but he had a way to make me talk about myself. He said all those things about my bosses, though, that they were involved with organized crime. I didn’t believe him at the time, but then you said it too. I guess it means Eric is mafia too? Is he? Do you think I’m safe? What if he comes again? What if he finds out I’ve talked to you?”
I feign a slight hysteria to veer him off the topic of what I shared with Eric. It’s none of his fucking business.
“Calm down, Anna. May I call you Anna?”
I nod.
“Is Mr. Myles safe, sir? He said they’ve got cops on their payroll and that finding him would be easy.”
“I can assure you we have things under control, but thank you for your concern, and for the new information.”
A thought strikes me like a heavy hit to my chest. “You’re not gonna tell my dad that Eric came last night? Please, please don’t do that!”
“What do you think will happen if he shows up again? If your father meets him?”
I swallow hard. I don’t think that would end well at all. Tears well up in my eyes and I nod.
Out of options, I call my father and tell him to join us. I sit with my head bent as the detective tells my increasingly aghast father about Eric’s visit. Dad keeps trying to catch my gaze, but I find it so hard to look at him.
Dad’s steps are heavy as he holds his arm around my shoulders, and we descend the long set of steps down to the bustling street. No one, it seems, is celebrating Christmas.
I won’t either.
“Oh shit!” I come to a screeching halt.
“What is it, pumpkin?”
“I need to tell the detective one more thing. I’ll see you at the car. Be back in five.”
I run back up the stairs and get the lady at the desk to escort me back to Detective Johnson. He sits with his feet propped up on the desk, his back to us.
“Yes, Mr. S. your men will find Myles at the same address.”
The hair on my nape rises as raw fear crawls along my spine. I stumble back, one step, one more, back into the woman behind me, then I turn and run. She shouts something, but the only thing I have in mind is to make sure Johnson doesn’t know I heard that.
My mind spins and the contents in my stomach threaten to come up as Dad drives me home. I’ve never felt so small in my life. I suddenly miss Eric. It’s so unexpected I gasp, my heart rate doubling. Why? Why in God’s name would I do that? He’s the enemy too. Everyone is. I can’t trust anyone, no one except Dad and myself.
But I know why. I experienced a sense of safety in Eric’s arms that I haven’t felt since I was a little girl. When I’m with him it feels as if everything will be all right. It’s not rational in the least, but emotions rarely are.
“Dad.” I fight the lump in my throat. “Can we do the presents another day? I’m not in a Christmas mood. Please? I need to be alone.”
It’s the night before Christmas Day. My life is shit, and this holiday will forever be tainted by what I’ve gone through the last couple of days.
“But, pumpkin—”
“Please.”
He must hear the weariness and the desperation in my voice, because he doesn’t say more, he just takes me home. I cry when I hug him goodbye.
“Talk tomorrow?” he asks, worry etched on his face.
“Day after, Dad. I need—”
“To be alone. I understand. Do you need anything from me? I can do some grocery shopping.”
“I’m good.” I shift, itching to get inside my apartment.
“Just take your time, hon. Will you be safe? If that bastard shows up—”
“He won’t.”
“You can’t know that. Do you have something to defend yourself with? Mace? Make sure your security chain is in place.”
“Of course I have mace, Dad.”
It was the first thing I bought after the rape. Mace. And an extremely loud alarm I always carry in my bag. Well, carried. I didn’t buy a weapon. They scare me too much. Even more now.
I tremble as I close the door. For the first time in almost forty-eight hours I’m alone, in my own home. I snap the safety chain in place with jerky moves and fall against the door. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back and listen to the silence. My head hurts, and I’m exhausted from playing pretend. My chest clenches with renewed fear from hearing Johnson talk to Eric’s boss, because that’s what he did. I’m sure of it. If he’d seen me…
Finally allowing the tears to come, I drop my clothes along the way to the bedroom. I should shower and wash off the day, but I’m spent. It’s sloppy, I know. It’s not like me. I don’t care. I pull on an old top and my pajama shorts, curl up under my cold comforter and wrap it tightly around me.
After the rape I lived a lie, never letting anyone in, keeping up a cheerful facade, never letting anyone know how damaged beyond repair I was. That was the only way I knew, and the only path I saw for the future. Now past, present, and future have been rewritten and it’s as if the rug has been pulled out from under my feet and there is no floor underneath. I fall and keep falling.
With a profound feeling of being wrong, having done something wrong, or being in the wrong place, the day gets the better of me, and I drift into a worried sleep.
I feel lonelier than ever.
Chapter 20
Eric
I’ve been summoned. I can’t say I’m comfortable with it. Christian went back home yesterday. I was gonna call Salvatore, but he got to me first.
“Eric Reed. My almost-son!” He sounds jovial. He always sounds the friendliest when he’s pissed as all hell.
“Mr. Salvatore.”
“Ahhh, no need to be so formal. When do I get to see you back in ol’ foggy City by the Bay?”
“I’m packing up now, sir. My plane leaves in two hours.”
“Splendid! Let’s talk. I’m having a little gathering tonight. I shall see you there at eight.”
I glance at my watch. Two p.m. I’ll make it. “My pleasure.”
My boss barks out an unpleasant laugh. “Now, now. Don’t exaggerate.”
The silence when he disconnects is deafening.
Pulling the zipper closed, I leave the apartment. On the way out, I drop the key in the mailbox. For the hundredth time, I think of Anna, of her soft warm body, her delicious scent of roses and vanilla. So shy, so enticed, so in desperate need of rescuing even though she doesn’t admit it.
I’m in fucking need of rescuing too, even though I don’t want to admit it either.
I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again, but I’ll fight for her life. She already fucking told everything to the cops. We gotta make sure she doesn’t testify if it comes to that. It probably won’t, though. It sounds as if the cops will find a way to close the investigation. Good ol’ uncle Luci knows some high and mighty people.
The flight is uneventful and it’s with a sigh of relief I cross the threshold to my apartment, drop the bag on the floor, and throw the keys on the table. Everything smells and sounds differently here. The air is lighter, somehow. That’s not how most people would describe San Francisco, I know, but when Salvatore found me roaming the streets, and took me under his wing, it was as if he gave me the key to heaven. As soon as I could afford it, I bought a place in the highest apartment building in town, on the top floor. I have windows in all four directions. I’m above everyone. I love the light, the view of the bay and the bridge, and the silence.
I glance at the clock. Two hours. I’ll tell him the truth. There’s no use trying to cover anything up. He sure as hell knows everything already anyway. Christian got here before me, and I bet he’s a fucking little snitch. He thinks of no one but himself. I’m honestly really curious about the story behind what he told me. The girl he hurt so bad it still messes with him. I wonder where she went. Did Salvatore have her put down? Maybe this is something I can use for leverage. I gotta ask Christian.
As I shower and lather my body, my thoughts stray to the forbidden. I want her. It’s that simple. I picture her here with me, her little hands caressing my chest, down my hips, shyly touching my cock.
I get rock hard in a second. As I take care of it, stroking my erection until I gasp from a long overdue release, I think of everything I could teach her.
I foresee nothing but a really shitty night as the iron gates to Salvatore’s
tasteless residence slide open. I park a little to the side and walk up to the doors with steps that get heavier the closer I get.
Tommy, tall and dark, in his usual black suit, swings the door open for me. He tilts his head. “He’s waiting for you in the office.”
I nod and cross the large, bright hallway, on each side curved stairs lead up to the second floor, white marble floor, the ceiling two stories up with a dome of colored glass in patterns of angels and demons. A huge chandelier hangs from its center and hovers over all visitors who pass through here. Some never make it back out. I am guilty for a few of those. I’ve worked for Salvatore since I was seventeen. It saved me and ruined me. I’m as fucked up as they come, and I sure as hell shouldn’t even think about Anna, let alone mess with her life more than I already have. But what’s a man to do when she’s turned everything on its head? When I found something I never knew I was looking for?
With a feeling of imminent doom, I push open the heavy oak door to his office. Salvatore sits behind his desk, making quiet conversation with Christian who is standing next to him. They both look up when I enter. Salvatore leans his elbows on the desk and tents his fingers. He’s an imposing man in his early forties. The power he holds like an axe over everybody else’s necks is immense and undeniable. He oozes threat and danger; if things don’t go his way, you’re in big fucking trouble.
“My lost son!”
“Sir,” I say stiffly.
“I’ll leave.” Christian starts toward the door. He’s swollen under his left eye, swollen and dark blue. I clocked him good. He made better work of me, obviously. I’ve been getting funny looks all the way home. People look away really fucking quick, though, when I meet their gazes head on.
“No, stay.” Salvatore’s voice is so sharp you could cut glass with it. “Sit, my friends.” He gestures to the two leather armchairs in front of the desk. When you sit in them, you sit lower than he does. It’s one of his little power tricks.
Christian looks warily at me as we seat ourselves. I nod. “How’s the eye?”
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