by W Winters
“Declan.” Carter’s tone is reprimanding. “She’s the only one—”
My voice is harsh as chaotic anger burns inside of me. “Send it to me.”
To keep my hands from trembling, I form white-knuckled fists.
“Declan, the information about the train tracks is in the testimony,” Jase tells me. Matter-of-factly, but also with an air of sympathy. If he were here, I know he’d grip my shoulder, then pat it.
He would tell me it’s all right, but it’s not.
Nothing about this is right.
“The tracks?”
“From our conversation,” Nate speaks, and when I look up his eyes are on me but only for a fraction of a second. The moment my gaze narrows, he looks downward, focusing on his shoes instead.
My vitriol has nowhere to hide.
“And the numbers in the books, the ones that were off and you planted. They’re in the report.”
“It has to be her.”
My body sags into the chair. “Get out,” I whisper as something else takes hold of me. Something I don’t care to admit. “Get out, Nate.” When I glance up to scream at him, I realize he’s already gone. He left quietly. Smart man I suppose, given I was prepared to throw anything I could find at him.
“Declan? Are you there?” Carter questions.
“I’m here.”
“We’re coming, all right? We’ll be there soon.”
I can’t explain why, but hearing Carter tell me that breaks something inside of me.
“Are you sure?” I ask him and then I think maybe he would misunderstand and think I’m referencing him coming down here to The Club, but before I can clarify he tells me.
“It’s her, Declan. We need to take care of this.”
To take care of it … my blood chills. I’m quick to end the call, before the emotions swarm and make me a weaker man.
Braelynn
Every day is the same now, a tempting lullaby. The red door that used to haunt my every thought now leads to my sanctuary.
When I get in, with my purse tucked under my arm and my heels clicking as I go, I stride straight to the office like I always do. Every step brings a new heat, the sweet dull ache reminding me of yesterday.
Declan Cross is insatiable. It does something to me. If nothing else, he wants me. And I crave that from him. Perhaps that’s what it’s like to be in this kind of relationship. This pining to please him and be pleased by him is addictive. I don’t know what the future holds when it comes to men like Declan, but I do know that he can’t get enough of me nor I him.
We’ll take it one day at a time. That’s what I tell myself. That’s what anyone else would do. My footsteps still seem to echo from the iron stairs as I approach Declan’s door toward the end of the hall. I’ll never forget the first time I had to come down here. I knew the power Declan had over me from the first moment our eyes met.
I’m beginning to think that power dynamic will always be the same. Even if the rest of the world goes to shit, the way I feel when Declan looks into my eyes won’t go away.
It’s an uncertain feeling that overwhelms me at that thought, because I desperately want it to be true, and that’s a dangerous thing. I let my shoulders relax and reach for the door. Time to balance the books, or bend over the desk, or sit in his lap and kiss him. Anything could happen tonight, and part of me is excited for that.
Only the door doesn’t open for me. I shake the handle a second time. It’s locked.
That’s strange. For the three weeks I’ve been working, it’s always unlocked. Last week he told me to enter without even knocking.
Balling my hand, I knock on the door with uncertainty. There’s a pitter-patter in my chest and I ignore it.
“Declan?” I call his name. No one answers.
After a moment, I take my phone from my purse and open a new message.
Braelynn: I’m at the office, are you in there?
Leaning against the wall by his door, I wait. Peering down to my right and then my left. I check my phone and social media … taking up time. After a few minutes, no new messages appear and I decide to send another one.
Braelynn: No one’s here to let me in. Should I go home or do you want me to stay? I could wait upstairs at the bar if you’d like?
Something feels off. Very wrong as I wait in the silence. It’s an uncomfortable sensation that I can’t quite place.
I really don’t like this feeling that comes over me. A noise from around the corner grabs my attention. A footstep, maybe. A scuffle of a shoe against the floor. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It could be Declan over there, but why wouldn’t he have answered me?
Fear creeps up on me as I take a hesitant step forward.
“Declan?” I barely breathe, not trusting the quiet.
I pull my purse higher on my shoulder and move through the hallway. The noise ricochets through the hall again. It almost sounds like a high heel tapping.
A crease settles in the middle of my forehead. “Hello?” I call out, expecting to hear Mia maybe or another waitress.
When I turn the corner near the back room, I see them and my body goes numb. It’s a chilling sight and I don’t believe what I see.
Scarlet.
And Nate, with his hand over her mouth. She’s pressed against the wall, her red dress barely seen around his navy blue suit. I blink and what happens next is over with the matter of seconds.
The sight of her is paralyzing. Her eyes are wide with terror, and her hands scrabble at his, which are wrapped around her throat. They get even wider when she sees me and her body struggles against Nate’s grip. Her mascara leaks down the corner of her eyes with the tears.
My purse drops to my side, my body trembling.
Panic makes my throat go tight, but a survival instinct freezes me in place. One of her heels clicks against the floor. Fuck. She can’t even get her feet on the ground. He’s choking her!
Do something! A voice screams in my head and by the time I’m able to act, it’s too late. It all happens in the span of a single breath. By the time I step forward, a scream tearing up my throat, it’s over.
“I’m sorry,” Nate whispers.
And then he snaps Scarlet’s neck. The crack resonates inside of me, paired with the sight of her body going limp, her eyes no longer blinking and her arms falling at her side.
A scream rips out of me, scratching at my throat.
My heart hammers as Nate turns to look at me, without an ounce of sympathy in his expression. With adrenaline surging through me, I turn to run and collide with a hard chest.
My body flinches, and tries to escape until I look up.
Declan grabs me, cold and cruel. He turns me around and pins me close, a hand over my mouth, the other pinning my arms down. “He killed her!” I try to scream, but I can’t. “Declan! Please!” My words are muted, my body hot and my entire being filled with terror even though Declan’s here. My mind is a whirlwind that won’t stop.
Help her, is all I can think. Even though I know she’s already dead. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes as my throat goes raw with my cries.
Declan turns my head in his hand so I have to look at him. His grip is brutal and it’s shocking when I see his face. His eyes hold a deadly anger and everything stills.
Very, very slowly, he removes his hand from my mouth. It’s not comforting. He’s still holding me too tight. Tight enough to crush me. It’s hard to catch my breath. My mind spins back through what just happened.
Scarlet is dead.
My friend. I saw her die. Nate snapped her neck. Killed in cold blood.
“Declan.” His name, a plea from me, is barely audible. I can’t breathe enough to put my voice behind it. “I’m scared.”
“My little pet,” he says, and his voice is brutal. I thought I knew fear before but ice spills through my veins. “You should be fucking terrified.”
* * *
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