by Skye Warren
“I don’t like men.”
“Men aren’t for liking, Ella.”
“What are they for, then? Fucking?” Her lip curled. “For money?”
“At least I provide a service when I take their money.”
She scowled as she stared straight ahead: the silent treatment. I really was getting a crash course in parenting a teenager today. Maybe I’d pick up a few tips to share with Allie for down the road. Once I got out of this mess—if I got out of this.
I squinted at the shiny freestanding number pad as if I could solve its puzzle. The green talk light blinked mildly, but idling outside the gate seemed a poor place to beg Philip’s pardon.
On impulse I typed in my old code. It shouldn’t have worked. But it did, in a strange but convenient lapse in Philip’s security. Surely he would have cut off my access the day he’d found out I betrayed him. He was meticulous in his paranoia. Had he expected me to come back? I almost would have suspected a trap if this had happened sooner. But now, months later, there was no expectancy, only relief.
I pulled into the circular drive and stopped. The engine popped, cooling down. I toyed with the hem of my dress, come loose at some point in the evening, the silky fabric unraveling.
“You seem nervous,” Ella said.
I was nervous, so I kept my mouth shut.
“I mean, why wouldn’t you come here first—a loaded guy like this in your address book?” She swallowed audibly. “Unless he’s really bad.”
Philip was bad, in his own way, but not like she thought. No matter how angry he was at me, he wouldn’t hurt her. I was almost sure. “He’s my friend. It’s just that… Well, he might be upset with me.”
“What’d you do?”
“I sold him out.” I let out a breath. “Almost got him killed.”
“Oh.” Even sarcasm seemed to have deserted Ella under the weight of just how desperate we were. She crossed her hands over her chest in a protective gesture.
I had sold Philip out to Luke as an informant, and just earlier tonight, Luke had sold me out. Irony was the madam of life: I could resent the situation she’d forced me into, but deep down, I knew I deserved to be there.
The gate code wasn’t an oversight, I realized as the front door opened to reveal an annoyed Adrian Scott. He was Philip’s butler, on paper, though his true role also encompassed security guard, resident techie, and, I suspected, confessional. Adrian manned all the fancy monitoring equipment; he would have seen us through the cameras. We were only here because he’d allowed us to be. Adrian looked me up and down, his face impassive but his eyes turbulent.
“Philip’s not here.”
Panic crept into my lungs, drowning out his next words. Of course Philip was a busy man, but I’d been so focused on our total lack of options and how I would beg him for forgiveness that it hadn’t even occurred to me that he wouldn’t be here. Where would we go? We might as well head straight for Henri and throw ourselves at his Italian leather-clad feet. At least he’d be amused while he dumped our bodies.
“But you’re free to wait here until he returns,” Adrian finally said.
My heart started beating again. “Thanks,” came out on an exhale.
He allowed us into the large living room and threw me a disapproving look before closing us in with one of the impenetrable fingerprint locks. Fine by me. The tight security here would keep the monsters out as much as it would lock us in.
I went to the bar and poured myself a shot of 80 proof. After throwing it back, I poured another. Ella reached for my glass, but I slapped her hand away.
“There should be sodas in the minifridge.”
She gave me a wounded look but pulled out a Coke. “You seem at home here.”
I collapsed onto the plush leather sofa. “And you look like you might barf on the marble. What’s eating you?”
“I told you I don’t like men.”
“You don’t like rich men. Did one of them catch you lifting his Rolex?”
She took a swig of soda. “I’m too good for that.”
“So am I, sweetheart. So am I.”
Our idle bragging lapsed into silence, and I closed my eyes and let my head fall back onto the buttery leather. Was there any chance in hell Philip would accept my apology? Where would we go if he didn’t?
Best not to think too much, especially now that my mind was pleasantly fuzzy from the liquor flooding my veins. I peeked at Ella. For once she didn’t appear to be getting into trouble. Instead she lounged in an oversize armchair, her head listing to the side.
Hot pink glitter shone from her drooping eyelids, and my insides twisted at the thought of her painting on makeup in preparation for this evening. I wondered what had brought her to this, but I was too afraid to ask. Last thing I needed was another reason to feel beholden to her.
It had been a long night—a long week, a long year. All I had wanted was peace, and here it was. A clock chimed softly from somewhere far away—one, two, three. Then quiet.
Chapter Nine
I woke in terror, remaining still and silent through force of will. The smell of leather, the cool brush of air. It took me a few moments to realize that this wasn’t my old house, I wasn’t a child anymore, and that shadow standing over me wasn’t my father.
“Good, you’re up.”
Philip sounded angry, but the fact that he spoke to me at all, as opposed to one of the many other things he could have done—with his hands or other, nastier implements—was a good sign. Or hell, he could have just called Henri up and had me carted away. My groggy brain registered relief even as the sharp pain of exhaustion lanced through it.
Disoriented, I forced myself to sit. “I’m sorry.”
As my vision cleared, his stony expression came into focus. His face was always a study in angles—chiseled, not sculpted—but when he was angry, the hollows became more defined.
He raised an eyebrow. “For arriving uninvited in the middle of the night, or for ratting me out?”
“Um…both?” Very smooth, Shelly. My charm had completely deserted me.
That seemed to surprise him too. He looked away, down along my body. I held myself still, figuring my sleepy splayed position was the only thing I had to my advantage right now.
He frowned. “What are you wearing?”
“Twenty bucks on the clearance rack. Sorry, babe. Not everyone keeps me in Dior.” And damned if I was going to let those guys get their grubby fingers on the dresses Philip had bought me. They hung in the closet of my condo right now, well guarded and unreachable.
He grunted, not impressed. “I take it you’re desperate, since you’re here.”
“Fishing for a compliment, Philip?” At his wry look, I allowed a soft laugh. “Yes, you’re right. I wouldn’t have come back otherwise. I figured you’d have me strung up by now.”
“I would have, if I’d thought you wanted it too. Adrian’s made up rooms for the two of you. You’ll be safe for the night, at least.”
I couldn’t resist asking softly, “And after?”
“Don’t press your luck, Shelly. One of these days, it’s going to run out.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the room before I’d managed a weak protest. Well, it could have gone worse. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and turned to Ella. She slept with her head leaning against the wing of the chair, her lips parted. A blanket lay over her, tucked under her chin, that hadn’t been there before.
I woke her with a gentle shake to her shoulder, dislodging the blanket and revealing the low-slung neckline of her cheap dress.
“Where are we?” she asked, blinking sleepily.
How quickly she recognized me, despite forgetting where we were. How completely she trusted. My eyes pricked, and I hid my face as I pulled her up. “Somewhere safe. Come on, let’s put you to bed.”
She was pliant, more like a seven-year-old than a seventeen-year-old. I towed her upstairs to one of the guest rooms with a light on and tucked her in between the satin sheets.
&n
bsp; Adrian waited for me outside, like a stubby guard dog. “Your room’s next door.”
“I’m going to talk to him.” I studied his stony expression, then said, “I’m not going to hurt him.”
“You weren’t supposed to hurt him last time.”
“I’m sorry about that. I want to make it up to him. Please?”
He wavered. “No.”
“Keeping me away won’t make him gay,” I said softly.
His laugh was a caustic sound, grating the air.
“Go, then. Who am I to stop you?”
He stepped back with his hand outstretched in a parody of the obedient servant. I had no doubt he would monitor me through the hallways, but some rooms would be blind.
Philip was in his bedroom, a place I knew well. I knocked and entered but hovered just inside the door.
He tugged at his tie. “Go away.”
“Okay,” I said but remained there.
He kicked off his shoes, threw his jacket on the bed. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it the morning.”
“All right,” I said, padding across the room and curling into the chair beside the bed. So many nights we had sat like this, exhausted from parading around some god-awful black-tie event. It was all so familiar my throat hurt.
Once, I had been his live-in prostitute, his mistress, his well-compensated girlfriend—whatever he wanted me to be. Just a job, and a high-paying one. At least that was what the contract stipulated. Until he’d begun to develop feelings for me, unwanted, unprecedented, and I’d started to care for him too, as a friend anyway. But the wheel was already in motion. As an informant, I had been feeding Luke information about Philip’s criminal activities. The truth has a way of coming out and biting you in the ass—or shooting me in the shoulder, in my case.
When he was bared down to his formfitting boxers, I went to him. He was trim, as always. I caressed his sleek muscles, but though I could admire his form, I didn’t feel the same visceral pull from it that I did for Luke’s. Philip was a starry night, beautiful and mysterious. Luke was like the sun, so bright he blinded me, but I couldn’t stop looking up.
“You seem tired,” Philip said.
My hands paused in their exploration just a beat before continuing. The light skim of my fingertips alternated with a firm touch, perfectly measured to arouse. It worked, always.
“Is this payment?” he asked. “A businessman would insist on knowing the terms of the deal.”
Funny, I didn’t realize I had any leverage with which to barter. “You can always refuse.”
“Can I? I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
He pulled me to the bed, turned me over, and ran his hands along me, checking that I was all there, his breath scalding on my neck.
“Why did you come here, Shelly? Do you want to get fucked? All hot and bothered, but he won’t hold you down and give it to you like I will?”
His body was flush against mine, weighing me down, all hardness and heat. Anger and pain.
“Or did you want me to hurt you? Am I your punishment?”
“No.” I shouldn’t encourage this—it wasn’t true—but I had to know. “For what?”
“For not being good enough for him.”
He paused, crowding closer, the ridge of his cock pressed against the cleft of my ass.
“You know that, don’t you?”
A sharp pain stunned me as his hand met the flat of my ass, and I released the shock in a gasp.
“You think I mind that you’re all wet for that cop? This is just business, you and I. I’ll help you, and you’ll help me right back. I don’t care if you want it.” He pushed against me, the length of his cock against the flesh of my ass, and grunted.
“Does he know to touch you like this?”
His fingers found my sex, playing me with the strokes he knew so well, and all I could see beneath my closed eyes was Luke touching me—knowing me this well.
“Does he hurt you like this?” With his other hand, Philip grasped my hair and pulled. “Does he?”
“No, no.” Luke didn’t touch me, wouldn’t hurt me. Even if we were together, he would never know my dark side. But I would hide it; for him I could. “He doesn’t want me.”
Philip froze, the bar of his cock still hot against my skin, the ragged heat of his breath against my shoulder. The murmur of my name sounded like good-bye. He lifted off me, and air cooled my flushed skin. I remained bent over, but he pulled me upright. He hadn’t fucked me. He wasn’t going to. His hands tightened on my arms when he saw my face.
“Damn,” he said. “Damn. I didn’t mean for it to be like that.”
“I want it to be real between us.”
I swiped at my cheeks. “It’s okay.”
Philip sat down heavily in the armchair and let his head fall back. “Tell me, then. What was so horrible that it sent you running to the likes of me at three in the morning?”
I slanted him a look as I fiddled with the jagged hem of my dress, the cheap fabric torn somewhere during our fight or flight. For maybe the first time in so many years, I mumbled at the floor. “It’s possible I’m the lead suspect in a multiple homicide.”
He stared at me for a moment and then burst into a laugh. “Bet your cop shit a brick.”
Sure, right before he promised to turn me in. “Do you have to find this amusing?”
“Tell me you did it, that you murdered some bastard.” He was grinning. “Fuck, you didn’t. Oh, that would have made my night.”
“You really are perverted.”
“I know.” He sobered. “They would have deserved it, if you’d done it. But okay, to business. Who knows you’re here—anyone?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think we were followed. If we were, there would have been cops knocking on the door by now.”
“Sweetheart, cops know better than to knock on my door.”
A smile tugged at my lips. Was that what I sounded like? “You’re an ass.”
“Go.”
He pulled me to standing and pushed me gently toward the door.
“Get some sleep. We’ll figure it out in the morning. And if we don’t, you can just live here forever.”
There was a note in his voice that said he wouldn’t mind that outcome too much; I shivered. As I shut the door, he was still chuckling to himself. “My little murderer,” I heard him say.
I slipped through the hallways, the shadows both foreign and familiar, but I turned away from the cold guest room I’d been assigned. Metal stairs shook under my weight as I climbed up to the observatory. Philip’s mansion was like a life-size dollhouse, made for play, not living. But there were a few perks, and the stargazing nook at the top of the tower ranked high among them.
I nestled among the pillows there, hoping that whatever girls Philip had brought in to replace me hadn’t found this spot. The thought of another person’s left-behind hair and skin and fluids on the pillows, of touching those things, was enough to mar the experience—almost. At least until I let out a breath and looked up at the sky.
At first I had thought it was stupid to build an observatory in the heart of Chicago, where only a few stars ever pierced the blanket of smog and bright city lights. But one night, after leaving Philip’s bed, I had slunk up here like a dog hiding away to lick her wounds.
The small windowed room gave me space to fall apart. The endless black expanse above let me do it in privacy.
I still smarted where Philip’s hands had smacked me, where his cock had branded me. Small acts, almost innocent compared to what I had done in the past, but it felt all new to me now. All dirty and so wrong, when it was with anyone but Luke.
And Luke. Oh, Luke. I had called Philip perverted, which was accurate enough, considering. But here I had access to a face chiseled from marble, and I wanted the one studded with stubble. Here I lay swathed in silks, wishing they were coarse blue cotton sheets instead.
Why did he have to turn on me so quickly, after what I had done for him? I supposed that
showing up so late, frantic and with a black eye, it was conceivable that I had just committed murder.
Although, after the messages he’d left me, I believed he didn’t mean for us to be hurt. A small comfort, when he might have gotten us killed. He trusted the system too much. He thought his precious fucking colleagues would exonerate me if I was innocent.
Maybe that was the problem. I didn’t just want him to believe in me. I wanted him to think the worst and protect me anyway.
Chapter Ten
A quiet drizzle pattered the windows above me in a gentle morning song. I wandered back to the guest rooms. Ella’s room was empty. I checked my assigned room in case she’d come to wait there. Empty as well, but there was a tray with still-warm coffee sitting beside the bed on a side table.
The closet door lay open, revealing a few of my clothes. Damn, and my favorite pair of jeans. Philip must have held them back when he sent the rest of my stuff. Figured, the sadist.
I checked my clutch, which was now minus my phone. Since the cash was intact, that meant Ella hadn’t found my stash. So who had taken my phone? Maybe Philip. More likely it was Adrian, acting on his orders. It could have felt violating, to have so little left and then have it taken. But a sense of melancholy still muted my emotions, and I embraced it.
Get dressed. Wash up.
I went through the motions, almost able to pretend I was still Philip’s mistress, that I’d never left this unexpected haven. That I wasn’t now responsible for a hurt young woman whose life was in danger.
At least until I heard Philip bellow my name from below. After a small moment of regret for my undeserved peaceful morning, I started down the stairs.
Ella ran smack into me at the bottom, full of indignant sniffles. “Fucking bastard. I hate him!”
My melancholy was over—interrupted, at least. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything! I was nice. Like you told me to be!”
Nice? Her idea of nice was probably bank robbery.
I pushed past her and found Philip behind his desk, scowling at some papers he held.
